Six Going on Twenty-Six
Title: Six Going on Twenty-Six
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R for language
Category: Humor, Angst, Crack
Summary: The truth was there were much worse curses than this.
Author's Notes: This is another brainchild of Layton's. *g* She was kind enough to drag me along for the ride. ;)
Because several people have asked, no, we will not allow anyone to take our stories to translate and post onto other websites/forums. Thank you for the offer but we want full control of our stories so no, we won't be giving control of them to anyone.
The truth was there were much worse curses than this.
There was one that would turn the recipient into a bunny rabbit, old movies got that much right, animal spells were more common than most. There were curses that caused death or misfortune, disfigurement or disembodiment.
All things considered, Sam decided, Dean had gotten off light.
He just didn't seem to see it that way, and Sam's laughter probably wasn't helping.
"Seriously, Sam," he said. "I will kill you."
"That would be more menacing if you weren't four feet tall," Sam told him.
Dean pointed at him. "Fix this," he said.
Sam bit his lip, because this wasn't funny, it wasn't. Dean getting turned into a six year old was a logistical problem, and he needed to focus. He really needed to resist the urge to pat his head and offer him a coke, because in a body twenty years too young or not, Dean would probably take his hand off at the wrist if he tried.
"This really is your own fault," Sam told him. "I warned you about mouthing off to a witch."
"Witch. Ha. She's an old crone with a penchant for black magic, and when I find her, she's dead."
"Well, at least you're still you," Sam said.
"Damn right I am, bitch," he snapped, but he had a little bit of a little boy lisp, and Sam nearly bit through the skin of his lip to keep from smiling at the sound. "So you just remember who's in charge here."
Sam shook his head in exasperation. Dean was really the only person he knew that could find trouble like this.
They had visited Merin last night, an old contact of their father's known to have dabbled in the dark arts, because she was the only suspect in the latest spat of suspicious disappearances
She denied any knowledge of anything at all, including witchcraft, despite the altar hidden in the corner of her living room, and Dean had reacted to this lack of help rather badly and true to form, by insulting her ancestry and her work, and demanding she tell them what they wanted to know.
Merin had pointed at him and labeled him an insolent child that hadn't changed one bit since John Winchester first pulled him through her doors, and then said he'd get what's coming to him.
Sam had tried to smooth things over and get Dean the hell out of there before she did something they'd regret. He'd thought they'd dodged a bullet.
Right up until Dean had woken up looking like Dennis the Menace in clothes about four times too big.
"We're going to need guns," Dean said earnestly, and he was staring at the table with a focus that was disturbing framed in a face so young. "We still have that small pistol dad taught us to shoot with?"
"You're not getting a gun," Sam snapped.
"The hell I’m not," Dean said. "I knew how to shoot since I was five anyway, and I'm not going back to that crazy weirdo's house unless I'm armed to the teeth."
"I'm sure if you just apologize," Sam started, but trailed off, because apparently Dean still remembered how to give death glares.
"She'll fix it if she knows what's good for her," Dean said. "'Cause if she doesn't, I'm going to shoot her, old buddy of dad's or not."
Sam shook his head. "No, we're going to do this my way this time. You tried doing it your way and look what happened."
"Stop blaming this on me," Dean snapped. "It's not my fault she's crazy."
Sam shook his head. "I'm going to go get the room for another day, since this case doesn't look like it's going to be as easy as we thought. I want you to stay right here, okay? You're in no condition to be going out alone."
"I got small not stupid," Dean snapped.
"I mean it, Dean," Sam said.
"Sure," Dean said. Sam walked out, but not without one last suspicious glance back at him, and Dean waited until he turned the corner before following him outside.
He saw a family getting ready to leave next door. There were two kids in the backseat of a Subaru, and the dad was half in the back, organizing suitcases. Dean grinned when he caught sight of the small blue suitcase still sitting on the sidewalk.
****
When Sam walked back into the room, Dean was sitting, legs out, on the farthest bed, cleaning a small gun and wearing a pair of jean coveralls over a small white shirt, with a blue baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.
Sam let the door click closed behind him and glared at Dean suspiciously. "Where did you get those clothes?"
"Kid next door," Dean said. "Don't worry, they left. They won't notice it's gone till it's too late."
"You stole clothes from a little kid?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Well, I would have stolen them from someone older, but that would have kind of defeated the purpose," Dean said. "I don't like looking like a walking ad for Baby Gap, believe me, but I'm going to have to blend in."
"You're unbelievable," Sam said. "I told you to stay in the room."
"And what, you thought that suddenly I would start doing what you told me to?" Dean asked. "I'm not actually six, bitch."
"Stop saying bitch," Sam said. "It's creeping me out." Sam walked over and snatched the gun from Dean's hand. "And I said no guns."
"Wow," Dean said. "It's amazing how much you sounded like dad just then."
Sam's eyes narrowed, because Dean knew how a comment like that would be taken by him. "Considering you need me if you want to get anywhere at the moment, it seems it might be in your best interests to play nice."
"That's never been enough to get me to play nice before," Dean said, and that level of smugness from a six year old voice was more than a little unnerving.
"Maybe I should find you a babysitter and go alone," Sam said.
Dean pulled another small pistol out of his coveralls, and sat it on his lap while staring up at Sam. "I wouldn't," he said, "if I were you."
"You're so not scary anymore," Sam told him.
"Then let's do something about that," Dean said. He slid off the bed, since his feet couldn't reach the floor, and then started for the door.
Sam was quick to try and catch up, and it wasn't that hard, considering how short Dean's legs had become. He snatched the pistol from his hands, and stuck it down the back of his own jeans, near the small of his back.
Dean waited until they had reached the Impala before reluctantly surrendering the keys.
"I'm only letting you drive because I can't reach the pedals, but the usual rules apply, and if you so much as get one scratch on my baby I will have your ass in a sling, comprende?"
A passing woman threw Dean a look somewhere between indulgent and disturbed, and Sam shushed him urgently. "You have to act like a normal little kid," he hissed. "You look like a deranged kindergartner."
Dean just snorted and rounded the car. He crawled into the passenger seat without comment and Sam slipped in beside him, conscious of the pistol digging into his back, but though he wouldn't admit it to Dean, it kind of made him feel better too.
Sam pulled the car out of the parking lot, before glancing over at Dean. "Put your seatbelt on," he said.
Dean frowned but reached for it and pulled it down. Sam noticed it didn't fit him right anymore, but he knew how Dean would react to the suggestion he sit in the back.
"You're going to have to let me lead," Sam said. "Whether you like it or not, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, sure," Dean said, far too quickly, and Sam slammed on the breaks and swerved to a stop beside the curb. "Hey! Gentle, be gentle. She doesn't like it rough."
Dean reached out to pet the dashboard, and Sam's face scrunched up. It was disturbing enough to see Dean treat his car like a lover when he didn't look like a little kid. "Stop that, and listen to me," he said. "Until we get this figured out you don't get to leave my sight. I don't care if you like it or not."
Dean leaned back in the seat, sulkily, but nodded. "Whatever. Can we stop wasting time now? Are you done with your hissy fit?"
"My hissy fit--" Sam broke himself off, deciding not to start up another argument. "Yeah, okay. Going."
****
Merin's house was empty. Sam probably should have been less surprised.
"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coveralls and started pouting, and Sam's fondness for little kids fought to take hold again. He wanted to offer him ice cream or a toy truck or something.
Except he wasn't entirely sure Dean couldn't find a way to kill him even at his current size, his brother was nothing if not resourceful, so he kept his mouth shut.
"I guess we should have expected this," Sam said. Most of Merin's stuff was missing, including the altar that they'd seen when they were here the night before.
"She can run but she can't hide," Dean said.
