Can a dead heart feel? 5/
Title: Can a dead heart feel? (part-5)
Earlier Parts: 1- 2- 3- 4
Warning: Demon!Dean( But don’t worry; he’ll have (at least a few) redeeming characteristics and I don’t think I could write him as evil evil you know?
A/N- S-10 speculation. I’m NOT putting this in warnings because I’m fairly cent percent sure that show will not proceed like my fic.
Summary- Sam knew he was taking a huge risk- agreeing to this spell meant he would either risk losing everything or he would- for once- be able to save Dean. And given Dean was sporting black eyes-literally- these days; there was a good chance things wouldn’t go according to plan.
But then again, Sam wasn’t a Winchester for nothing
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By the time Sammy woke up, Dean had ascertained that the crate that had held Sammy or even the warehouse had no hidden clues to tell him how (and why) Sam had devolved into Sammy. (And yes; he had sneaked off to make the confirmations while the kid slept.) He was debating if the scrawny pimply teen from BlueDart who’d made the delivery had any more information and whether he should pay him a visit when the little tyke woke up nauseatingly cheerful.
“Dee!”
Dean grimaced at the volume- yep, Sammy’s batteries were fully charged.
“Morning, Kiddo,” He grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face and feeling the scratch of his five-o’clock shadow.
The kid jumped up on the bed, giggling at the way the mattress bounced and uncaring for the fact that Dean’s shirt was nearly slipping off his narrow shoulders by his enthusiastic leaping.
The older Winchester hid his wince at the abuse of his much-cherished memory foam but couldn’t find it in himself to protest. With a fluid motion he plucked the child off the bed; tucking him under his arm like a rolled up carpet and shook his head fondly at the fresh laughter the action elicited.
“Gotta clean you up, Stinky,”
If anything the four-year old laughed harder at that, “I’m not Stinky!”
“You are,” Dean couldn’t help retorting in childish sense-memory.
“Am not!”
“You are!”
“No!”
“Yep!”
There was a loud splash and Sammy was unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub.
For a moment there was blessed peace and Dean briefly wondered if he’d actually hurt the kid but then the little boy splashed him, giggling hysterically and Dean found himself relaxing. Eventually Sammy got bored of splashing him when he failed to react after three attempts and settled in; sitting down in the water Indian-style and moving his arm gently through the water in vague floating motions. “Bubbles?”
Dean groaned. He should have remembered that Sammy’s baths were never complete without bubbles.
Nodding before the boy could pull out his lethal puppy-eyes, he glanced once at the shelf to confirm that yes; both Winchester boys had out-grown the need for bubble-baths once they hit thirty and berated himself silently.
“Step outta the water for a minute, Kiddo,”
“Why?”
Ah yes, Sammy other favourite thing: asking questions.
Valiantly restraining the urge to simply tell the kid ‘because- I- said- so’; he helped the boy out of the water, and chose the higher road: “The water’s gotten all dirty; so I was thinking we could change it out before adding the bubbles. What’dya think?”
“Oh.” Little Sammy nodded sagely, apparently unperturbed at standing in Adam’s vesture before his big brother- it had been awhile before Sammy got shy with him, Dean remembered- and pushed the longer strands off his face. “Good idea,” The boy told him smartly.
Dean nodded. “So, why don’t you stand here and watch the water go down while get the bubbles, okay?”
Sammy agreed without protest, “Don’t take too long.”
Dean grinned, ruffling the wet strands and used his powers for the worryingly un-demon-like task of fetching bubbles from the nearest store (even though he didn’t pay for it); the water was still only half-way gone when he was back and Dean took the opportunity to help brush the kid’s teeth (he manfully ignored the petulant demands of ‘I can do it myselp!’)- Sammy wasn’t getting cavities on his watch.
Once the tub was refilled; Dean added in the bubbles, shaking them in and grinning at Sammy’s excited exclamations. Once in Sam wanted ‘horns’ and Dean could do little but indulge him.
The play time ended abruptly when Dean felt the humid heat of the bathroom shift slightly and he didn’t even have to turn around before Sammy was screaming.
