Supernatural: Wee!Dean Series
Title: Wee!Dean Series
Author: thedeepeekay
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing, Characters: Sam, wee!Dean, some wee!Jo, a bit of Ellen and Bobby
Rating: PG. Because at the beginning Sam is still using bad words.
Spoilers: S2
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 7445 words
Status: WIP, though currently abandoned. No bad cliffhanger, so it's safe to read.
Summary: Being the older brother is a lot more difficult than Sam always thought.
Author's Note: Remember when there was baby!fic popping up all over fandom? Yes I gave in to peer pressure. *hangs head in shame* But I drew the line at inventing an actual baby.
Written as a series of ficlets, everything from A like angsty to Z like… uhm… zingy?
As always, not beta'd.
Crossposted to / originally posted at: Some of them, my personal journal (flocked, though):
Parts I and II here.
Part III here.
Part IV here.
Part VIII was originally posted separately, but I decided to put all parts together now.
Links to other parts: Interludes (crossovers with rahmi's puppy demons 'verse) here and here.
Written: November 2007
Wee!Dean Series
Part I
In which Sam has to face monsters of a very different kind.
"Whoa whoa whoa, stop it right now!"
Sam rushes out of the shower, barely taking the time to wrap a towel around his hips, upon hearing the sounds of a desperate, cruel, to-the-bone fight taking place in the motel room. Again.
When he can actually see the two monsters going at each other, he hesitates. Just this once he might be in over his head. Especially with Dean not there to watch his back. Not that he'd ever tell his obnoxious brother that he makes him feel safe.
But whining, even if it's only mentally, won't get him anywhere. So he tightens the towel and carefully advances on the two demons currently having it out in front of him, dismantling the room in the process, and shrieking at a volume that should make the neighbours topple over themselves in their hurry to reach for the phone and call the cops. Whom he so doesn't want to meet right now, because honestly? He can't explain any of this. It's not even making sense to him. Wishing once more, again quietly, that Dean was there to take care of everything, he goes about breaking the battle up (if blood has been shed, he can call it a battle, right?).
"Huh, that was easy." Granted, his arms are covered in scratches, and wee demon no. 2 is still adding some more to his left arm, but all in all, grabbing each of them around their waist and just lifting them up seems to have done the job. Yeah, sometimes it's good being big.
"Now, what's going on here?" He tries to project authority, which is completely lost on no. 2, who is still clawing his arm.
No. 1 though looks at him with huge, accusing green eyes, crosses his arms in front of him (probably managing to look more authoritative than he does, wearing nothing but a towel and holding one mini-sized tornado with each hand, but he's never going to admit that either) and blurts out, "She started it!"
The sandbox excuse. Figures.
At least that gets no. 2's attention. She stops using him as a scratching post and starts to squirm in his grasp instead, trying to reach her opponent and rip out some more of his hair. "Not true!", she squeals.
Sam cringes. She may be small, but he highly suspects someone taught her how to use her voice as a weapon.
"Yes true!"
"Not true!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
As soon as she too has crossed her arms and tries to look convincing instead of ripping out someone's throat, he sets them down on the beds (not on the same one. He's still afraid she'd claw out no. 1's eyes if he happened to be within reach. And he's rather fond of those eyes).
It takes him exactly two minutes to get dressed, throw their bags into the Impala's trunk, bundle the minis back up into the blankets, and get the hell out of the place before the cops arrive and ask him if everything's alright and why he has two screaming, naked kids sitting in his room. Because their clothes are all wet from falling into that spring, and even if they were dry, wouldn't fit them anymore, officer, probably wouldn't work. Even if it's the truth. Because the last thing he needs right now is being locked away for kidnapping, while Child Welfare lead away his not-so-big brother. Right now he thinks maybe he should let them take Jo, though.
Part II
In which the backseat is a war zone.
Okay, he's definitely going to give Jo to Child Welfare. If she's still breathing by the time they get caught. He sneaks a glance in the rear mirror to make sure that, yep, she is still breathing. Just not doing much else, except glaring daggers at Dean.
Well, it's her own fault. Really.
Dean may not be himself (as can easily be seen by the unprofessional way he is pressing her against the back seat, actually needing both his hands to hold her still. His Dean, adult Dean, or even Dean in a child's body, would only need one hand, leaving the other one free to throttle her with.), but when no. 2 (he doesn't really want to call her Jo) started to throw a temper tantrum and rip at the upholstery, Dean growled, told her that now he won't hold back anymore because she's a girl, and in one go pacified both the back seat and Sam's mind.
He hadn't recognized the kids that had climbed out of the spring. Of course he'd know they were shrunken versions of Dean and Jo, But he hadn't seen his brother in that kid. He didn't know how Dean had been like at maybe five years. But the growled "No one's messing with my baby!", and yes, mini-Dean has actually said that, was just so typically Dean that it almost broke Sam's heart. And is the reason he can finally breath again. Whatever happened exactly, that's still his brother. Not his big brother anymore, but Dean. Just very immature. … Well, even more so than normal.
The girl on the other hand is a real bitch. Maybe three years old, and he's not sure there isn't really a demon hiding in her. Always want, want, want, and when she doesn't get it, she screams, squeals, bites, scratches. If little Jo was like this, Ellen's the bravest woman he's ever met.
He pulls over, stopping the Impala in the empty corner of the parking lot farthest away from the entrance. Wouldn't do to have someone pass by and see the naked kids in the car while he's shopping.
He turns around. Please, please listen. Tell me you recognize your name.
"Dean."
The boy looks up, green eyes bright and innocent. "She started it!" And trust his brother to make him laugh even now. Dean's good at that, cheering him up when he really needs it. Not, well, you know, that he's ever going to admit that. Still, this wide-eyed innocent act is so Dean that he can't help but feel that everything's gonna be okay.
And as if to confirm his new-found optimism Jo does not, as he expected her to, chime in and have the two of them pick up their yes-no dance again, but instead she's going for ladylike, accepting the rude boy on top of her with an air of suffering and slight boredom, because all of this is obviously totally beneath her.
Fine. One problem less to deal with right now.
"Yes, I know she did. Dean, listen. I have to go over to the supermarket for a minute and get the two of you some clothes. You are gonna stay here in the car and be quiet, okay?"
Dean frowns, thinks, and then that defiant, rebellious gleam appears in his eyes. Oh-oh.
"Of course only if you think you can look after Jo and keep her quiet."
"'Course I can!"
Really, how can he even suggest otherwise? It's outrageous! Sam congratulates himself on his quick thinking and gets out of the car. Then he turns back.
"Are you sure-"
"Don't be such a girl, Sammy, and go already!"
You are a bad person when you feel the urge to punch a five-year-old in the face, right?
Part III
In which holy water comes with an use-by date.
One of the back doors of the Impala is standing open. That much he can see as soon as he leaves the supermarket. Fuck. He walks faster. Not enough to draw unwanted attention. He just hurries a little bit. Of course he doesn't come back to find the two monsters in the same situation he left them in. They probably started fighting again. Wandered off. He jogs. Got picked up by some responsible adult who was wondering what two naked kids were doing all alone in a parking lot in the middle of the night. Something could have found them. He's running now, his heart pounding so hard his chest should explode. Neither Jo nor Dean can defend themselves the way they are now. Don't even know how. He's at the Impala now, grabbing the half-open door and moving it so he can look into the car.
And instead of ripped upholstery, blood and two sets of empty, glassy eyes he sees two tiny bodies huddled in the doorway.
He's just taking a deep breath, because those two are in for a rant, when he notices the way Dean's slumped over, his whole posture radiating misery, and how Jo hovers over him protectively, but seems fine herself.
"What happened? Are you okay? Dean, are you sick?" he should just give up on the whole concept of calming down. Every time he tries, something else happens.
"Sam, I'm not feeling so good." His little big brother doesn't sound so good, either. What if he's sick? What if that well didn't just shrink them? What if he's going to die? He can't lose Dean, he just can't! Dean's supposed to be the strong one, the one who always knows what to do, the one who's always there. He's-
"He drank this." Jo holds up a bottle. The bottle of holy water they keep in the glove compartment.
He shudders. Looks like you got lucky again, Sammy. He laughs shakily at the voice in his head that sounds like his annoying idiot of a brother who's not dying. And now why would Dean drink holy water? Okay, stupid question. He got thirsty, so he just decided to grab he nearest bottle available. Even as an adult Dean's not big on thinking things through. He should probably be grateful that they didn't have anything worse lying around than a bottle full of stale holy water.
"He said to try and drink it, to make us big again. And he tried first. So's it don't work, I don't... " She trails off, helplessly rubbing Dean's back.