Sam nodded, but wasn't quite so sure. They'd underestimated Merin's power if she could put this kind of spell on Dean, and there was no telling what spells she could use to hide herself. She could be anyone, for all they knew.
Dean's expression seemed to show that despite his usual bravado, he'd thought of that too and Sam finally caved, wanting desperately to cheer him up in what was a really disturbing paternal kind of urge. "How about I buy you an ice cream?"
Dean looked up at him with a vicious glare. "Do you really want to take me on?" he asked. "Because I'm at the perfect height to do a lot of damage."
Sam winced and took a half-unconscious step back. "Coffee?" he ventured.
"Coffee sounds good," Dean agreed.
Sam nodded, relieved, but said, as he started for the door, "You know you have to have decaf, right? No way I'm letting you get on a caffeine high."
****
When Sam was a kid, he'd had all his dinners at the cheapest diners in whatever town they happened to be in, and what he remembers most is Dean charming the waitresses, and always getting them that extra slice of pie.
Dean's tactics had changed a lot as he'd grown older, and he'd gotten past the whole little boy lost thing by age thirteen, where he switched tracks and starting imitating James Dean instead.
Now Sam could only watch in horrified wonder as Dean tried to flirt with their thirty-something waitress.
"Really," he was saying, "I'm older than I look."
The waitress laughed like he was the cutest thing ever, but totally not the way Dean was intending, before she turned to wink at Sam. "He's going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up," she told him.
"You have no idea," Sam muttered under his breath.
"What'll you have, cutie?"
Dean frowned a little, staring at his hands for a moment, as if it was just clicking into place why his foolproof routine wasn't working quite to plan.
"Dean," Sam prompted.
Dean glanced up, face scrunched in thought, and Sam couldn't quite fight the dopey adoring grin spreading across his own face, because he remembered Dean being this cool, untouchable older brother, grown up already at only six, and it was kind of weird to realize he'd been this cute.
"Coffee," he said, getting up on his knees on the booth so he could rest his elbows on the table. "Just coffee."
The waitress smiled again. "How about a hot chocolate instead, sweetheart?"
"If I wanted hot chocolate, sweetheart, I would have asked for it," Dean snapped, obviously at the edge of his patience, and the waitress's smile slipped a little, like she didn't quite think Dean was all that cute anymore.
She turned and raised an eyebrow at Sam and for a moment he didn't get what she was waiting for. Then it clicked. He cleared his throat. "Dean, don't talk to the nice waitress like that."
The look that Dean shot him was downright deadly and Sam took a moment to be grateful that he was the telekinetic in the family. "He'll have the hot chocolate," Sam continued. "I'll have a coffee."
"You got it, doll," she said, looking back at Dean with one more assessing glance before spinning on her heel to place their orders.
"I'm going to pretend that didn't just happen," Dean said, "so that I don't have to kill you."
"Getting a little carried away with the death threats today, aren't we?" Sam asked. "I think someone needs a nap."
"Oh, it's on now, bitch," Dean said, a little too loud, and most of the diners turned to glare at them both.
Sam leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "For Christ's sake, Dean, get a hold of yourself."
Dean leaned back and started sulking again, but didn't comment, so Sam took that as an improvement.
The waitress returned looking slightly wary and placed their drinks down on the counter.
"I'm really sorry about him," Sam said. "His last babysitter let him stay up and watch late night cable and I haven't been able to cure him of it yet."
The waitress relaxed again, smiling easily. "Oh, honey, they all go through a phase like that."
"They last longer for some than others," Sam said, shooting a glance at Dean.
Dean stuck his tongue out at him, which made the waitress laugh and just pissed Dean off more.
He leaned half across the table after she was gone and switched their mugs.
"Hey," Sam protested, but too late.
Dean had already tilted the mug back and drank it a fourth down. "I was lured here with the promise of coffee, and after the day I've had, I'm getting it. Enjoy the hot chocolate. I'm sure the waitress will give you marshmallows if you ask."
Sam let Dean drink the coffee, because Dean was kind of right and Sam was pretty sure Dean would snap if he tried to take it away. He dropped the money on the table when the waitress came back with the bill and then threw Dean a contemplative glance.
"Can I trust you to stay here while I go to the bathroom?" he asked.
Dean blinked at him. "Of course," he said.
****
He'd known it was dumb while he was doing it but Sam was still shocked at his own stupidity. Dean wasn't there when he came out of the bathroom. He was gone. Gone or taken and fuck, Sam was going to be the one issuing death threats the moment he got his hands on him because this was the last straw.
He might even have to spring for one those kid leashes.
Sam asked the waitress if she'd seen where Dean went but she looked as worried as he was and ended up being useless. Sam ran out the front doors, edging on frantic, because for all his talk, Dean was helpless at the moment and it had been Sam's rule in the first place not to let him out of his sight.
He saw a flash of a blue baseball cap and let out a sigh of relief, before pushing through the crowd of people on the street. The moment he reached him he grabbed Dean by the back of his coveralls and then picked him up.
Dean was so startled at first that his arms automatically went around Sam's neck, just so he could keep his balance. His surprise didn't last long, however, and his eyes went dark.
Sam didn't really care. He was pissed off too. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he yelled.
"I thought I saw her," Dean said petulantly. "She was crossing the street and I couldn't wait--"
"Yes you could have," Sam said. "So many things could have happened to you that I can't even list them all."
Sam started back towards the car, trying to get his breathing under control, because he'd always hated not knowing where Dean was--those four years at Stanford had been like holding his breath, waiting for the bad news, because he hadn't known where to find him.
This was even worse. This kind of helped him understand why John would get so angry when he would take the bus because he wanted to go to open house at school or the science fair, and he was suddenly sorry for that, too.
Dean's small arms started to tighten uncomfortably around his neck, pulling Sam out of his musings and snapping him back to the present, reminding him of the fact that while he may be working through his anger, Dean was having a little trouble today managing his.
"If you don't put me down right now," Dean said, "I'm going to kill you and I'll get away with it cause I'm cute."
Sam let him down reluctantly, but grabbed his hand. Dean tugged at it experimentally and then glared up at him when he couldn't break free.
"Oh, hell no," Dean said, and then slammed the heel of his foot down on Sam's ankle, with enough force to nearly send Sam stumbling to his knees.
"God damn it, Dean!" he shouted, and a few people stopped and turned his way, looking at him like he was a monster for using such language around such an adorable little kid.
Dean just flashed the sweetest little smile that Sam had ever seen and said, nice as can be, "You'll have to excuse my brother; he's studying to be a lawyer."
Sam smiled awkwardly at the disapproving stares and grabbed Dean by the shoulder, bending over to hiss in his ear. “We’re supposed to be inconspicuous, remember? Someone’s going to call fucking social services if you keep this shit up, now knock it off!” He pushed Dean back towards the Impala, his grip tight making sure Dean didn’t take off again.
Climbing in and crossing his arms, Dean glared out the windshield-or rather at the dash as he was still too short to see over it. “We need to find this bitch and get her to reverse her mojo right the fuck now.”
Shaking his head, Sam started the engine, peeling out of the parking lot and heading back towards Merin’s place, muttering to himself about soap and a certain someone’s mouth.
Dean turned to glare at him. “What was that?”
Sam shrugged saying, “We’ll check out Merin’s again. We might have missed something the first time.”
****
A second search revealed nothing more than the first and Dean was livid, his tiny six year old hands clenched tight. “This is bullshit,” Dean shouted, his child’s voice breaking halfway through which just pissed him off more.
There was a knock on the door before Sam could even attempt to sooth his brother’s agitation and he pulled his gun, moving quickly to the side of the door, peaking out through the ugly red drapes Merin had on the windows. It was an elderly woman, about sixty-five. Dean could just see her out the bottom of the side window and he motioned to Sam to open the door. Sam rolled his eyes, placing the gun behind his back as he pasted on a smile and opened the door. “Can I help you?” he asked, polite as could be.