---------------
Future Parts: - 6- 7
A/N- comments= love= food for my muse
Earlier Parts: 1- 2- 3- 4
Warning: Demon!Dean( But don’t worry; he’ll have (at least a few) redeeming characteristics and I don’t think I could write him as evil evil you know?
A/N- S-10 speculation. I’m NOT putting this in warnings because I’m fairly cent percent sure that show will not proceed like my fic.
Summary- Sam knew he was taking a huge risk- agreeing to this spell meant he would either risk losing everything or he would- for once- be able to save Dean. And given Dean was sporting black eyes-literally- these days; there was a good chance things wouldn’t go according to plan.
But then again, Sam wasn’t a Winchester for nothing
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the time Sammy woke up, Dean had ascertained that the crate that had held Sammy or even the warehouse had no hidden clues to tell him how (and why) Sam had devolved into Sammy. (And yes; he had sneaked off to make the confirmations while the kid slept.) He was debating if the scrawny pimply teen from BlueDart who’d made the delivery had any more information and whether he should pay him a visit when the little tyke woke up nauseatingly cheerful.
“Dee!”
Dean grimaced at the volume- yep, Sammy’s batteries were fully charged.
“Morning, Kiddo,” He grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face and feeling the scratch of his five-o’clock shadow.
The kid jumped up on the bed, giggling at the way the mattress bounced and uncaring for the fact that Dean’s shirt was nearly slipping off his narrow shoulders by his enthusiastic leaping.
The older Winchester hid his wince at the abuse of his much-cherished memory foam but couldn’t find it in himself to protest. With a fluid motion he plucked the child off the bed; tucking him under his arm like a rolled up carpet and shook his head fondly at the fresh laughter the action elicited.
“Gotta clean you up, Stinky,”
If anything the four-year old laughed harder at that, “I’m not Stinky!”
“You are,” Dean couldn’t help retorting in childish sense-memory.
“Am not!”
“You are!”
“No!”
“Yep!”
There was a loud splash and Sammy was unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub.
For a moment there was blessed peace and Dean briefly wondered if he’d actually hurt the kid but then the little boy splashed him, giggling hysterically and Dean found himself relaxing. Eventually Sammy got bored of splashing him when he failed to react after three attempts and settled in; sitting down in the water Indian-style and moving his arm gently through the water in vague floating motions. “Bubbles?”
Dean groaned. He should have remembered that Sammy’s baths were never complete without bubbles.
Nodding before the boy could pull out his lethal puppy-eyes, he glanced once at the shelf to confirm that yes; both Winchester boys had out-grown the need for bubble-baths once they hit thirty and berated himself silently.
“Step outta the water for a minute, Kiddo,”
“Why?”
Ah yes, Sammy other favourite thing: asking questions.
Valiantly restraining the urge to simply tell the kid ‘because- I- said- so’; he helped the boy out of the water, and chose the higher road: “The water’s gotten all dirty; so I was thinking we could change it out before adding the bubbles. What’dya think?”
“Oh.” Little Sammy nodded sagely, apparently unperturbed at standing in Adam’s vesture before his big brother- it had been awhile before Sammy got shy with him, Dean remembered- and pushed the longer strands off his face. “Good idea,” The boy told him smartly.
Dean nodded. “So, why don’t you stand here and watch the water go down while get the bubbles, okay?”
Sammy agreed without protest, “Don’t take too long.”
Dean grinned, ruffling the wet strands and used his powers for the worryingly un-demon-like task of fetching bubbles from the nearest store (even though he didn’t pay for it); the water was still only half-way gone when he was back and Dean took the opportunity to help brush the kid’s teeth (he manfully ignored the petulant demands of ‘I can do it myselp!’)- Sammy wasn’t getting cavities on his watch.
Once the tub was refilled; Dean added in the bubbles, shaking them in and grinning at Sammy’s excited exclamations. Once in Sam wanted ‘horns’ and Dean could do little but indulge him.
The play time ended abruptly when Dean felt the humid heat of the bathroom shift slightly and he didn’t even have to turn around before Sammy was screaming.
---------------
Future Parts: - 6- 7
A/N- comments= love= food for my muse