Way to go, Sammy. You think your brother's a rash, greedy five-year-old, when he's actually been thinking about this fucked-up situation, came up with a pretty good idea, and was even being chivalrous and protecting the lady from potential harm. And he's obviously managed to convince Jo that he's her knight in shining armour somewhere along the way. Sam's not sure whether to love or hate Dean right now.
When he sees that miserable little face though, with the big pleading eyes, he drops to his knees and joins Jo in rubbing Dean's back. He may still be Dean, but at the same time he's just a kid right now, and that kid is sick and scared.
"You should have waited for me."
Dean shrinks. Well done, Sam. You'd be a great father.
"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Nothing happened, you'll feel better soon."
No reaction.
"That was a really good idea, you know."
A shrug. Not the cocky grin he's been hoping for, but better than nothing.
"I brought you some nice clothes."
Two little faces turn towards him, looking expectantly. Bingo.
Maybe he's not such a bad temporary daddy after all.
Part IV
In which Sam is a law-abiding citizen.
The universe hates him. He's halfway to the Roadhouse, because facing Ellen can't be worse that having to endure the Fairy Princess From Hell, and in Hicksville, Middle of Nowhere there's a nutcase on the loose. From the cautious way the cops are peering into every car they stop, and the utter lack of information on he radio as to why exactly said nutcase was locked away, the guy must be worse than some of the things they hunt. Which doesn't concern him. For all he cares the guy can go on a killing spree. But there's one reason why he would love to blow the bastard's head off right now. Those cops. The ones that are blocking every single fu- stupid road.
And he can't even curse in his own thoughts anymore because little Dean has this way of looking at him, you know, as if he could see right into his mind and read it like a book. Better than a book, considering that mini-Dean, as it turns out, can't read at all.
At least his passengers have made peace. And Dean doesn't look queasy anymore. He does show an even more nauseous expression every time Jo calls him her Prince Charming, though. Yeah, he's pretty sure his brother wants to see the last of the self-proclaimed "Princess of Imbala", too. Especially since she can't pronounce his baby's name right.
Two more cars, then it's his turn to convince the nice uniformed people that he's an upstanding citizen and supposed to have these kids with him, honest, officers.
He's pretty sure Dean understood what he was trying to tell him about being quiet and not mentioning monsters and weapons. But now he wished he'd bought Jo that Island Princess Barbie to keep her busy.
"Okay, here we go. And remember, if they ask, I'm your brother. Big brother. Yours too, Jo."
"When we're grown up we're gonna marry!"
Luckily for him Dean is too shocked at that revelation to start a fight, because now he's stopping next to two cold, tired, moody cops.
Smile, Sam, smile. He hates his brother. Or the little voice in his head mocking like his brother. Or both.
"Good night, officer, what can I do for you?"
The man asks him the usual questions. Have you seen this man, anything suspicious, don't pick up any hitchhikers, yada yada yada.
"Excuse me, sir, you do realize that these kids need safety seats?"
Great. While the guy has been distracting him, the woman did sneak around the car insidiously and is now looking through one of the back windows, where Dean is glaring at her while he's trying to shake off Jo's hand.
Just keep smiling, Sammy.
"Ah, yes, of course, officer. It's just that my parents' car's broken, and they forgot to take the seats out when they left it at the garage. So…", he trails off. Somehow this sounded better when he practiced it five minutes ago.
The cop is smiling encouragingly at Jo now, who's waving. Dean's still frowning. He's sure the woman sees the ill-fitting, cheap clothes.
"So these are…?"
"My siblings."
"Do you have any ID, Mister…?"
Not good. Now both of them are standing next to his window, and he just knows that everybody in the two police cars on the other side of the road block is looking at them, too.
"Well…"
He's looking at Dean in the rear mirror. He can't help it. He knows that right now his brother is just a little boy and has only a very vague idea what's going on, but he still turns to him for help. To come up with some quick explanation (that, if you stopped to think about it, you'd realize is completely insane) and flash that snake-charmer smile of his (which is why people never stop to think about his explanations before it's too late).
And then Dean does something that's either the worst or the best thing he could do (Sam will make up his mind when he can actually stop and think about it). He bursts into tears.
Both the cops reach for their guns.
And for Sam the world stops. Worst thing he could do. Now they think he's kidnapped the two, and he can't break through the road block, and when they check him and find out he's a wanted criminal they'll take them away, they'll take Dean, they-
A small body flies through the gap between the seats and presses to him, clings to him for dear life, and he can feel Dean shake with every sob.
"Don't let them take me away, Sam, please, don't let them take me away from you!"
His brother is crying his little heart out, desperate, his eyes huge and scared when they are not screwed up tightly and hidden in Sam's jacket. And he's a goddamned genius. Still with the mind-reading, though.
The cops waver. Yeah, look, he likes me. I'm not the one he's afraid of. That's you!
Then he hears a whimper from the back seat, and tiny hands reach out to grab his left arm. Then it starts.
"Boo hoo! Don't go 'way, Sam, don't! Boo hoo hooooo"
He thanks god that little children can't resist a good weeping, and as he sees the cops flinch at Jo's high frequency cries, he knows he's won. So he helps Dean to climb completely on his lap, Jo to somehow squeeze and climb past the seat and cling to the both of them, and just comforts and coos and is the perfect older brother while the cops look decidedly guilty and uncomfortable and politely ask him to just pass the block and stop there at the side of the road until the little dearies have calmed down, if he please.
Which of course he does, law-abiding citizen that he is (and he can feel the Dean-voice in his head roll its eyes at that). And till he's made it past the block and the police cars waiting behind it (driving with two small kids on your lap is more difficult as you'd think), his protégées have stopped crying already.
He scoops Jo up and puts her into the back, where she tiredly snuggles into one of the blankets and promptly drops off to sleep.
The he turns to his genius brother.
"Dude, that was awesome! They believed…"
And is shocked to find Dean's hold tighten, and his sobs pick up again.
"Please don't leave me, Sam, please! I'll be good, I promise! But please don't leave me. Don't let anybody take me away!"
Shit. Looks like little Dean is less of a manipulative actor and more of a scared child.
"Sh, sh, Dean, it's okay. No one's gonna take you away! And I'm not leaving you. See? I'm right here. Not going anywhere."
He holds the small body close to him. When Dean doesn't show any sign of letting go after fifteen minutes, he untangles his arms and starts driving again.
He gets off the road at the next motel, books a room, and carries the kids to bed.
Dean's not letting go all night.
Part V
In which Sam is driving too fast.
He's driving too fast. He knows it. Way too fast, on a dark road, while rain is pouring down and obscuring his vision even more.
Way too fast to drive with a small child sitting in the car.
His little/big brother is sleeping, like an angel.
Dean always has been handsome, his success with the ladies proof not only of his 2000-watt charm, but of a face so pretty Sam's always surprised the next best demon or ghost doesn't feel the urge to carve it up out of spite.
But now, at this size, and so fucking helpless Sam tries not to think about it, he's adorable. Cute. Innocent.
And boy, is he glad he's sleeping. Because otherwise he'd be bitching about Sam trying to crash his baby, and what the fu-, what the h-, what does he think he's doing, chasing her over a gravel-covered so-called road like this, at night, in this weather, and he'd do so using words that hearing out of a child's mouth still shocks Sam.
He'd happily put up with that, though. But those instances are happening less and less frequently.
He's afraid that the little kid is replacing his big brother.
No, he's not afraid.
He's scared.
More scared than ever before in his life.
Because he doesn’t know what to do.
He has no idea how to help Dean.
There's nothing for him to kill.
And that's all he ever knew to do for Dean.
Yes, he knows he should have done more.
Sometimes he wonders which one of them is the emotional cripple.
Dean always gave him everything. All his attention, all his love. He never said it, but he didn't have to. Sam knows why he had a relatively happy, carefree childhood, no matter how weird the circumstances. He knows who explained everything to him, showed him the world, protected him from the monsters under his bed when all Dad would do was give him a gun.
He knows why he got to learn. And why Dean never had a chance in school.
And he knows what he did when he took off to Stanford.
He knew it then, too.
Still did it. Took off, as if it were nothing. As if he'd leave nothing, no one behind. As if he didn't leave Dean behind.
And then he just… well, he isn't quite sure. All he knows is he never called. Never wrote to one of the addresses he knew they, Dean would get his mail.
He likes to think that this had nothing to do with his brother, and everything with himself and Dad. That he did it to avoid Dad.
Or that he did it because it was best, a clean cut, for all of them. He wouldn't bother them, burden them, burden Dean anymore. Completely start over, without needing him to sacrifice anything, sacrifice the chances Dean himself had at getting a life of his own.
But sometimes he wonders if he never called because he knows he took away the one thing from Dean his brother really cared about. Needed.
Because he broke his heart.
And if he had called, he might have, could have, would have heard the brokenness.