The woman looked startled for a moment before she smiled, nodding her head and taking a step closer. “I’m looking for Merin.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, “she’s not in at the moment.”
“Oh,” she said disappointed. “Well.” She looked at Sam appraisingly for a moment before asking, “Could you give her a message for me?”
Sam was nodding, trying to keep Dean away from the door with his foot. Behind him he could hear Dean snort before he received a vicious little jab to his hip and Dean was stepping around him to stare up at the woman.
“My,” she grinned. “What a handsome little boy. And what’s your name, sweetie?” Dean scowled, and Sam was tempted to hit him upside the head for once again completely failing to pull off the normal little kid routine. “Oh dear, you’re so serious,” she said, amusement clear in her voice.
“His name is Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Uh-what was the message you wanted me to give Merin?”
“Oh yes,” she blinked at Sam shaking her head a little as if to jog her memory. “Just tell her that Millie was by-she’ll know what for.” She gave a crooked smile and Dean frowned harder, taking a step back. Sam nodded and said goodbye, quickly shutting the door.
“There’s something rotten in the state of Louisiana,” Dean said seriously.
Sam snorted. “You’re paranoid. She was probably just one of Merin’s neighbors coming for tea or a card game or something.”
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “And maybe her house is made of gingerbread too.”
Sam squinted at Dean, tilting his head to the side with a grin. “Are you comparing Millie to the witch in Hansel and Gretel?”
“Shut up,” Dean hissed, stomping towards the door. “Come on, we’ve got a witch that needs killing.”
“We’re not killing her, Dean,” Sam said with a long suffering sigh.
Dean reached up, grabbing the doorknob and yanked the front door open only to stop motionless to stare up at the man in front of him. He was hunched over and gripping the head of his cane in a gnarled, liver spotted hand. He squinted at Dean. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" Dean snapped back and Sam took a step forward already prepared to explain away his brother's behavior. The old man grinned, reaching a shaking hand out to pat Dean on the head and Sam tried very hard not to laugh at the indignant look Dean shot him, or at the way Dean's small hands went to his hair after the man removed his hand.
"Can we help you?" Sam asked, drawing the man's attention away from Dean and towards himself.
He nodded, both hands now gripping the cane he had in front of him. "Where's Merin?"
"She's not home right now," Sam hedged, smiling charmingly but from the scrutiny he received in response he figured he hadn't succeeded-charming was more Dean's deal than his. So Sam went with his strength, looking earnestly at the man before them. "I can leave her a message-tell her you stopped by, if you'd like."
The man pursed his lips and Sam could see from the corner of his eye Dean scrunching his face up-the man obviously didn’t have any teeth. “You tell that missy Merin that that there hocus pocus she conjured up for me wasn’t worth its weight in horse piss. My poor Sara had her heart set on it too.” The old man winked at Sam and he coughed, folding his arms over his chest and not daring to look at Dean.
“Merin made you via-“
“Hocus pocus?” Sam asked politely, quickly cutting Dean off and the man waved his cane towards him.
“She’ll know what I’m taking about. You tell her Jeb was by and that I want my money back.” He turned slowly on the front porch making his way carefully down the steps as he muttered to himself.
When he was out of sight Dean spun to point an accusing finger at Sam, his voice squeaky in indignation. “I got turned into a fucking six year old by an old woman supplying the neighborhood with Viagra! We need to fix this yesterday, Sammy.”
Sam snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement. “We should get out of here before another one of her customers shows up.”
Dean stomped down the front steps and towards the car, grumbling all the way. “Why doesn’t this shit ever happen to you?”
****
Sam had capitulated to Dean sitting in the front seat, despite knowing that in a child’s body the safest place for him would be in the back. However he had been adamant about the booster seat knowing Dean’s seatbelt wouldn’t fit against his body properly without it. That didn’t stop Dean from throwing the mother of all hissy fits in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart Sam had picked the booster seat up from. But now he was sitting sullen in the seat, staring out the side window with his arms crossed and Sam was loathed to admit his brother was possibly the cutest kid he’d ever seen-in spite of the mouth on him.
Sam pulled down Taylor Street and eyed the field to their right. “Looks like they’ve got a circus in town,” he said casually.
Dean shot him a glare and turned back to the window. “Don’t even think about it.”
Grinning Sam shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like we got to many when we really were kids.”
“I haven’t been a kid in twenty-two years, Sam,” Dean snarled, bottom lip jutting out dangerously. If Sam didn’t know better he’d think Dean was pouting.
“I bet they have popcorn…cotton candy…” Sam wheedled, pulling the Impala into the lot. He figured Dean could use the distraction for a couple hours while he tried to figure out their next move. Merin had disappeared and at the moment they didn’t have a clue where to find her.
Dean struggled with the seatbelt, flinging the door open and hopping down off the booster seat and out of the car. “You’ve got a half hour to get whatever creepy ass paternal instincts you’ve got going on out of your system.” Sam protested but Dean just threw him a withering look that screamed of Dean-twenty-six year old Dean. “Keep it up, Sammy, and I will kick your ass.”
Dean submitted to being forced on the merry-go-round, giving Sam the finger on each pass, grinning deviously when the parents standing around Sam threw him a mix of half-sympathetic, half-horrified looks. When Dean stood up on the back of the fake horse, startling the other children and their parents, causing the guy working the controls to shut down the ride, he grinned triumphantly at Sam and hopped off the horse to stroll away from the rides leaving Sam to follow in his wake.
Halfway across the field and on their way back to the Impala they noticed a small crowd gathered around a tent. There was no sign above the tent but the line was quite clear. Sam tapped a woman on the shoulder, smiling as she turned. “Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me what the line is for?”
She nodded a tight smile on her face. “Jenny and I are waiting to see Merin, just like everyone else.”
Sam looked down at Dean, eyes wide. “Think it’s the same Merin?”
Dean scanned the crowd, a dangerous glint in his young eyes. “Oh yeah,” he said and pointed to both Millie and Jeb closer to the front of the line. “This bitch has got some explaining to do.”
Sam sighed and then smiled brightly, trying to distract the two women in front of them from Dean’s twenty-six year old language. “Thank you,” he said, tugging Dean a little closer. “Merin is a friend of the family. We stopped by her house but she wasn’t home. I guess we got lucky.”
The women gave Sam a once over, their eyes falling to Dean for a moment before nodding and turning their backs to the Winchesters. Sam glared at Dean, rolling his eyes when Dean just shrugged.
The line went fairly fast and when they were a couple of people away from the front Sam looked down at Dean and whispered quietly, “You need to let me do the talking, Dean.”
Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Fuck that, Sammy. This bitch turned me into a kid. Ain’t no way I’m standing in a corner and being a good little boy.”
Sam knew Dean would argue, he was sure it was an inherited trait, but when they stepped inside the tent he grabbed Dean’s hand anyway, ignoring the tensing of Dean’s small body and moving quickly to cut-off any chance Dean had of causing him injury in retaliation.
Inside the tent was dimly lit with wispy gauze hanging in strategic places to give the tent an ominous feel. Beside him Sam could hear Dean snorting in disdain. Sam had to admit he agreed-the atmosphere screamed cheesy circus fortuneteller.
A few steps more into the tent brought into view a table, an altar off to the side and a very beautiful woman in her late thirties or early forties. Merin was nowhere to be seen.
The woman looked up when she heard them enter, her head tilting to the side with a smirk. “Welcome,” she said sweetly, motioning them closer.
“Hi,” Sam said cautiously.
“Where the hell is Merin?” Dean demanded and Sam sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The woman laughed, her head thrown back. She looked at Dean with undisguised triumph. “Obviously you have yet to learn your lesson, Dean Winchester.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. There was no way this woman could be Merin, she was at least twenty years younger. “And you mocked my ability,” she shook her head before gesturing to herself and then Dean. “Now you see what I am capable of.”
