Can a dead heart feel? 2/?
Part-2
Wide hazel eyes blinked up at him briefly and just when Dean was sure they were getting ready to burst into tears; the tiny- perfect- pink lips opened to reveal tiny pearly whites as a voice - way higher than he’d remembered- called out cheerfully, “Dee!”
Dean swallowed- even if he could barely remember a time when Sam had been less than two feet tall, he could clearly remember that call. Still unsure how the child wasn’t freaking out over his demon-black eyes, he called out a hesitant, “Sammy?”
“Dee!” Was the happy response to his question and the demon had to pause to catch his breath.
What the Hell was Sam thinking? He found himself asking again. But then again, it was possible that Sam had gotten afoul of some witch-Damn, he hated witches!- and had been forced to resort to seeking Dean out. Which brought him to another question- Was this pint sized version of his little brother in possession of his memories?
Had to be; he guessed, because otherwise this version of Sam wouldn’t recognize Dean as he was now...Right?
“Dee!” His name was repeated for a third time- this time the tone more petulant than happy and accompanied by the definite sound of a stomping foot.
Dean shook his head, remembering that Sam never liked being ignored by his brother and headed back to the crate. Reaching in awkwardly to pull the child out and grateful that irrespective of what had been done to him by whatever spell, Sam seemed to trust him enough to allow him to lift him out.
He couldn’t help the snigger at the concept though; his brother- when normal sized, at least- could have used it as a foot-stool but this teeny-tiny version wasn’t even high enough to reach the edge of the wooden box. The thought made him glance down in surprise.
Sammy- and he couldn’t think of this two-foot nothing version of his baby bro as ‘Sam’- seemed content to stay curled up in his arms. Grateful that the mark had fallen absolutely silent for once, he brushed a hand through the silken brown strands, unable to resist blowing a raspberry on the rosy cheek at the soft giggle the action elicited.
“What happened to you, huh; Sammy?”
The child- and he was loath to think of the boy as anything but till he had undeniable proof- simply smiled beatifically at him and pressed a tiny warm palm against his cheek. “Hung-gy”
Dean shook his head, unable to keep the smile hidden any longer as he remembered how Sam had mangled his ‘R’s and ‘N’s till he was six. ...huh; that meant this version was younger than that.
His grip tightened instinctively on the small body when he thought of all the memories of his Sam in this tiny version as well. He cast a quick glance at the child in his arms and not noticing the boy having any obvious mental issues relaxed slightly. Thank God for small mercies.
Insistent tapping on his cheek by small palms brought him out of his musing.
“Hung-gy.” The boy demanded; the accompanying pout and puppy-eyes already perfected.
“Yeah, okay; let’s get you something to eat...” he debated suitable options before offering, “happy meal?”
Hazel eyes widened as the child emphatically shook his head, “Ice- kim!”
Dean grinned, “Ice-cream it is.”
Figuring out what had been done to his brother could wait.
Next
Wide hazel eyes blinked up at him briefly and just when Dean was sure they were getting ready to burst into tears; the tiny- perfect- pink lips opened to reveal tiny pearly whites as a voice - way higher than he’d remembered- called out cheerfully, “Dee!”
Dean swallowed- even if he could barely remember a time when Sam had been less than two feet tall, he could clearly remember that call. Still unsure how the child wasn’t freaking out over his demon-black eyes, he called out a hesitant, “Sammy?”
“Dee!” Was the happy response to his question and the demon had to pause to catch his breath.
What the Hell was Sam thinking? He found himself asking again. But then again, it was possible that Sam had gotten afoul of some witch-Damn, he hated witches!- and had been forced to resort to seeking Dean out. Which brought him to another question- Was this pint sized version of his little brother in possession of his memories?
Had to be; he guessed, because otherwise this version of Sam wouldn’t recognize Dean as he was now...Right?
“Dee!” His name was repeated for a third time- this time the tone more petulant than happy and accompanied by the definite sound of a stomping foot.
Dean shook his head, remembering that Sam never liked being ignored by his brother and headed back to the crate. Reaching in awkwardly to pull the child out and grateful that irrespective of what had been done to him by whatever spell, Sam seemed to trust him enough to allow him to lift him out.
He couldn’t help the snigger at the concept though; his brother- when normal sized, at least- could have used it as a foot-stool but this teeny-tiny version wasn’t even high enough to reach the edge of the wooden box. The thought made him glance down in surprise.
Sammy- and he couldn’t think of this two-foot nothing version of his baby bro as ‘Sam’- seemed content to stay curled up in his arms. Grateful that the mark had fallen absolutely silent for once, he brushed a hand through the silken brown strands, unable to resist blowing a raspberry on the rosy cheek at the soft giggle the action elicited.
“What happened to you, huh; Sammy?”
The child- and he was loath to think of the boy as anything but till he had undeniable proof- simply smiled beatifically at him and pressed a tiny warm palm against his cheek. “Hung-gy”
Dean shook his head, unable to keep the smile hidden any longer as he remembered how Sam had mangled his ‘R’s and ‘N’s till he was six. ...huh; that meant this version was younger than that.
His grip tightened instinctively on the small body when he thought of all the memories of his Sam in this tiny version as well. He cast a quick glance at the child in his arms and not noticing the boy having any obvious mental issues relaxed slightly. Thank God for small mercies.
Insistent tapping on his cheek by small palms brought him out of his musing.
“Hung-gy.” The boy demanded; the accompanying pout and puppy-eyes already perfected.
“Yeah, okay; let’s get you something to eat...” he debated suitable options before offering, “happy meal?”
Hazel eyes widened as the child emphatically shook his head, “Ice- kim!”
Dean grinned, “Ice-cream it is.”
Figuring out what had been done to his brother could wait.
Next