That Dean let him go, never tried to make him come back, makes it even worse.
His stupid, altruistic, self-sacrificing, always thinking of others, always thinking of Sam first brother.
Well, now you know how he felt.
And that he's not that strong. He's too egoistic. It had felt as if someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing his heart, and he. Just. He couldn't do it.
He knows it would have been for the best. For Dean's best. And it's not like he couldn't have stayed, too.
But when they sat down with him at that table, careful, so careful, as if they were afraid he'd bolt at the first sudden movement, Dean and Jo sitting in a corner on the dirty floor and playing fu- frigging house with Jo's Barbie. When they told him that it had been too long to hope this would just wear off by itself. That they couldn't find a way to reverse it. That he knew himself, myths of a fountain of youths were known everywhere, all over the world. But not a single one of them even hinted at a counteragent.
That it would be best for Dean to stay here with Josephine. To live here with Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby.
To accept that he'd lost his big brother.
Of course they didn't say this last sentence. No. He was to stay with them. They'd just raise them, give them a happy childhood, let them grow up safely. Without monsters. Without hunts.
Turning them into someone else.
That's when he bolted. Thrown his glass at Ellen and Bobby, who had sat there with those carefully sympathetic expressions on their faces, showing him a closed front. Grabbed Dean, who even now is holding Jo's Barbie doll in his hands, and who was too surprised to do more than blink once or twice before they were in the Impala and he took off, pushing her as far as she would go, on the brink of hysteria thinking that she didn't want to give up on Dean, either.
And now he wonders what that says about him. He knows what growing up like this does to a child. Been there, done that. He always wanted normal. And Dean always did everything he could to give it to him. Even let him go.
But now that he can reciprocate, he… can't.
He looks at Dean, the only family he's got left, the only one he could always be sure of, whom he owes to return the favour, think about what's best for him, let bygones be bygones. Do what his father never did for him.
He tries to drive even faster.
Part VI
In which Sam is a real Dad.
"Stay. In. The. Car."
Sam's pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn't feel the headache coming anymore. It's already there, sitting right between his eyes, and he's pretty sure it won't be going anywhere till this hunt is over and done with.
"But I wanna help!"
Not that it's the ghost that's giving him trouble.
"Please, Sammy?"
No, it's his brother, who's, no matter what size, a real pain in the ass. Head. Whatever.
"Dean. I explained it to you, remember?"
Obviously not. Dean blinks at him, face blank aside from the lingering residue of this pleading expression that he's so good at Sam can actually feel a twitch in his stomach when he sees it.
In the last couple of weeks his brother not only picked up Sam's puppy dog eyes shtick, but combined it with a quivering bottom lip, perfecting his routine. Which, most of the time? Is awesome. The chicks are even faster to fall all over themselves to get him what he wants, and now he even can charm some 50-odd years old official into discovering her stunted, repressed maternal instincts and cooing at him and handing him cookie after cookie while Sam searches through her files. Really, that was amazing. The woman was so fixated on Dean, he could just round her desk and open drawer after drawer until he found the file he was looking for, and when he left with the file in his right and Dean's smaller hand in his left one, all she did was wave and call 'Bye-bye, honey!'.
Yes, his little brother is all kinds of cute. Soft, golden hair, now long enough that you can tousle it and mess it up, which Dean does, every morning, in front of the mirror. Sam tried a side parting once (and to his shame actually awww'd when he was done), but Dean just looked at him, seriously explained that a boy with neat hair is a sissy, and then reached up and ruined all of Sam's effort in two seconds. Huge, bright, shining green cat eyes (and how he manages to do the puppy trick with cat eyes is beyond Sam), innocent like those of an angel. A collection of freckles around his nose, so perfect they almost look as if someone placed each one there individually. And a ready grin to show his perfect tiny white teeth and enslave everyone who doesn't look away in time.
God, he loves his brother. It still hurts like hell, the thought that this is permanent. That from now on, he's the big brother. He's the one to protect Dean, not the other way around. But he's getting used to it. Sometimes he thinks they really can do this.
And then there are times like this.
A hunt. An easy one. Research done in not even half an hour, thanks to google and certain cooing clerks, and the actual hunting part will be done in two minutes.
If Sam ever makes it as far as the house.
Seven times he's had to turn around again. Because he turned around and saw Dean following him, or heard him, or just plain felt him.
Dean, who listened carefully when Sam explained that he'd only be gone a couple of minutes, that Dean was to wait in the car where he was safe.
Yes, now Sam knows what a mistake that was.
Now he's being followed by a mini-hunter, clinging to the bottle of holy water he took out of the glove compartment once more (he would have expected Dean to steer clear of that bottle after drinking its contents had made him sick, but his brother seems to think it's a cure-it-all and repel-all-evil, wrapped in one.), who thinks he has to protect him.
Sometimes traces of the older, adult Dean still shine through. Sam wonders if the fact that Dean's taken to always calling him 'Sammy' (not even the occasional 'Sam' anymore) is one of them. If he's trying to be reassuring, using the old nickname. And if so, which one of the two of them he's trying to comfort.
But he's almost completely just a kid now. A small child who doesn't know how to defend himself against monsters, and if he knew would just not be able to do so on a physical level. A child who obviously is too young to understand Sam's explanation that the ghost is not dangerous for him, as long as Dean stays safely inside the car. That Dean's presence would only distract Sam, and endanger both of them.
"Now listen. I don't need your protection. You'll stay in the car until I come back. You won't get out. No matter what. That's an order."
Dean doesn't look at him, his head lowered, his eyes hidden in the shadow.
"Is that clear?"
"Yes sir."
Not mumbled. Clearly audible and enunciated.
Just the way Dad has taught them.
Taught Dean.
Because Sam has had his brother to teach him everything. However Dean managed to virtually raise him all by himself without ever snapping at him, Sam doesn't know.
But he knows that right now, as he turns away from the Impala and the little figure sitting forlornly on the passenger seat, he hates himself more than he ever hated Dad.
Part VII
In which there is Christmas fluff.
"Kid, do you think I put that No vacancy sign up for fun?"
The guy's voice is dripping with sarcasm. And he's looking at them as if Sam was stupid. Okay, he probably is a little over challenged, the way the whole motel is buzzing with guests, and he looks more like the bouncer than the manager. But that's no reason to use that tone of voice. Time for his secret weapon.
He pokes Dean.
No one can resist his little brother.
No one.
But he's still kind of unnerved from when he spent two hours searching for that ghost, only to come back to the Impala and find it standing right in front of the passenger seat window and cooing at his brother. That was seriously creepy. And he now insists on a two inch layer of salt on the car's floor. Dean can bitch all he wants. The salt stays.
The man behind the desk sighs. Ha. A guy built like a wrestler and looking about as inviting as a bear with a tooth ache.
No match for Dean.
"Look, I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't even offer you a broom closet." The guy shrugs, his eyes wandering from Dean to Sam and back.
"It's the da- stupid Deer's Day. Same every year. Sorry."
Okay, he does sound sorry. And he's watching his mouth in front of Dean, which suddenly makes him a much more likeable person in Sam's book. He wonders if Bouncer has kids of his own.
But they still need a place to stay.
And the only reason he cares about Deer's Day, the local version of Groundhog Day, traditionally held on December 21, the beginning of winter, to predict how long and harsh the cold season is going to be, but just as ridiculous, is because he suspects the deer to be a man-eating monster.
"But if you don't mind staying out of town…"
Sam looks up to meet Bouncer's eye. Looks like the guy might be of help after all.
"You know, I got this little cabin about an hour out. Not much. No tv or microwave or anything, but it's got four walls, a roof, and a fireplace. And cell reception's good."
He smiles at Dean, and in the process finally convincing Sam that he's behind that desk for no other reason but to with one look scare off anyone who ignores the No vacancy sign and tries to annoy the staff.
"I sometimes take my kids out there for the weekend. They like it. My youngest is about your age, you know."
Okay, maybe that smile is not as bad as he had thought. Actually, he's kinda nice.
So four hours later they are settled in a small, simple, but comfy cabin, much to Sam's relief in the opposite direction to where the deer is to be expected the day after tomorrow. (But he's still not going to let Dean out of his sight.)