Dean reached up and grabbed the small pistol from Sam's waistband, before cocking it and aiming it at her heart. "Want to see what I'm capable of?" he asked.
Sam easily reached around him and snapped the gun out of his hands.
"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted.
"Look," Sam said, trying to appease her, "Dean is very sorry for what he's done, and we'd like it very much if you could reverse this curse..."
"It wasn't a curse," she laughed. "It was a gift. You should be grateful, Dean, ordinarily, I charge 59.99 and I gave you yours for free."
Dean tried to climb up on the table and across it to get at Merin, but Sam grabbed him around the waist with one arm and lifted him back against him before he could. "In that case, Dean is very grateful, but he'd really like to be returned to normal now."
"Yeah, and we'd really like to know where you've been stashing all those disappearing people, you freaky bit-"
Sam covered Dean's mouth quickly. "And if you have any information about the recent disappearances, we'd be grateful for that, as well."
Merin smiled at Sam. "You're polite, and very sweet," she said. "But I'm afraid you misunderstand. My gifts cannot be retaken, they are forever. Dean will be himself again in twenty years."
"Shoot her, Sam," Dean shouted past the palm of Sam's hand. Sam reluctantly removed his hand and Dean's eyes narrowed. "Seriously, just shoot her."
"I'm not going to shoot her," Sam said. "Merin, please, I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement--"
"Sam," Merin said softly. "You do not need to be here. There is nothing evil here. The people you think have disappeared are my clients--they are fine, better than they were before, younger."
"All those people that have gone missing, you just turned them into six year olds?" Dean snapped.
"No," Merin said, shaking her head. "My power can turn someone twenty years younger, but most of my clients are considerably older than you are."
"So they're all fine," Sam said, grinning. "That's great--"
"Forgettin' a little something there, Sam," Dean hissed. "This isn't exactly what I'd call a successful hunt."
"No one died, Dean," Sam said.
"We have different definitions of successful hunts," Dean said, struggling in Sam's hold. "In mine, something evil always dies."
"You're not killing Merin, Dean," Sam said.
"But I want to," Dean said, and it sounded suspiciously like a whine.
"Oh, honey," Merin said. "You wouldn't, even if you could. I know who you really are."
"Let me down, Sam," Dean said, wiggling. "I mean it!"
"Don't worry, Dean, you'll get used to it," Merin said, and then with a wink, she was gone in a cloud of smoke.
****
Sam had faced a lot of horrible things without flinching. He could meet a demon's eyes, no problem, face them down. But this. This.
Dean, six year old Dean, was crying.
"You should have let me kill her," he said between sniffles. "It would have made me feel better."
"Okay, Dean, man, look, you have to stop crying," Sam said. "This is probably just a side effect, you're fine, everything's fine, and ah, I'm sure there will be something for you to kill soon."
"You're just saying that," Dean said.
"No, no I'm not, Dean, it's true," Sam said.
"I'm stuck this way, Sam!" he shouted. "How am I supposed to go hunting like this? Dad didn't even let me tag along on hunts until I was twelve."
Sam sighed. "We don't know you're stuck this way, okay? Maybe there's a spell that can give you twenty years, just like there's one to take them away, or maybe there's some spell that can reverse any spell or--"
"Man, you're reaching," Dean said, swiping at his eyes to push away the last of the tears. "We both know spells can usually only be reversed by the person that makes them, and Merin doesn't know how, even if we could find her again."
"Maybe she was lying," Sam said.
"Which is why I wanted to shoot her," Dean said.
"She couldn't lift the spell dead, Dean," he said.
"Some lore says that if you kill a witch, it will unbind all of her magic," Dean said.
"What lore?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.
"What's it matter?" Dean asked. "It was worth a shot."
Sam sighed. "Look, let's just head back to the motel and try to figure something out, okay?"
Dean glared at him but started back towards the car. "And just so you know, Sammy boy, you ever pick me up like that again and I will kill you."
"Yeah, I know," Sam said, trying very hard not to laugh.
****
Sam knew they wouldn't be hunting anymore. He didn't care what Dean said, he didn't have the physical capability. They'd have to settle down, for a while at least, somewhere they'd go unnoticed. And wait for him to grow up again.
Sam rested his head in his hands, suddenly not as amused by the
situation as he had been.
He wanted his big brother back.
He put Dean on the bed away from the door and surrounded him with a ring of salt. Dean was dead asleep, tired out from navigating a world that had gotten so much bigger overnight.
Sam tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about spells, but they weren't really John's specialty, and they'd never had many
dealings with witches. John said it was best to leave them to
themselves, and from a man that wasn't afraid to face down werewolves or ghosts or demons, he supposes that said a lot about what they were capable of.
It was so stupid, walking into her house uninvited in the first place.
Sam doesn't really remember meeting her the first time, but Dean had no good thing to say about their last visit. He said he remembered graying red hair and pale blue eyes, long nails, all done up in black and blue, at least two rings on each finger.
And the blood on the altar, bones from a cat, a picture of the missing man they'd come to find.
John called her harmless. He said her magic never did a thing, at
least, not what it was supposed to, but it appeared she might have
learned a few new tricks in the intervening years.
Sam went to sleep wondering if maybe Dean was right, and they were out of options.
****
They packed up and got in the Impala at four in the morning, skipping out before they had to pay the rest of their bill. Dean looked sleepy-eyed and annoyed, readjusting the oversized clothes he was wearing - one of his own t-shirts and a pair of drawstring shorts he rarely wore but always seemed to have with him - sitting in the back seat because he'd thrown the booster seat out the window two miles back and Sam refused to drive with him in the front.
There was a woman walking down the road, framed by the orange sunrise, and Sam slowed to a stop when he recognized the dress.
Merin squinted at him through the driver’s side window. Her curly red hair had patches of dark and white grey, the skin around her right eye was wrinkled and shriveled and the eye itself was encased in a cataract.
The left side of her mouth had shriveled and turned down, but the
right side was smiling when she took a step closer. "Well well," she
said. "It's you. You're earlier than I was expecting."
Dean crawled into the front seat, grabbing the steering wheel for balance and glared out at her. "What the hell happened to you?" Sam tried to get Dean to sit down but Dean ignored him, waiting impatiently for Merin’s answer.
She laughed. "It seems my spell was not as permanent as I had believed," she said. "Good news for you, I suppose," she conceded a little ruefully.
Sam looked kind of horrified and Dean stiffened on the seat beside him. "It doesn't look completely reversed," he said. "What's--"
"Oh, don't worry, Dean will be fine," Merin said dismissively. "I've been trying to perfect the spell for years on myself. It's taken a toll. Seems my last round of customers have all been aging back almost overnight. Thought it was about time to move on."
Dean crossed his arms, sitting on his heels and eyed Merin speculatively. "You're lucky, you know that? If I was stuck like this, I was going to have to kill you."
Merin smiled her grotesque smile again. "Apologize," she said coolly.
Dean glared at her. "Why would I--?"
"Dean, do it," Sam snapped. "You know what happened the last time."
Dean frowned, throwing himself petulantly back into the passenger
seat with a grudging sigh. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Dad liked you okay, so I should have been nicer I guess."
Merin smiled, and Sam watched as like some trick of light, she looked young again, just for a moment. Then Dean was shouting and Sam was turning away, towards the sound and Merin was gone.
Dean was looking at his hands with a wide smile. "Oh thank god," he said, twenty-six again and laughing like he was still six. "It is good to be me."
Sam let out a relieved laugh. "See, I told you to apologize."
"Bitch, I will kill you," Dean snapped, untying the drawstring on the shorts and giving a sigh of relief, but he was still smiling ear to ear. “Now move over, I’m driving. My baby’s missed me.”
