and see the place where you used to live [When you were young]
[Talk about what you were like as a child]
“My tummy hurts.”
That one statement is enough to send Dean into mother hen mode. There are things that he doesn’t realize he remembers about their mother, like the way her hand went to his forehead anytime he felt bad. He echoes that movement now, his small hand pressed to Sam’s forehead, brow furrowing when he finds his skin hot to the touch.
“You eat that whole box of Lucky Charms Dad brought back?” Dean asks Sam. It’s the first and obvious conclusion as Sam has been guilty of scarfing the whole box down barely out of the grocery bag.
“Nuh uh,” Sam tells him. “Promise. Box is still under my jeans.”
If Sam was giving away his secret hiding spot (the one Dean had found a couple of years ago when he was doing the kid’s laundry) then he really wasn’t feeling well. Sam’s eyes go wide and his face goes pale just before he bolts for the bathroom, barely making it to throw up into the toilet. Dean is right behind him, his hand rubbing his back in circles. By the time Sam is finished, he’s got tears in his eyes and there’s a cold sweat broken out across his skin. Dean is there with a cold, wet washcloth pressed against the back of Sam’s neck just like Mom used to. Dean scoops Sam up and put him on his hip, even though he’s too big to carry and Dean’s too little. He gets him tucked in bed, blankets pulled up this chin and Sam’s ratty old teddy bear next to him.
“Okay, Sammy, I’ll call the school. We’re staying home today.” Because Dean is ten and John is out on a hunt; they’re on their own in Arkansas right now.
“I don’t wanna miss school, Dean.” Sam’s voice is a whine and he’s giving Dean the puppy dog eyes he perfected around the time he was a year old.
Dean sits down on the edge of the bed next to him, his hand smoothing back through Sam’s hair. “Sammy, you’re puking your guts out and you’re burning up. No way you’re goin’ to school.”
“We’re making models of molecules in science today.”
“Tell you what, you get to feelin’ better and we’ll make molecule models a whole lot friggin’ better than what you’re gonna do in school.”
His words bring a wan smile to Sam’s face and he closes his eyes. Dean sighs and smoothes his hand over Sam’s hair again then picks up the phone to call Pastor Jim in Minnesota. He’s been through this before. An adult has to call the school and Jim’s always willing to let the school think he’s right there with the boys.
“Dean, you gonna stay with me?” Sam asks in a mumble.
“Yeah, Sammich, ‘course I’m gonna stay with you. Always gonna stay with you. Where the hell else would I be?”
“My tummy hurts.”
That one statement is enough to send Dean into mother hen mode. There are things that he doesn’t realize he remembers about their mother, like the way her hand went to his forehead anytime he felt bad. He echoes that movement now, his small hand pressed to Sam’s forehead, brow furrowing when he finds his skin hot to the touch.
“You eat that whole box of Lucky Charms Dad brought back?” Dean asks Sam. It’s the first and obvious conclusion as Sam has been guilty of scarfing the whole box down barely out of the grocery bag.
“Nuh uh,” Sam tells him. “Promise. Box is still under my jeans.”
If Sam was giving away his secret hiding spot (the one Dean had found a couple of years ago when he was doing the kid’s laundry) then he really wasn’t feeling well. Sam’s eyes go wide and his face goes pale just before he bolts for the bathroom, barely making it to throw up into the toilet. Dean is right behind him, his hand rubbing his back in circles. By the time Sam is finished, he’s got tears in his eyes and there’s a cold sweat broken out across his skin. Dean is there with a cold, wet washcloth pressed against the back of Sam’s neck just like Mom used to. Dean scoops Sam up and put him on his hip, even though he’s too big to carry and Dean’s too little. He gets him tucked in bed, blankets pulled up this chin and Sam’s ratty old teddy bear next to him.
“Okay, Sammy, I’ll call the school. We’re staying home today.” Because Dean is ten and John is out on a hunt; they’re on their own in Arkansas right now.
“I don’t wanna miss school, Dean.” Sam’s voice is a whine and he’s giving Dean the puppy dog eyes he perfected around the time he was a year old.
Dean sits down on the edge of the bed next to him, his hand smoothing back through Sam’s hair. “Sammy, you’re puking your guts out and you’re burning up. No way you’re goin’ to school.”
“We’re making models of molecules in science today.”
“Tell you what, you get to feelin’ better and we’ll make molecule models a whole lot friggin’ better than what you’re gonna do in school.”
His words bring a wan smile to Sam’s face and he closes his eyes. Dean sighs and smoothes his hand over Sam’s hair again then picks up the phone to call Pastor Jim in Minnesota. He’s been through this before. An adult has to call the school and Jim’s always willing to let the school think he’s right there with the boys.
“Dean, you gonna stay with me?” Sam asks in a mumble.
“Yeah, Sammich, ‘course I’m gonna stay with you. Always gonna stay with you. Where the hell else would I be?”