Bouncer (who turns out to be a Dave) even provided them with fresh food because he's got cans and dry food like noodles and stuff and some bacon, but no fresh stuff, and kids need to eat healthy, with fruits and vegetables and stuff. Sam just couldn't bring himself to tell Dave that Dean as a matter of principle never eats anything that could be called healthy (it's a minor miracle he deigns to eat the pickles on his burgers). He even gave them a pair of boots and a warm coat for Dean because the boys have grown out of them and Jeannie's not gonna wear anything without unicorns or flowers or at least some pink glitter, you know, girly stuff, and it might snow tonight, and then he's gonna want to play outside. He even showed Dean how to make s'mores while they were waiting for his wife, a cheery, small, round woman who looks like the archetype of a mother, to finish bustling around the house (turns out Dave is the manager, and just has to cross the street to get home) and having Dean try on whole closets full of cast-offs. And when the two of them found out that they are orphans and Sam is looking after his brother all by himself, they even had to stay for dinner, a loud, busy, happy affair featuring the Bouncer parents, three grandparents, four employees, and twelve children (four of them Bouncers, two best friends, and the oldest boy's girlfriend, the rest the employees' kids), and Sam and Dean. Dean's a bit intimidated at first, but then has a hell of a time, grinning and smiling and charming everyone from Jeannie to Grandpa Bouncer.
Sam's still glad when they finally do make it back to the Impala and the peace and quiet of non other's company but Dean's. He's a Winchester. He's just not used to a bustle like that.
Neither is Dean, who promptly falls asleep the second Sam starts the engine. Sam has to carry him inside when they reach the cabin. But that way he can light up the fire place, lay salt lines, stash away their provisions, Dean's new clothes, and go through his notes on the deer without having a hyper Dean beg him for s'mores.
And then he climbs into bed next to Dean (he learned the hard way that at least Dean's subconsciousness still remembers ghosts and monsters and demons, and while waking up to find a crying and scared Dean cling to him as if both their lives depend on it is not his idea of a good night, it sure beats waking up to his brother screaming on the other side of the room and having to get up and over to his bed before he can wrap his arms around him and hug him and tell him it's okay and it was just a dream and he's there, and not going anywhere, and they are safe).
"Sammy!"
He's awake in a second, taking in the fact that when he reaches for Dean his hands only find an empty space, and then the happy, excited tone in his brother's voice registering before he can panic. Good. Whatever it is, it's clearly not important enough that he can't turn around, bury his face in the pillow, and fall asleep again.
"Get up, Sammy! Get up! There's snow!"
Ah yes. They haven't been anywhere with snow since… before. Better not think about that now he's so contentedly comfortable. Anyway, now Dean is ready to heart attack over a patchy layer of slush. Hopefully that stuff'll away before he has to get out and look for the deer.
"Sammyyyy!"
Aw crap. Now the little brat is actually bouncing on the bed. Sam grabs Dean's discarded pillow and tries to shield his ears from his squealing brother.
"C'mon, Sammy!"
The bed stills as his brother jumps off and runs back to the window.
"Look, the Impala is gone!"
And suddenly Dean gets what he wants. Sam is out of bed and next to him faster than anyone should ever have to get out of bed.
"Da- Fu- Funny. How funny."
Okay, not one of his best cover-ups. But he can't be expected to come up with a good one right after jumping out of bed.
There's at least four feet of pristine, white, powdery snow out there. The Impala is nothing but a shapeless elevation on what Sam knows must be the drive way.
"Can I go out and play? Can I? Can I?"
The snow's higher than Dean. In one single night. The road's completely gone. How is he supposed to get out of here? To town? Hunting?
"Sammy? Please?"
Well, nothing he can do about that. At least now he knows why Dave gave them enough food to last them weeks. Plus Dean's got warm clothes to play in the snow.
"Sure, kiddo. Let's get you dressed up, and then we'll build a snow man. What do you think?"
The grin on Dean's face says I think you're the best brother ever.
And seeing as he lets Dean win ever single snowball fight, digs a way to the Impala's passenger door for him, and does not build one snowman, but two (But Sammy, he is all alone now. We have to build him a brother!), he agrees.
He calls Dave, who says he could send someone to pick them up, if they wanted to. Sam declines with a thanks, but no thanks.
Two days later they grab Dave's axe (Sam's too lazy to clear the snow off the Impala's trunk) and get themselves a Christmas tree. It's a small one, and there's just a bunch of apples and tangerines and popcorn they slid on a string for decoration. But Dean actually drools over the present he already got him a couple of weeks ago, and only ever takes his new holster, complete with fitting holy water flacon, off when he's taking a shower or going to bed and then it's next to him on the pillow).
Sam thinks it's the best Christmas ever.
They can come back and kill the deer next year.
Part VIII
In which there is a witch.
A/N: This one is dedicated to seascribe, because wing!fic makes her squee.
He's tired. He's tired, and has a headache, and is bruised, and the throbbing pain in his left shoulder tells him that, while it's nothing serious, it'll make him think about every movement twice tomorrow.
And the worst part?
The fu- da- stupid witch got away.
Laughed him in the face when she took off on her broom. Waved. Winked. As if the two of them where best friends and shared some kind of secret.
And flying on a broom, cliché much?
Anyway, he knows her name now. Got a job, a family, friends. She won't just up and leave tonight. And tomorrow he'll find out where she lives. Or walk back into the café where she works.
He wonders if witches are always such bitches (he can say bitches. 'Bitch' is a zoological term, so he's allowed to say 'bitch' in front of Dean as loud and often as he wants), or only to Halloween.
Come to think of it, pretty much every witch they ran into they met around Halloween.
Huh.
Climbing out of the car takes place in slow motion.
Think later, Sammy. Tired now. Bed time for little girls.
One-handedly searching for the key, he guesses that his inner voice sounding like big Dean when it's making fun of him or being immature, but like little Dean when he's about to do something dangerous or, well, cursing, makes him weird.
But wait, he already is weird. So inner voices don't really matter, right?
Hee.
Lucky him.
Heehee.
…
He's really tired.
Stupid witch.
At least he's got no cuts and bruises where Dean can see them, so they should be in bed pretty soon.
Oh, hey, there's the key. Other hand.
Opening the door he braces himself for getting tackleglomped by three and a half foot of angsty brother.
Instead there's silence.
Miraculously very awake again, he puts away the key and draws the gun instead. Then he sneaks inside.
Everything looks fine. Minus one very awake little brother of course. And Dean never goes to bed while he's on a hunt. But still, he scrutinizes the rumpled blankets on the bed to see if there's a kid under them.
That's when he hears it.
A soft, faint noise. A choked sob. From the bathroom.
And he's very proud that he doesn't storm in to immediately shot anything and anyone causing Dean to make such a sound.
Instead he slowly, quietly nudges the door open, just enough to look through.
Oh.
Oh!
He opens the door.
"Dean?"
And if this was his big brother, he'd try to hide how scared he is, crack a joke, and flash that annoying Don't be such a girl, Sammy! smile. But it's not.
Which is why the moment the boy looks up and sees him, he lunges at him, and now, now Sam finds his arms full of scared little brother.
"Make them go away."
The sobs are not choked anymore. It's as if Sam's arrival broke the dam.
"Sammy, please make them go away!"
Now what's he to say? He can't make them go away. But he knows who can. And from the way that witch winked at him, which by the way is making much more sense now, she'll do so when he tells her to. And pout and ask if he has no sense of humor. That's the last time any stranger, cute waitress or not, gets to call his brother a little angel!
So he hugs Dean and smoothes his hair and tries not to touch the pristinely white, feathery wings.
Tomorrow that witch is going to pay!
***
"Aw come on, don't you have even the slightest bit of humor, big guy?"
He knew it.
"No. Make. Them. Go. Away."
Because the next time someone stops them to comment Dean's adorable costume he's going to start screaming. And won't stop again until his vocal cords give up.
"Oh, but it's Halloween!"
She turns to Dean, who's slurping his milk shake and scowls at everyone stupid enough to smile at him.
"Don't you like them, Dean? I just wanted to do you a favor!"
Yeah sure. Because no way suddenly sprouting wings would scare anyone, least of all some kid. Or said kid's brother, but well, let's not talk about him.
"I hate them. They are ugly. And I hate you."
That's his brother. Complete with death glare. Can she do her thing now, please?
"But they are very beautiful. And make a nice costume. They'll disappear of their own at midnight anyway!"
While Sam files that reassuring piece of information away, he puts his arm on the table, forcing her to get out of Deans face and deal with him again.
"He doesn't like them. Neither do I. Make them go away. Now."
A theatrical sigh. Oh yes, poor misunderstood witch.
"Okay, okay. Gimme a moment to concentrate. Hach. Are you sure, Dean?"
"Yes. They are ugly." And then the manipulative little brat looks at the floor, and adds, as if it actually were an afterthought, "Black of course…"
The waitress beams.
Dean does his innocent act.
And Sam hates them both.
He of course leaves the café with a black-winged little boy. Who is happy and bubbling on and on about what they'll have to do now and how Sammy has to take him to trick or treat aka get loads of sweets later. And bounces and flaps his wings.
Sam probably should be grateful Dean can't actually fly with them. Because then? He'd really be in trouble.
…
And he does look kinda cute.