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R for language
Category: Humor, Angst, Crack
Summary: The truth was there were much worse curses than this.
Author's Notes: This is another brainchild of Layton's. *g* She was kind enough to drag me along for the ride. ;)
Because several people have asked, no, we will not allow anyone to take our stories to translate and post onto other websites/forums. Thank you for the offer but we want full control of our stories so no, we won't be giving control of them to anyone.
The truth was there were much worse curses than this.
There was one that would turn the recipient into a bunny rabbit, old movies got that much right, animal spells were more common than most. There were curses that caused death or misfortune, disfigurement or disembodiment.
All things considered, Sam decided, Dean had gotten off light.
He just didn't seem to see it that way, and Sam's laughter probably wasn't helping.
"Seriously, Sam," he said. "I will kill you."
"That would be more menacing if you weren't four feet tall," Sam told him.
Dean pointed at him. "Fix this," he said.
Sam bit his lip, because this wasn't funny, it wasn't. Dean getting turned into a six year old was a logistical problem, and he needed to focus. He really needed to resist the urge to pat his head and offer him a coke, because in a body twenty years too young or not, Dean would probably take his hand off at the wrist if he tried.
"This really is your own fault," Sam told him. "I warned you about mouthing off to a witch."
"Witch. Ha. She's an old crone with a penchant for black magic, and when I find her, she's dead."
"Well, at least you're still you," Sam said.
"Damn right I am, bitch," he snapped, but he had a little bit of a little boy lisp, and Sam nearly bit through the skin of his lip to keep from smiling at the sound. "So you just remember who's in charge here."
Sam shook his head in exasperation. Dean was really the only person he knew that could find trouble like this.
They had visited Merin last night, an old contact of their father's known to have dabbled in the dark arts, because she was the only suspect in the latest spat of suspicious disappearances
She denied any knowledge of anything at all, including witchcraft, despite the altar hidden in the corner of her living room, and Dean had reacted to this lack of help rather badly and true to form, by insulting her ancestry and her work, and demanding she tell them what they wanted to know.
Merin had pointed at him and labeled him an insolent child that hadn't changed one bit since John Winchester first pulled him through her doors, and then said he'd get what's coming to him.
Sam had tried to smooth things over and get Dean the hell out of there before she did something they'd regret. He'd thought they'd dodged a bullet.
Right up until Dean had woken up looking like Dennis the Menace in clothes about four times too big.
"We're going to need guns," Dean said earnestly, and he was staring at the table with a focus that was disturbing framed in a face so young. "We still have that small pistol dad taught us to shoot with?"
"You're not getting a gun," Sam snapped.
"The hell I’m not," Dean said. "I knew how to shoot since I was five anyway, and I'm not going back to that crazy weirdo's house unless I'm armed to the teeth."
"I'm sure if you just apologize," Sam started, but trailed off, because apparently Dean still remembered how to give death glares.
"She'll fix it if she knows what's good for her," Dean said. "'Cause if she doesn't, I'm going to shoot her, old buddy of dad's or not."
Sam shook his head. "No, we're going to do this my way this time. You tried doing it your way and look what happened."
"Stop blaming this on me," Dean snapped. "It's not my fault she's crazy."
Sam shook his head. "I'm going to go get the room for another day, since this case doesn't look like it's going to be as easy as we thought. I want you to stay right here, okay? You're in no condition to be going out alone."
"I got small not stupid," Dean snapped.
"I mean it, Dean," Sam said.
"Sure," Dean said. Sam walked out, but not without one last suspicious glance back at him, and Dean waited until he turned the corner before following him outside.
He saw a family getting ready to leave next door. There were two kids in the backseat of a Subaru, and the dad was half in the back, organizing suitcases. Dean grinned when he caught sight of the small blue suitcase still sitting on the sidewalk.
****
When Sam walked back into the room, Dean was sitting, legs out, on the farthest bed, cleaning a small gun and wearing a pair of jean coveralls over a small white shirt, with a blue baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.
Sam let the door click closed behind him and glared at Dean suspiciously. "Where did you get those clothes?"
"Kid next door," Dean said. "Don't worry, they left. They won't notice it's gone till it's too late."
"You stole clothes from a little kid?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Well, I would have stolen them from someone older, but that would have kind of defeated the purpose," Dean said. "I don't like looking like a walking ad for Baby Gap, believe me, but I'm going to have to blend in."
"You're unbelievable," Sam said. "I told you to stay in the room."
"And what, you thought that suddenly I would start doing what you told me to?" Dean asked. "I'm not actually six, bitch."
"Stop saying bitch," Sam said. "It's creeping me out." Sam walked over and snatched the gun from Dean's hand. "And I said no guns."
"Wow," Dean said. "It's amazing how much you sounded like dad just then."
Sam's eyes narrowed, because Dean knew how a comment like that would be taken by him. "Considering you need me if you want to get anywhere at the moment, it seems it might be in your best interests to play nice."
"That's never been enough to get me to play nice before," Dean said, and that level of smugness from a six year old voice was more than a little unnerving.
"Maybe I should find you a babysitter and go alone," Sam said.
Dean pulled another small pistol out of his coveralls, and sat it on his lap while staring up at Sam. "I wouldn't," he said, "if I were you."
"You're so not scary anymore," Sam told him.
"Then let's do something about that," Dean said. He slid off the bed, since his feet couldn't reach the floor, and then started for the door.
Sam was quick to try and catch up, and it wasn't that hard, considering how short Dean's legs had become. He snatched the pistol from his hands, and stuck it down the back of his own jeans, near the small of his back.
Dean waited until they had reached the Impala before reluctantly surrendering the keys.
"I'm only letting you drive because I can't reach the pedals, but the usual rules apply, and if you so much as get one scratch on my baby I will have your ass in a sling, comprende?"
A passing woman threw Dean a look somewhere between indulgent and disturbed, and Sam shushed him urgently. "You have to act like a normal little kid," he hissed. "You look like a deranged kindergartner."
Dean just snorted and rounded the car. He crawled into the passenger seat without comment and Sam slipped in beside him, conscious of the pistol digging into his back, but though he wouldn't admit it to Dean, it kind of made him feel better too.
Sam pulled the car out of the parking lot, before glancing over at Dean. "Put your seatbelt on," he said.
Dean frowned but reached for it and pulled it down. Sam noticed it didn't fit him right anymore, but he knew how Dean would react to the suggestion he sit in the back.
"You're going to have to let me lead," Sam said. "Whether you like it or not, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, sure," Dean said, far too quickly, and Sam slammed on the breaks and swerved to a stop beside the curb. "Hey! Gentle, be gentle. She doesn't like it rough."
Dean reached out to pet the dashboard, and Sam's face scrunched up. It was disturbing enough to see Dean treat his car like a lover when he didn't look like a little kid. "Stop that, and listen to me," he said. "Until we get this figured out you don't get to leave my sight. I don't care if you like it or not."
Dean leaned back in the seat, sulkily, but nodded. "Whatever. Can we stop wasting time now? Are you done with your hissy fit?"
"My hissy fit--" Sam broke himself off, deciding not to start up another argument. "Yeah, okay. Going."
****
Merin's house was empty. Sam probably should have been less surprised.
"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coveralls and started pouting, and Sam's fondness for little kids fought to take hold again. He wanted to offer him ice cream or a toy truck or something.
Except he wasn't entirely sure Dean couldn't find a way to kill him even at his current size, his brother was nothing if not resourceful, so he kept his mouth shut.
"I guess we should have expected this," Sam said. Most of Merin's stuff was missing, including the altar that they'd seen when they were here the night before.
"She can run but she can't hide," Dean said.
Sam nodded, but wasn't quite so sure. They'd underestimated Merin's power if she could put this kind of spell on Dean, and there was no telling what spells she could use to hide herself. She could be anyone, for all they knew.