After all, it's just for a couple of hours.
Author: thedeepeekay
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing, Characters: Sam, wee!Dean, some wee!Jo, a bit of Ellen and Bobby
Rating: PG. Because at the beginning Sam is still using bad words.
Spoilers: S2
Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.
Length: 7445 words
Status: WIP, though currently abandoned. No bad cliffhanger, so it's safe to read.
Summary: Being the older brother is a lot more difficult than Sam always thought.
Author's Note: Remember when there was baby!fic popping up all over fandom? Yes I gave in to peer pressure. *hangs head in shame* But I drew the line at inventing an actual baby.
Written as a series of ficlets, everything from A like angsty to Z like… uhm… zingy?
As always, not beta'd.
Crossposted to / originally posted at: Some of them, my personal journal (flocked, though):
Parts I and II here.
Part III here.
Part IV here.
Part VIII was originally posted separately, but I decided to put all parts together now.
Links to other parts: Interludes (crossovers with rahmi's puppy demons 'verse) here and here.
Written: November 2007
Wee!Dean Series
Part I
In which Sam has to face monsters of a very different kind.
"Whoa whoa whoa, stop it right now!"
Sam rushes out of the shower, barely taking the time to wrap a towel around his hips, upon hearing the sounds of a desperate, cruel, to-the-bone fight taking place in the motel room. Again.
When he can actually see the two monsters going at each other, he hesitates. Just this once he might be in over his head. Especially with Dean not there to watch his back. Not that he'd ever tell his obnoxious brother that he makes him feel safe.
But whining, even if it's only mentally, won't get him anywhere. So he tightens the towel and carefully advances on the two demons currently having it out in front of him, dismantling the room in the process, and shrieking at a volume that should make the neighbours topple over themselves in their hurry to reach for the phone and call the cops. Whom he so doesn't want to meet right now, because honestly? He can't explain any of this. It's not even making sense to him. Wishing once more, again quietly, that Dean was there to take care of everything, he goes about breaking the battle up (if blood has been shed, he can call it a battle, right?).
"Huh, that was easy." Granted, his arms are covered in scratches, and wee demon no. 2 is still adding some more to his left arm, but all in all, grabbing each of them around their waist and just lifting them up seems to have done the job. Yeah, sometimes it's good being big.
"Now, what's going on here?" He tries to project authority, which is completely lost on no. 2, who is still clawing his arm.
No. 1 though looks at him with huge, accusing green eyes, crosses his arms in front of him (probably managing to look more authoritative than he does, wearing nothing but a towel and holding one mini-sized tornado with each hand, but he's never going to admit that either) and blurts out, "She started it!"
The sandbox excuse. Figures.
At least that gets no. 2's attention. She stops using him as a scratching post and starts to squirm in his grasp instead, trying to reach her opponent and rip out some more of his hair. "Not true!", she squeals.
Sam cringes. She may be small, but he highly suspects someone taught her how to use her voice as a weapon.
"Yes true!"
"Not true!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
As soon as she too has crossed her arms and tries to look convincing instead of ripping out someone's throat, he sets them down on the beds (not on the same one. He's still afraid she'd claw out no. 1's eyes if he happened to be within reach. And he's rather fond of those eyes).
It takes him exactly two minutes to get dressed, throw their bags into the Impala's trunk, bundle the minis back up into the blankets, and get the hell out of the place before the cops arrive and ask him if everything's alright and why he has two screaming, naked kids sitting in his room. Because their clothes are all wet from falling into that spring, and even if they were dry, wouldn't fit them anymore, officer, probably wouldn't work. Even if it's the truth. Because the last thing he needs right now is being locked away for kidnapping, while Child Welfare lead away his not-so-big brother. Right now he thinks maybe he should let them take Jo, though.
Part II
In which the backseat is a war zone.
Okay, he's definitely going to give Jo to Child Welfare. If she's still breathing by the time they get caught. He sneaks a glance in the rear mirror to make sure that, yep, she is still breathing. Just not doing much else, except glaring daggers at Dean.
Well, it's her own fault. Really.
Dean may not be himself (as can easily be seen by the unprofessional way he is pressing her against the back seat, actually needing both his hands to hold her still. His Dean, adult Dean, or even Dean in a child's body, would only need one hand, leaving the other one free to throttle her with.), but when no. 2 (he doesn't really want to call her Jo) started to throw a temper tantrum and rip at the upholstery, Dean growled, told her that now he won't hold back anymore because she's a girl, and in one go pacified both the back seat and Sam's mind.
He hadn't recognized the kids that had climbed out of the spring. Of course he'd know they were shrunken versions of Dean and Jo, But he hadn't seen his brother in that kid. He didn't know how Dean had been like at maybe five years. But the growled "No one's messing with my baby!", and yes, mini-Dean has actually said that, was just so typically Dean that it almost broke Sam's heart. And is the reason he can finally breath again. Whatever happened exactly, that's still his brother. Not his big brother anymore, but Dean. Just very immature. … Well, even more so than normal.
The girl on the other hand is a real bitch. Maybe three years old, and he's not sure there isn't really a demon hiding in her. Always want, want, want, and when she doesn't get it, she screams, squeals, bites, scratches. If little Jo was like this, Ellen's the bravest woman he's ever met.
He pulls over, stopping the Impala in the empty corner of the parking lot farthest away from the entrance. Wouldn't do to have someone pass by and see the naked kids in the car while he's shopping.
He turns around. Please, please listen. Tell me you recognize your name.
"Dean."
The boy looks up, green eyes bright and innocent. "She started it!" And trust his brother to make him laugh even now. Dean's good at that, cheering him up when he really needs it. Not, well, you know, that he's ever going to admit that. Still, this wide-eyed innocent act is so Dean that he can't help but feel that everything's gonna be okay.
And as if to confirm his new-found optimism Jo does not, as he expected her to, chime in and have the two of them pick up their yes-no dance again, but instead she's going for ladylike, accepting the rude boy on top of her with an air of suffering and slight boredom, because all of this is obviously totally beneath her.
Fine. One problem less to deal with right now.
"Yes, I know she did. Dean, listen. I have to go over to the supermarket for a minute and get the two of you some clothes. You are gonna stay here in the car and be quiet, okay?"
Dean frowns, thinks, and then that defiant, rebellious gleam appears in his eyes. Oh-oh.
"Of course only if you think you can look after Jo and keep her quiet."
"'Course I can!"
Really, how can he even suggest otherwise? It's outrageous! Sam congratulates himself on his quick thinking and gets out of the car. Then he turns back.
"Are you sure-"
"Don't be such a girl, Sammy, and go already!"
You are a bad person when you feel the urge to punch a five-year-old in the face, right?
Part III
In which holy water comes with an use-by date.
One of the back doors of the Impala is standing open. That much he can see as soon as he leaves the supermarket. Fuck. He walks faster. Not enough to draw unwanted attention. He just hurries a little bit. Of course he doesn't come back to find the two monsters in the same situation he left them in. They probably started fighting again. Wandered off. He jogs. Got picked up by some responsible adult who was wondering what two naked kids were doing all alone in a parking lot in the middle of the night. Something could have found them. He's running now, his heart pounding so hard his chest should explode. Neither Jo nor Dean can defend themselves the way they are now. Don't even know how. He's at the Impala now, grabbing the half-open door and moving it so he can look into the car.
And instead of ripped upholstery, blood and two sets of empty, glassy eyes he sees two tiny bodies huddled in the doorway.
He's just taking a deep breath, because those two are in for a rant, when he notices the way Dean's slumped over, his whole posture radiating misery, and how Jo hovers over him protectively, but seems fine herself.
"What happened? Are you okay? Dean, are you sick?" he should just give up on the whole concept of calming down. Every time he tries, something else happens.
"Sam, I'm not feeling so good." His little big brother doesn't sound so good, either. What if he's sick? What if that well didn't just shrink them? What if he's going to die? He can't lose Dean, he just can't! Dean's supposed to be the strong one, the one who always knows what to do, the one who's always there. He's-
"He drank this." Jo holds up a bottle. The bottle of holy water they keep in the glove compartment.
He shudders. Looks like you got lucky again, Sammy. He laughs shakily at the voice in his head that sounds like his annoying idiot of a brother who's not dying. And now why would Dean drink holy water? Okay, stupid question. He got thirsty, so he just decided to grab he nearest bottle available. Even as an adult Dean's not big on thinking things through. He should probably be grateful that they didn't have anything worse lying around than a bottle full of stale holy water.
"He said to try and drink it, to make us big again. And he tried first. So's it don't work, I don't... " She trails off, helplessly rubbing Dean's back.