Dean's expression seemed to show that despite his usual bravado, he'd thought of that too and Sam finally caved, wanting desperately to cheer him up in what was a really disturbing paternal kind of urge. "How about I buy you an ice cream?"
Dean looked up at him with a vicious glare. "Do you really want to take me on?" he asked. "Because I'm at the perfect height to do a lot of damage."
Sam winced and took a half-unconscious step back. "Coffee?" he ventured.
"Coffee sounds good," Dean agreed.
Sam nodded, relieved, but said, as he started for the door, "You know you have to have decaf, right? No way I'm letting you get on a caffeine high."
****
When Sam was a kid, he'd had all his dinners at the cheapest diners in whatever town they happened to be in, and what he remembers most is Dean charming the waitresses, and always getting them that extra slice of pie.
Dean's tactics had changed a lot as he'd grown older, and he'd gotten past the whole little boy lost thing by age thirteen, where he switched tracks and starting imitating James Dean instead.
Now Sam could only watch in horrified wonder as Dean tried to flirt with their thirty-something waitress.
"Really," he was saying, "I'm older than I look."
The waitress laughed like he was the cutest thing ever, but totally not the way Dean was intending, before she turned to wink at Sam. "He's going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up," she told him.
"You have no idea," Sam muttered under his breath.
"What'll you have, cutie?"
Dean frowned a little, staring at his hands for a moment, as if it was just clicking into place why his foolproof routine wasn't working quite to plan.
"Dean," Sam prompted.
Dean glanced up, face scrunched in thought, and Sam couldn't quite fight the dopey adoring grin spreading across his own face, because he remembered Dean being this cool, untouchable older brother, grown up already at only six, and it was kind of weird to realize he'd been this cute.
"Coffee," he said, getting up on his knees on the booth so he could rest his elbows on the table. "Just coffee."
The waitress smiled again. "How about a hot chocolate instead, sweetheart?"
"If I wanted hot chocolate, sweetheart, I would have asked for it," Dean snapped, obviously at the edge of his patience, and the waitress's smile slipped a little, like she didn't quite think Dean was all that cute anymore.
She turned and raised an eyebrow at Sam and for a moment he didn't get what she was waiting for. Then it clicked. He cleared his throat. "Dean, don't talk to the nice waitress like that."
The look that Dean shot him was downright deadly and Sam took a moment to be grateful that he was the telekinetic in the family. "He'll have the hot chocolate," Sam continued. "I'll have a coffee."
"You got it, doll," she said, looking back at Dean with one more assessing glance before spinning on her heel to place their orders.
"I'm going to pretend that didn't just happen," Dean said, "so that I don't have to kill you."
"Getting a little carried away with the death threats today, aren't we?" Sam asked. "I think someone needs a nap."
"Oh, it's on now, bitch," Dean said, a little too loud, and most of the diners turned to glare at them both.
Sam leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "For Christ's sake, Dean, get a hold of yourself."
Dean leaned back and started sulking again, but didn't comment, so Sam took that as an improvement.
The waitress returned looking slightly wary and placed their drinks down on the counter.
"I'm really sorry about him," Sam said. "His last babysitter let him stay up and watch late night cable and I haven't been able to cure him of it yet."
The waitress relaxed again, smiling easily. "Oh, honey, they all go through a phase like that."
"They last longer for some than others," Sam said, shooting a glance at Dean.
Dean stuck his tongue out at him, which made the waitress laugh and just pissed Dean off more.
He leaned half across the table after she was gone and switched their mugs.
"Hey," Sam protested, but too late.
Dean had already tilted the mug back and drank it a fourth down. "I was lured here with the promise of coffee, and after the day I've had, I'm getting it. Enjoy the hot chocolate. I'm sure the waitress will give you marshmallows if you ask."
Sam let Dean drink the coffee, because Dean was kind of right and Sam was pretty sure Dean would snap if he tried to take it away. He dropped the money on the table when the waitress came back with the bill and then threw Dean a contemplative glance.
"Can I trust you to stay here while I go to the bathroom?" he asked.
Dean blinked at him. "Of course," he said.
****
He'd known it was dumb while he was doing it but Sam was still shocked at his own stupidity. Dean wasn't there when he came out of the bathroom. He was gone. Gone or taken and fuck, Sam was going to be the one issuing death threats the moment he got his hands on him because this was the last straw.
He might even have to spring for one those kid leashes.
Sam asked the waitress if she'd seen where Dean went but she looked as worried as he was and ended up being useless. Sam ran out the front doors, edging on frantic, because for all his talk, Dean was helpless at the moment and it had been Sam's rule in the first place not to let him out of his sight.
He saw a flash of a blue baseball cap and let out a sigh of relief, before pushing through the crowd of people on the street. The moment he reached him he grabbed Dean by the back of his coveralls and then picked him up.
Dean was so startled at first that his arms automatically went around Sam's neck, just so he could keep his balance. His surprise didn't last long, however, and his eyes went dark.
Sam didn't really care. He was pissed off too. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he yelled.
"I thought I saw her," Dean said petulantly. "She was crossing the street and I couldn't wait--"
"Yes you could have," Sam said. "So many things could have happened to you that I can't even list them all."
Sam started back towards the car, trying to get his breathing under control, because he'd always hated not knowing where Dean was--those four years at Stanford had been like holding his breath, waiting for the bad news, because he hadn't known where to find him.
This was even worse. This kind of helped him understand why John would get so angry when he would take the bus because he wanted to go to open house at school or the science fair, and he was suddenly sorry for that, too.
Dean's small arms started to tighten uncomfortably around his neck, pulling Sam out of his musings and snapping him back to the present, reminding him of the fact that while he may be working through his anger, Dean was having a little trouble today managing his.
"If you don't put me down right now," Dean said, "I'm going to kill you and I'll get away with it cause I'm cute."
Sam let him down reluctantly, but grabbed his hand. Dean tugged at it experimentally and then glared up at him when he couldn't break free.
"Oh, hell no," Dean said, and then slammed the heel of his foot down on Sam's ankle, with enough force to nearly send Sam stumbling to his knees.
"God damn it, Dean!" he shouted, and a few people stopped and turned his way, looking at him like he was a monster for using such language around such an adorable little kid.
Dean just flashed the sweetest little smile that Sam had ever seen and said, nice as can be, "You'll have to excuse my brother; he's studying to be a lawyer."
Sam smiled awkwardly at the disapproving stares and grabbed Dean by the shoulder, bending over to hiss in his ear. “We’re supposed to be inconspicuous, remember? Someone’s going to call fucking social services if you keep this shit up, now knock it off!” He pushed Dean back towards the Impala, his grip tight making sure Dean didn’t take off again.
Climbing in and crossing his arms, Dean glared out the windshield-or rather at the dash as he was still too short to see over it. “We need to find this bitch and get her to reverse her mojo right the fuck now.”
Shaking his head, Sam started the engine, peeling out of the parking lot and heading back towards Merin’s place, muttering to himself about soap and a certain someone’s mouth.
Dean turned to glare at him. “What was that?”
Sam shrugged saying, “We’ll check out Merin’s again. We might have missed something the first time.”
****
A second search revealed nothing more than the first and Dean was livid, his tiny six year old hands clenched tight. “This is bullshit,” Dean shouted, his child’s voice breaking halfway through which just pissed him off more.
There was a knock on the door before Sam could even attempt to sooth his brother’s agitation and he pulled his gun, moving quickly to the side of the door, peaking out through the ugly red drapes Merin had on the windows. It was an elderly woman, about sixty-five. Dean could just see her out the bottom of the side window and he motioned to Sam to open the door. Sam rolled his eyes, placing the gun behind his back as he pasted on a smile and opened the door. “Can I help you?” he asked, polite as could be.
The woman looked startled for a moment before she smiled, nodding her head and taking a step closer. “I’m looking for Merin.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, “she’s not in at the moment.”
“Oh,” she said disappointed. “Well.” She looked at Sam appraisingly for a moment before asking, “Could you give her a message for me?”
Sam was nodding, trying to keep Dean away from the door with his foot. Behind him he could hear Dean snort before he received a vicious little jab to his hip and Dean was stepping around him to stare up at the woman.
“My,” she grinned. “What a handsome little boy. And what’s your name, sweetie?” Dean scowled, and Sam was tempted to hit him upside the head for once again completely failing to pull off the normal little kid routine. “Oh dear, you’re so serious,” she said, amusement clear in her voice.
“His name is Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Uh-what was the message you wanted me to give Merin?”
“Oh yes,” she blinked at Sam shaking her head a little as if to jog her memory. “Just tell her that Millie was by-she’ll know what for.” She gave a crooked smile and Dean frowned harder, taking a step back. Sam nodded and said goodbye, quickly shutting the door.
“There’s something rotten in the state of Louisiana,” Dean said seriously.
Sam snorted. “You’re paranoid. She was probably just one of Merin’s neighbors coming for tea or a card game or something.”
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “And maybe her house is made of gingerbread too.”
Sam squinted at Dean, tilting his head to the side with a grin. “Are you comparing Millie to the witch in Hansel and Gretel?”
“Shut up,” Dean hissed, stomping towards the door. “Come on, we’ve got a witch that needs killing.”
“We’re not killing her, Dean,” Sam said with a long suffering sigh.
Dean reached up, grabbing the doorknob and yanked the front door open only to stop motionless to stare up at the man in front of him. He was hunched over and gripping the head of his cane in a gnarled, liver spotted hand. He squinted at Dean. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" Dean snapped back and Sam took a step forward already prepared to explain away his brother's behavior. The old man grinned, reaching a shaking hand out to pat Dean on the head and Sam tried very hard not to laugh at the indignant look Dean shot him, or at the way Dean's small hands went to his hair after the man removed his hand.
"Can we help you?" Sam asked, drawing the man's attention away from Dean and towards himself.
He nodded, both hands now gripping the cane he had in front of him. "Where's Merin?"
"She's not home right now," Sam hedged, smiling charmingly but from the scrutiny he received in response he figured he hadn't succeeded-charming was more Dean's deal than his. So Sam went with his strength, looking earnestly at the man before them. "I can leave her a message-tell her you stopped by, if you'd like."
The man pursed his lips and Sam could see from the corner of his eye Dean scrunching his face up-the man obviously didn’t have any teeth. “You tell that missy Merin that that there hocus pocus she conjured up for me wasn’t worth its weight in horse piss. My poor Sara had her heart set on it too.” The old man winked at Sam and he coughed, folding his arms over his chest and not daring to look at Dean.
“Merin made you via-“
“Hocus pocus?” Sam asked politely, quickly cutting Dean off and the man waved his cane towards him.
“She’ll know what I’m taking about. You tell her Jeb was by and that I want my money back.” He turned slowly on the front porch making his way carefully down the steps as he muttered to himself.
When he was out of sight Dean spun to point an accusing finger at Sam, his voice squeaky in indignation. “I got turned into a fucking six year old by an old woman supplying the neighborhood with Viagra! We need to fix this yesterday, Sammy.”
Sam snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement. “We should get out of here before another one of her customers shows up.”
Dean stomped down the front steps and towards the car, grumbling all the way. “Why doesn’t this shit ever happen to you?”
****
Sam had capitulated to Dean sitting in the front seat, despite knowing that in a child’s body the safest place for him would be in the back. However he had been adamant about the booster seat knowing Dean’s seatbelt wouldn’t fit against his body properly without it. That didn’t stop Dean from throwing the mother of all hissy fits in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart Sam had picked the booster seat up from. But now he was sitting sullen in the seat, staring out the side window with his arms crossed and Sam was loathed to admit his brother was possibly the cutest kid he’d ever seen-in spite of the mouth on him.
Sam pulled down Taylor Street and eyed the field to their right. “Looks like they’ve got a circus in town,” he said casually.
Dean shot him a glare and turned back to the window. “Don’t even think about it.”
Grinning Sam shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like we got to many when we really were kids.”
“I haven’t been a kid in twenty-two years, Sam,” Dean snarled, bottom lip jutting out dangerously. If Sam didn’t know better he’d think Dean was pouting.
“I bet they have popcorn…cotton candy…” Sam wheedled, pulling the Impala into the lot. He figured Dean could use the distraction for a couple hours while he tried to figure out their next move. Merin had disappeared and at the moment they didn’t have a clue where to find her.
Dean struggled with the seatbelt, flinging the door open and hopping down off the booster seat and out of the car. “You’ve got a half hour to get whatever creepy ass paternal instincts you’ve got going on out of your system.” Sam protested but Dean just threw him a withering look that screamed of Dean-twenty-six year old Dean. “Keep it up, Sammy, and I will kick your ass.”
Dean submitted to being forced on the merry-go-round, giving Sam the finger on each pass, grinning deviously when the parents standing around Sam threw him a mix of half-sympathetic, half-horrified looks. When Dean stood up on the back of the fake horse, startling the other children and their parents, causing the guy working the controls to shut down the ride, he grinned triumphantly at Sam and hopped off the horse to stroll away from the rides leaving Sam to follow in his wake.
Halfway across the field and on their way back to the Impala they noticed a small crowd gathered around a tent. There was no sign above the tent but the line was quite clear. Sam tapped a woman on the shoulder, smiling as she turned. “Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me what the line is for?”
She nodded a tight smile on her face. “Jenny and I are waiting to see Merin, just like everyone else.”
Sam looked down at Dean, eyes wide. “Think it’s the same Merin?”
Dean scanned the crowd, a dangerous glint in his young eyes. “Oh yeah,” he said and pointed to both Millie and Jeb closer to the front of the line. “This bitch has got some explaining to do.”
Sam sighed and then smiled brightly, trying to distract the two women in front of them from Dean’s twenty-six year old language. “Thank you,” he said, tugging Dean a little closer. “Merin is a friend of the family. We stopped by her house but she wasn’t home. I guess we got lucky.”
The women gave Sam a once over, their eyes falling to Dean for a moment before nodding and turning their backs to the Winchesters. Sam glared at Dean, rolling his eyes when Dean just shrugged.
The line went fairly fast and when they were a couple of people away from the front Sam looked down at Dean and whispered quietly, “You need to let me do the talking, Dean.”
Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Fuck that, Sammy. This bitch turned me into a kid. Ain’t no way I’m standing in a corner and being a good little boy.”
Sam knew Dean would argue, he was sure it was an inherited trait, but when they stepped inside the tent he grabbed Dean’s hand anyway, ignoring the tensing of Dean’s small body and moving quickly to cut-off any chance Dean had of causing him injury in retaliation.
Inside the tent was dimly lit with wispy gauze hanging in strategic places to give the tent an ominous feel. Beside him Sam could hear Dean snorting in disdain. Sam had to admit he agreed-the atmosphere screamed cheesy circus fortuneteller.
A few steps more into the tent brought into view a table, an altar off to the side and a very beautiful woman in her late thirties or early forties. Merin was nowhere to be seen.
The woman looked up when she heard them enter, her head tilting to the side with a smirk. “Welcome,” she said sweetly, motioning them closer.
“Hi,” Sam said cautiously.
“Where the hell is Merin?” Dean demanded and Sam sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The woman laughed, her head thrown back. She looked at Dean with undisguised triumph. “Obviously you have yet to learn your lesson, Dean Winchester.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. There was no way this woman could be Merin, she was at least twenty years younger. “And you mocked my ability,” she shook her head before gesturing to herself and then Dean. “Now you see what I am capable of.”