Way to go, Sammy. You think your brother's a rash, greedy five-year-old, when he's actually been thinking about this fucked-up situation, came up with a pretty good idea, and was even being chivalrous and protecting the lady from potential harm. And he's obviously managed to convince Jo that he's her knight in shining armour somewhere along the way. Sam's not sure whether to love or hate Dean right now.
When he sees that miserable little face though, with the big pleading eyes, he drops to his knees and joins Jo in rubbing Dean's back. He may still be Dean, but at the same time he's just a kid right now, and that kid is sick and scared.
"You should have waited for me."
Dean shrinks. Well done, Sam. You'd be a great father.
"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Nothing happened, you'll feel better soon."
No reaction.
"That was a really good idea, you know."
A shrug. Not the cocky grin he's been hoping for, but better than nothing.
"I brought you some nice clothes."
Two little faces turn towards him, looking expectantly. Bingo.
Maybe he's not such a bad temporary daddy after all.
Part IV
In which Sam is a law-abiding citizen.
The universe hates him. He's halfway to the Roadhouse, because facing Ellen can't be worse that having to endure the Fairy Princess From Hell, and in Hicksville, Middle of Nowhere there's a nutcase on the loose. From the cautious way the cops are peering into every car they stop, and the utter lack of information on he radio as to why exactly said nutcase was locked away, the guy must be worse than some of the things they hunt. Which doesn't concern him. For all he cares the guy can go on a killing spree. But there's one reason why he would love to blow the bastard's head off right now. Those cops. The ones that are blocking every single fu- stupid road.
And he can't even curse in his own thoughts anymore because little Dean has this way of looking at him, you know, as if he could see right into his mind and read it like a book. Better than a book, considering that mini-Dean, as it turns out, can't read at all.
At least his passengers have made peace. And Dean doesn't look queasy anymore. He does show an even more nauseous expression every time Jo calls him her Prince Charming, though. Yeah, he's pretty sure his brother wants to see the last of the self-proclaimed "Princess of Imbala", too. Especially since she can't pronounce his baby's name right.
Two more cars, then it's his turn to convince the nice uniformed people that he's an upstanding citizen and supposed to have these kids with him, honest, officers.
He's pretty sure Dean understood what he was trying to tell him about being quiet and not mentioning monsters and weapons. But now he wished he'd bought Jo that Island Princess Barbie to keep her busy.
"Okay, here we go. And remember, if they ask, I'm your brother. Big brother. Yours too, Jo."
"When we're grown up we're gonna marry!"
Luckily for him Dean is too shocked at that revelation to start a fight, because now he's stopping next to two cold, tired, moody cops.
Smile, Sam, smile. He hates his brother. Or the little voice in his head mocking like his brother. Or both.
"Good night, officer, what can I do for you?"
The man asks him the usual questions. Have you seen this man, anything suspicious, don't pick up any hitchhikers, yada yada yada.
"Excuse me, sir, you do realize that these kids need safety seats?"
Great. While the guy has been distracting him, the woman did sneak around the car insidiously and is now looking through one of the back windows, where Dean is glaring at her while he's trying to shake off Jo's hand.
Just keep smiling, Sammy.
"Ah, yes, of course, officer. It's just that my parents' car's broken, and they forgot to take the seats out when they left it at the garage. So…", he trails off. Somehow this sounded better when he practiced it five minutes ago.
The cop is smiling encouragingly at Jo now, who's waving. Dean's still frowning. He's sure the woman sees the ill-fitting, cheap clothes.
"So these are…?"
"My siblings."
"Do you have any ID, Mister…?"
Not good. Now both of them are standing next to his window, and he just knows that everybody in the two police cars on the other side of the road block is looking at them, too.
"Well…"
He's looking at Dean in the rear mirror. He can't help it. He knows that right now his brother is just a little boy and has only a very vague idea what's going on, but he still turns to him for help. To come up with some quick explanation (that, if you stopped to think about it, you'd realize is completely insane) and flash that snake-charmer smile of his (which is why people never stop to think about his explanations before it's too late).
And then Dean does something that's either the worst or the best thing he could do (Sam will make up his mind when he can actually stop and think about it). He bursts into tears.
Both the cops reach for their guns.
And for Sam the world stops. Worst thing he could do. Now they think he's kidnapped the two, and he can't break through the road block, and when they check him and find out he's a wanted criminal they'll take them away, they'll take Dean, they-
A small body flies through the gap between the seats and presses to him, clings to him for dear life, and he can feel Dean shake with every sob.
"Don't let them take me away, Sam, please, don't let them take me away from you!"
His brother is crying his little heart out, desperate, his eyes huge and scared when they are not screwed up tightly and hidden in Sam's jacket. And he's a goddamned genius. Still with the mind-reading, though.
The cops waver. Yeah, look, he likes me. I'm not the one he's afraid of. That's you!
Then he hears a whimper from the back seat, and tiny hands reach out to grab his left arm. Then it starts.
"Boo hoo! Don't go 'way, Sam, don't! Boo hoo hooooo"
He thanks god that little children can't resist a good weeping, and as he sees the cops flinch at Jo's high frequency cries, he knows he's won. So he helps Dean to climb completely on his lap, Jo to somehow squeeze and climb past the seat and cling to the both of them, and just comforts and coos and is the perfect older brother while the cops look decidedly guilty and uncomfortable and politely ask him to just pass the block and stop there at the side of the road until the little dearies have calmed down, if he please.
Which of course he does, law-abiding citizen that he is (and he can feel the Dean-voice in his head roll its eyes at that). And till he's made it past the block and the police cars waiting behind it (driving with two small kids on your lap is more difficult as you'd think), his protégées have stopped crying already.
He scoops Jo up and puts her into the back, where she tiredly snuggles into one of the blankets and promptly drops off to sleep.
The he turns to his genius brother.
"Dude, that was awesome! They believed…"
And is shocked to find Dean's hold tighten, and his sobs pick up again.
"Please don't leave me, Sam, please! I'll be good, I promise! But please don't leave me. Don't let anybody take me away!"
Shit. Looks like little Dean is less of a manipulative actor and more of a scared child.
"Sh, sh, Dean, it's okay. No one's gonna take you away! And I'm not leaving you. See? I'm right here. Not going anywhere."
He holds the small body close to him. When Dean doesn't show any sign of letting go after fifteen minutes, he untangles his arms and starts driving again.
He gets off the road at the next motel, books a room, and carries the kids to bed.
Dean's not letting go all night.
Part V
In which Sam is driving too fast.
He's driving too fast. He knows it. Way too fast, on a dark road, while rain is pouring down and obscuring his vision even more.
Way too fast to drive with a small child sitting in the car.
His little/big brother is sleeping, like an angel.
Dean always has been handsome, his success with the ladies proof not only of his 2000-watt charm, but of a face so pretty Sam's always surprised the next best demon or ghost doesn't feel the urge to carve it up out of spite.
But now, at this size, and so fucking helpless Sam tries not to think about it, he's adorable. Cute. Innocent.
And boy, is he glad he's sleeping. Because otherwise he'd be bitching about Sam trying to crash his baby, and what the fu-, what the h-, what does he think he's doing, chasing her over a gravel-covered so-called road like this, at night, in this weather, and he'd do so using words that hearing out of a child's mouth still shocks Sam.
He'd happily put up with that, though. But those instances are happening less and less frequently.
He's afraid that the little kid is replacing his big brother.
No, he's not afraid.
He's scared.
More scared than ever before in his life.
Because he doesn’t know what to do.
He has no idea how to help Dean.
There's nothing for him to kill.
And that's all he ever knew to do for Dean.
Yes, he knows he should have done more.
Sometimes he wonders which one of them is the emotional cripple.
Dean always gave him everything. All his attention, all his love. He never said it, but he didn't have to. Sam knows why he had a relatively happy, carefree childhood, no matter how weird the circumstances. He knows who explained everything to him, showed him the world, protected him from the monsters under his bed when all Dad would do was give him a gun.
He knows why he got to learn. And why Dean never had a chance in school.
And he knows what he did when he took off to Stanford.
He knew it then, too.
Still did it. Took off, as if it were nothing. As if he'd leave nothing, no one behind. As if he didn't leave Dean behind.
And then he just… well, he isn't quite sure. All he knows is he never called. Never wrote to one of the addresses he knew they, Dean would get his mail.
He likes to think that this had nothing to do with his brother, and everything with himself and Dad. That he did it to avoid Dad.
Or that he did it because it was best, a clean cut, for all of them. He wouldn't bother them, burden them, burden Dean anymore. Completely start over, without needing him to sacrifice anything, sacrifice the chances Dean himself had at getting a life of his own.
But sometimes he wonders if he never called because he knows he took away the one thing from Dean his brother really cared about. Needed.
Because he broke his heart.
And if he had called, he might have, could have, would have heard the brokenness.