Dean reached up and grabbed the small pistol from Sam's waistband, before cocking it and aiming it at her heart. "Want to see what I'm capable of?" he asked.
Sam easily reached around him and snapped the gun out of his hands.
"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted.
"Look," Sam said, trying to appease her, "Dean is very sorry for what he's done, and we'd like it very much if you could reverse this curse..."
"It wasn't a curse," she laughed. "It was a gift. You should be grateful, Dean, ordinarily, I charge 59.99 and I gave you yours for free."
Dean tried to climb up on the table and across it to get at Merin, but Sam grabbed him around the waist with one arm and lifted him back against him before he could. "In that case, Dean is very grateful, but he'd really like to be returned to normal now."
"Yeah, and we'd really like to know where you've been stashing all those disappearing people, you freaky bit-"
Sam covered Dean's mouth quickly. "And if you have any information about the recent disappearances, we'd be grateful for that, as well."
Merin smiled at Sam. "You're polite, and very sweet," she said. "But I'm afraid you misunderstand. My gifts cannot be retaken, they are forever. Dean will be himself again in twenty years."
"Shoot her, Sam," Dean shouted past the palm of Sam's hand. Sam reluctantly removed his hand and Dean's eyes narrowed. "Seriously, just shoot her."
"I'm not going to shoot her," Sam said. "Merin, please, I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement--"
"Sam," Merin said softly. "You do not need to be here. There is nothing evil here. The people you think have disappeared are my clients--they are fine, better than they were before, younger."
"All those people that have gone missing, you just turned them into six year olds?" Dean snapped.
"No," Merin said, shaking her head. "My power can turn someone twenty years younger, but most of my clients are considerably older than you are."
"So they're all fine," Sam said, grinning. "That's great--"
"Forgettin' a little something there, Sam," Dean hissed. "This isn't exactly what I'd call a successful hunt."
"No one died, Dean," Sam said.
"We have different definitions of successful hunts," Dean said, struggling in Sam's hold. "In mine, something evil always dies."
"You're not killing Merin, Dean," Sam said.
"But I want to," Dean said, and it sounded suspiciously like a whine.
"Oh, honey," Merin said. "You wouldn't, even if you could. I know who you really are."
"Let me down, Sam," Dean said, wiggling. "I mean it!"
"Don't worry, Dean, you'll get used to it," Merin said, and then with a wink, she was gone in a cloud of smoke.
****
Sam had faced a lot of horrible things without flinching. He could meet a demon's eyes, no problem, face them down. But this. This.
Dean, six year old Dean, was crying.
"You should have let me kill her," he said between sniffles. "It would have made me feel better."
"Okay, Dean, man, look, you have to stop crying," Sam said. "This is probably just a side effect, you're fine, everything's fine, and ah, I'm sure there will be something for you to kill soon."
"You're just saying that," Dean said.
"No, no I'm not, Dean, it's true," Sam said.
"I'm stuck this way, Sam!" he shouted. "How am I supposed to go hunting like this? Dad didn't even let me tag along on hunts until I was twelve."
Sam sighed. "We don't know you're stuck this way, okay? Maybe there's a spell that can give you twenty years, just like there's one to take them away, or maybe there's some spell that can reverse any spell or--"
"Man, you're reaching," Dean said, swiping at his eyes to push away the last of the tears. "We both know spells can usually only be reversed by the person that makes them, and Merin doesn't know how, even if we could find her again."
"Maybe she was lying," Sam said.
"Which is why I wanted to shoot her," Dean said.
"She couldn't lift the spell dead, Dean," he said.
"Some lore says that if you kill a witch, it will unbind all of her magic," Dean said.
"What lore?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.
"What's it matter?" Dean asked. "It was worth a shot."
Sam sighed. "Look, let's just head back to the motel and try to figure something out, okay?"
Dean glared at him but started back towards the car. "And just so you know, Sammy boy, you ever pick me up like that again and I will kill you."
"Yeah, I know," Sam said, trying very hard not to laugh.
****
Sam knew they wouldn't be hunting anymore. He didn't care what Dean said, he didn't have the physical capability. They'd have to settle down, for a while at least, somewhere they'd go unnoticed. And wait for him to grow up again.
Sam rested his head in his hands, suddenly not as amused by the
situation as he had been.
He wanted his big brother back.
He put Dean on the bed away from the door and surrounded him with a ring of salt. Dean was dead asleep, tired out from navigating a world that had gotten so much bigger overnight.
Sam tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about spells, but they weren't really John's specialty, and they'd never had many
dealings with witches. John said it was best to leave them to
themselves, and from a man that wasn't afraid to face down werewolves or ghosts or demons, he supposes that said a lot about what they were capable of.
It was so stupid, walking into her house uninvited in the first place.
Sam doesn't really remember meeting her the first time, but Dean had no good thing to say about their last visit. He said he remembered graying red hair and pale blue eyes, long nails, all done up in black and blue, at least two rings on each finger.
And the blood on the altar, bones from a cat, a picture of the missing man they'd come to find.
John called her harmless. He said her magic never did a thing, at
least, not what it was supposed to, but it appeared she might have
learned a few new tricks in the intervening years.
Sam went to sleep wondering if maybe Dean was right, and they were out of options.
****
They packed up and got in the Impala at four in the morning, skipping out before they had to pay the rest of their bill. Dean looked sleepy-eyed and annoyed, readjusting the oversized clothes he was wearing - one of his own t-shirts and a pair of drawstring shorts he rarely wore but always seemed to have with him - sitting in the back seat because he'd thrown the booster seat out the window two miles back and Sam refused to drive with him in the front.
There was a woman walking down the road, framed by the orange sunrise, and Sam slowed to a stop when he recognized the dress.
Merin squinted at him through the driver’s side window. Her curly red hair had patches of dark and white grey, the skin around her right eye was wrinkled and shriveled and the eye itself was encased in a cataract.
The left side of her mouth had shriveled and turned down, but the
right side was smiling when she took a step closer. "Well well," she
said. "It's you. You're earlier than I was expecting."
Dean crawled into the front seat, grabbing the steering wheel for balance and glared out at her. "What the hell happened to you?" Sam tried to get Dean to sit down but Dean ignored him, waiting impatiently for Merin’s answer.
She laughed. "It seems my spell was not as permanent as I had believed," she said. "Good news for you, I suppose," she conceded a little ruefully.
Sam looked kind of horrified and Dean stiffened on the seat beside him. "It doesn't look completely reversed," he said. "What's--"
"Oh, don't worry, Dean will be fine," Merin said dismissively. "I've been trying to perfect the spell for years on myself. It's taken a toll. Seems my last round of customers have all been aging back almost overnight. Thought it was about time to move on."
Dean crossed his arms, sitting on his heels and eyed Merin speculatively. "You're lucky, you know that? If I was stuck like this, I was going to have to kill you."
Merin smiled her grotesque smile again. "Apologize," she said coolly.
Dean glared at her. "Why would I--?"
"Dean, do it," Sam snapped. "You know what happened the last time."
Dean frowned, throwing himself petulantly back into the passenger
seat with a grudging sigh. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Dad liked you okay, so I should have been nicer I guess."
Merin smiled, and Sam watched as like some trick of light, she looked young again, just for a moment. Then Dean was shouting and Sam was turning away, towards the sound and Merin was gone.
Dean was looking at his hands with a wide smile. "Oh thank god," he said, twenty-six again and laughing like he was still six. "It is good to be me."
Sam let out a relieved laugh. "See, I told you to apologize."
"Bitch, I will kill you," Dean snapped, untying the drawstring on the shorts and giving a sigh of relief, but he was still smiling ear to ear. “Now move over, I’m driving. My baby’s missed me.”