That Dean let him go, never tried to make him come back, makes it even worse.
His stupid, altruistic, self-sacrificing, always thinking of others, always thinking of Sam first brother.
Well, now you know how he felt.
And that he's not that strong. He's too egoistic. It had felt as if someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing his heart, and he. Just. He couldn't do it.
He knows it would have been for the best. For Dean's best. And it's not like he couldn't have stayed, too.
But when they sat down with him at that table, careful, so careful, as if they were afraid he'd bolt at the first sudden movement, Dean and Jo sitting in a corner on the dirty floor and playing fu- frigging house with Jo's Barbie. When they told him that it had been too long to hope this would just wear off by itself. That they couldn't find a way to reverse it. That he knew himself, myths of a fountain of youths were known everywhere, all over the world. But not a single one of them even hinted at a counteragent.
That it would be best for Dean to stay here with Josephine. To live here with Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby.
To accept that he'd lost his big brother.
Of course they didn't say this last sentence. No. He was to stay with them. They'd just raise them, give them a happy childhood, let them grow up safely. Without monsters. Without hunts.
Turning them into someone else.
That's when he bolted. Thrown his glass at Ellen and Bobby, who had sat there with those carefully sympathetic expressions on their faces, showing him a closed front. Grabbed Dean, who even now is holding Jo's Barbie doll in his hands, and who was too surprised to do more than blink once or twice before they were in the Impala and he took off, pushing her as far as she would go, on the brink of hysteria thinking that she didn't want to give up on Dean, either.
And now he wonders what that says about him. He knows what growing up like this does to a child. Been there, done that. He always wanted normal. And Dean always did everything he could to give it to him. Even let him go.
But now that he can reciprocate, he… can't.
He looks at Dean, the only family he's got left, the only one he could always be sure of, whom he owes to return the favour, think about what's best for him, let bygones be bygones. Do what his father never did for him.
He tries to drive even faster.
Part VI
In which Sam is a real Dad.
"Stay. In. The. Car."
Sam's pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn't feel the headache coming anymore. It's already there, sitting right between his eyes, and he's pretty sure it won't be going anywhere till this hunt is over and done with.
"But I wanna help!"
Not that it's the ghost that's giving him trouble.
"Please, Sammy?"
No, it's his brother, who's, no matter what size, a real pain in the ass. Head. Whatever.
"Dean. I explained it to you, remember?"
Obviously not. Dean blinks at him, face blank aside from the lingering residue of this pleading expression that he's so good at Sam can actually feel a twitch in his stomach when he sees it.
In the last couple of weeks his brother not only picked up Sam's puppy dog eyes shtick, but combined it with a quivering bottom lip, perfecting his routine. Which, most of the time? Is awesome. The chicks are even faster to fall all over themselves to get him what he wants, and now he even can charm some 50-odd years old official into discovering her stunted, repressed maternal instincts and cooing at him and handing him cookie after cookie while Sam searches through her files. Really, that was amazing. The woman was so fixated on Dean, he could just round her desk and open drawer after drawer until he found the file he was looking for, and when he left with the file in his right and Dean's smaller hand in his left one, all she did was wave and call 'Bye-bye, honey!'.
Yes, his little brother is all kinds of cute. Soft, golden hair, now long enough that you can tousle it and mess it up, which Dean does, every morning, in front of the mirror. Sam tried a side parting once (and to his shame actually awww'd when he was done), but Dean just looked at him, seriously explained that a boy with neat hair is a sissy, and then reached up and ruined all of Sam's effort in two seconds. Huge, bright, shining green cat eyes (and how he manages to do the puppy trick with cat eyes is beyond Sam), innocent like those of an angel. A collection of freckles around his nose, so perfect they almost look as if someone placed each one there individually. And a ready grin to show his perfect tiny white teeth and enslave everyone who doesn't look away in time.
God, he loves his brother. It still hurts like hell, the thought that this is permanent. That from now on, he's the big brother. He's the one to protect Dean, not the other way around. But he's getting used to it. Sometimes he thinks they really can do this.
And then there are times like this.
A hunt. An easy one. Research done in not even half an hour, thanks to google and certain cooing clerks, and the actual hunting part will be done in two minutes.
If Sam ever makes it as far as the house.
Seven times he's had to turn around again. Because he turned around and saw Dean following him, or heard him, or just plain felt him.
Dean, who listened carefully when Sam explained that he'd only be gone a couple of minutes, that Dean was to wait in the car where he was safe.
Yes, now Sam knows what a mistake that was.
Now he's being followed by a mini-hunter, clinging to the bottle of holy water he took out of the glove compartment once more (he would have expected Dean to steer clear of that bottle after drinking its contents had made him sick, but his brother seems to think it's a cure-it-all and repel-all-evil, wrapped in one.), who thinks he has to protect him.
Sometimes traces of the older, adult Dean still shine through. Sam wonders if the fact that Dean's taken to always calling him 'Sammy' (not even the occasional 'Sam' anymore) is one of them. If he's trying to be reassuring, using the old nickname. And if so, which one of the two of them he's trying to comfort.
But he's almost completely just a kid now. A small child who doesn't know how to defend himself against monsters, and if he knew would just not be able to do so on a physical level. A child who obviously is too young to understand Sam's explanation that the ghost is not dangerous for him, as long as Dean stays safely inside the car. That Dean's presence would only distract Sam, and endanger both of them.
"Now listen. I don't need your protection. You'll stay in the car until I come back. You won't get out. No matter what. That's an order."
Dean doesn't look at him, his head lowered, his eyes hidden in the shadow.
"Is that clear?"
"Yes sir."
Not mumbled. Clearly audible and enunciated.
Just the way Dad has taught them.
Taught Dean.
Because Sam has had his brother to teach him everything. However Dean managed to virtually raise him all by himself without ever snapping at him, Sam doesn't know.
But he knows that right now, as he turns away from the Impala and the little figure sitting forlornly on the passenger seat, he hates himself more than he ever hated Dad.
Part VII
In which there is Christmas fluff.
"Kid, do you think I put that No vacancy sign up for fun?"
The guy's voice is dripping with sarcasm. And he's looking at them as if Sam was stupid. Okay, he probably is a little over challenged, the way the whole motel is buzzing with guests, and he looks more like the bouncer than the manager. But that's no reason to use that tone of voice. Time for his secret weapon.
He pokes Dean.
No one can resist his little brother.
No one.
But he's still kind of unnerved from when he spent two hours searching for that ghost, only to come back to the Impala and find it standing right in front of the passenger seat window and cooing at his brother. That was seriously creepy. And he now insists on a two inch layer of salt on the car's floor. Dean can bitch all he wants. The salt stays.
The man behind the desk sighs. Ha. A guy built like a wrestler and looking about as inviting as a bear with a tooth ache.
No match for Dean.
"Look, I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't even offer you a broom closet." The guy shrugs, his eyes wandering from Dean to Sam and back.
"It's the da- stupid Deer's Day. Same every year. Sorry."
Okay, he does sound sorry. And he's watching his mouth in front of Dean, which suddenly makes him a much more likeable person in Sam's book. He wonders if Bouncer has kids of his own.
But they still need a place to stay.
And the only reason he cares about Deer's Day, the local version of Groundhog Day, traditionally held on December 21, the beginning of winter, to predict how long and harsh the cold season is going to be, but just as ridiculous, is because he suspects the deer to be a man-eating monster.
"But if you don't mind staying out of town…"
Sam looks up to meet Bouncer's eye. Looks like the guy might be of help after all.
"You know, I got this little cabin about an hour out. Not much. No tv or microwave or anything, but it's got four walls, a roof, and a fireplace. And cell reception's good."
He smiles at Dean, and in the process finally convincing Sam that he's behind that desk for no other reason but to with one look scare off anyone who ignores the No vacancy sign and tries to annoy the staff.
"I sometimes take my kids out there for the weekend. They like it. My youngest is about your age, you know."
Okay, maybe that smile is not as bad as he had thought. Actually, he's kinda nice.
So four hours later they are settled in a small, simple, but comfy cabin, much to Sam's relief in the opposite direction to where the deer is to be expected the day after tomorrow. (But he's still not going to let Dean out of his sight.)
Bouncer (who turns out to be a Dave) even provided them with fresh food because he's got cans and dry food like noodles and stuff and some bacon, but no fresh stuff, and kids need to eat healthy, with fruits and vegetables and stuff. Sam just couldn't bring himself to tell Dave that Dean as a matter of principle never eats anything that could be called healthy (it's a minor miracle he deigns to eat the pickles on his burgers). He even gave them a pair of boots and a warm coat for Dean because the boys have grown out of them and Jeannie's not gonna wear anything without unicorns or flowers or at least some pink glitter, you know, girly stuff, and it might snow tonight, and then he's gonna want to play outside. He even showed Dean how to make s'mores while they were waiting for his wife, a cheery, small, round woman who looks like the archetype of a mother, to finish bustling around the house (turns out Dave is the manager, and just has to cross the street to get home) and having Dean try on whole closets full of cast-offs. And when the two of them found out that they are orphans and Sam is looking after his brother all by himself, they even had to stay for dinner, a loud, busy, happy affair featuring the Bouncer parents, three grandparents, four employees, and twelve children (four of them Bouncers, two best friends, and the oldest boy's girlfriend, the rest the employees' kids), and Sam and Dean. Dean's a bit intimidated at first, but then has a hell of a time, grinning and smiling and charming everyone from Jeannie to Grandpa Bouncer.
Sam's still glad when they finally do make it back to the Impala and the peace and quiet of non other's company but Dean's. He's a Winchester. He's just not used to a bustle like that.
Neither is Dean, who promptly falls asleep the second Sam starts the engine. Sam has to carry him inside when they reach the cabin. But that way he can light up the fire place, lay salt lines, stash away their provisions, Dean's new clothes, and go through his notes on the deer without having a hyper Dean beg him for s'mores.
And then he climbs into bed next to Dean (he learned the hard way that at least Dean's subconsciousness still remembers ghosts and monsters and demons, and while waking up to find a crying and scared Dean cling to him as if both their lives depend on it is not his idea of a good night, it sure beats waking up to his brother screaming on the other side of the room and having to get up and over to his bed before he can wrap his arms around him and hug him and tell him it's okay and it was just a dream and he's there, and not going anywhere, and they are safe).
"Sammy!"
He's awake in a second, taking in the fact that when he reaches for Dean his hands only find an empty space, and then the happy, excited tone in his brother's voice registering before he can panic. Good. Whatever it is, it's clearly not important enough that he can't turn around, bury his face in the pillow, and fall asleep again.
"Get up, Sammy! Get up! There's snow!"
Ah yes. They haven't been anywhere with snow since… before. Better not think about that now he's so contentedly comfortable. Anyway, now Dean is ready to heart attack over a patchy layer of slush. Hopefully that stuff'll away before he has to get out and look for the deer.
"Sammyyyy!"
Aw crap. Now the little brat is actually bouncing on the bed. Sam grabs Dean's discarded pillow and tries to shield his ears from his squealing brother.
"C'mon, Sammy!"
The bed stills as his brother jumps off and runs back to the window.
"Look, the Impala is gone!"
And suddenly Dean gets what he wants. Sam is out of bed and next to him faster than anyone should ever have to get out of bed.
"Da- Fu- Funny. How funny."
Okay, not one of his best cover-ups. But he can't be expected to come up with a good one right after jumping out of bed.
There's at least four feet of pristine, white, powdery snow out there. The Impala is nothing but a shapeless elevation on what Sam knows must be the drive way.
"Can I go out and play? Can I? Can I?"
The snow's higher than Dean. In one single night. The road's completely gone. How is he supposed to get out of here? To town? Hunting?
"Sammy? Please?"
Well, nothing he can do about that. At least now he knows why Dave gave them enough food to last them weeks. Plus Dean's got warm clothes to play in the snow.
"Sure, kiddo. Let's get you dressed up, and then we'll build a snow man. What do you think?"
The grin on Dean's face says I think you're the best brother ever.
And seeing as he lets Dean win ever single snowball fight, digs a way to the Impala's passenger door for him, and does not build one snowman, but two (But Sammy, he is all alone now. We have to build him a brother!), he agrees.
He calls Dave, who says he could send someone to pick them up, if they wanted to. Sam declines with a thanks, but no thanks.
Two days later they grab Dave's axe (Sam's too lazy to clear the snow off the Impala's trunk) and get themselves a Christmas tree. It's a small one, and there's just a bunch of apples and tangerines and popcorn they slid on a string for decoration. But Dean actually drools over the present he already got him a couple of weeks ago, and only ever takes his new holster, complete with fitting holy water flacon, off when he's taking a shower or going to bed and then it's next to him on the pillow).
Sam thinks it's the best Christmas ever.
They can come back and kill the deer next year.
Part VIII
In which there is a witch.
A/N: This one is dedicated to seascribe, because wing!fic makes her squee.
He's tired. He's tired, and has a headache, and is bruised, and the throbbing pain in his left shoulder tells him that, while it's nothing serious, it'll make him think about every movement twice tomorrow.
And the worst part?
The fu- da- stupid witch got away.
Laughed him in the face when she took off on her broom. Waved. Winked. As if the two of them where best friends and shared some kind of secret.
And flying on a broom, cliché much?
Anyway, he knows her name now. Got a job, a family, friends. She won't just up and leave tonight. And tomorrow he'll find out where she lives. Or walk back into the café where she works.
He wonders if witches are always such bitches (he can say bitches. 'Bitch' is a zoological term, so he's allowed to say 'bitch' in front of Dean as loud and often as he wants), or only to Halloween.
Come to think of it, pretty much every witch they ran into they met around Halloween.
Huh.
Climbing out of the car takes place in slow motion.
Think later, Sammy. Tired now. Bed time for little girls.
One-handedly searching for the key, he guesses that his inner voice sounding like big Dean when it's making fun of him or being immature, but like little Dean when he's about to do something dangerous or, well, cursing, makes him weird.
But wait, he already is weird. So inner voices don't really matter, right?
Hee.
Lucky him.
Heehee.
…
He's really tired.
Stupid witch.
At least he's got no cuts and bruises where Dean can see them, so they should be in bed pretty soon.
Oh, hey, there's the key. Other hand.
Opening the door he braces himself for getting tackleglomped by three and a half foot of angsty brother.
Instead there's silence.
Miraculously very awake again, he puts away the key and draws the gun instead. Then he sneaks inside.
Everything looks fine. Minus one very awake little brother of course. And Dean never goes to bed while he's on a hunt. But still, he scrutinizes the rumpled blankets on the bed to see if there's a kid under them.
That's when he hears it.
A soft, faint noise. A choked sob. From the bathroom.
And he's very proud that he doesn't storm in to immediately shot anything and anyone causing Dean to make such a sound.
Instead he slowly, quietly nudges the door open, just enough to look through.
Oh.
Oh!
He opens the door.
"Dean?"
And if this was his big brother, he'd try to hide how scared he is, crack a joke, and flash that annoying Don't be such a girl, Sammy! smile. But it's not.
Which is why the moment the boy looks up and sees him, he lunges at him, and now, now Sam finds his arms full of scared little brother.
"Make them go away."
The sobs are not choked anymore. It's as if Sam's arrival broke the dam.
"Sammy, please make them go away!"
Now what's he to say? He can't make them go away. But he knows who can. And from the way that witch winked at him, which by the way is making much more sense now, she'll do so when he tells her to. And pout and ask if he has no sense of humor. That's the last time any stranger, cute waitress or not, gets to call his brother a little angel!
So he hugs Dean and smoothes his hair and tries not to touch the pristinely white, feathery wings.
Tomorrow that witch is going to pay!
***
"Aw come on, don't you have even the slightest bit of humor, big guy?"
He knew it.
"No. Make. Them. Go. Away."
Because the next time someone stops them to comment Dean's adorable costume he's going to start screaming. And won't stop again until his vocal cords give up.
"Oh, but it's Halloween!"
She turns to Dean, who's slurping his milk shake and scowls at everyone stupid enough to smile at him.
"Don't you like them, Dean? I just wanted to do you a favor!"
Yeah sure. Because no way suddenly sprouting wings would scare anyone, least of all some kid. Or said kid's brother, but well, let's not talk about him.
"I hate them. They are ugly. And I hate you."
That's his brother. Complete with death glare. Can she do her thing now, please?
"But they are very beautiful. And make a nice costume. They'll disappear of their own at midnight anyway!"
While Sam files that reassuring piece of information away, he puts his arm on the table, forcing her to get out of Deans face and deal with him again.
"He doesn't like them. Neither do I. Make them go away. Now."
A theatrical sigh. Oh yes, poor misunderstood witch.
"Okay, okay. Gimme a moment to concentrate. Hach. Are you sure, Dean?"
"Yes. They are ugly." And then the manipulative little brat looks at the floor, and adds, as if it actually were an afterthought, "Black of course…"
The waitress beams.
Dean does his innocent act.
And Sam hates them both.
He of course leaves the café with a black-winged little boy. Who is happy and bubbling on and on about what they'll have to do now and how Sammy has to take him to trick or treat aka get loads of sweets later. And bounces and flaps his wings.
Sam probably should be grateful Dean can't actually fly with them. Because then? He'd really be in trouble.
…
And he does look kinda cute.
After all, it's just for a couple of hours.