Goodnight, Moon: Chapter Five: Part Two

[dragonfly11]

“You can’t stay small forever, Sam,” Dean warned, twisting and bending around, trying to shake his brother off. Sam found something else to kick off of and they went stumbling again—like a ping pong back and forth across Bobby’s yard.

“Those puppy-dog eyes won’t be able to protect you forever,” Dean grunted and twisted. “God, who’s feeding you Wheaties?” Grunt, twist. “Don’t think I won’t make you sleep…” Sam suddenly relaxed his gripped. “…out in the…” and Dean stilled as little fingers spread just enough for him to see. Straightening self-consciously, “Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted awkwardly, breathing heavily.

“Uncle Bobby!” came an excited call from above him. Dean squared his shoulders and relaxed his grip even more. Son of a bitch.

“Boys,” Bobby narrowed his eyes, studying them. “That big imp of a brother being nice to you, Sammy?” he asked the child, obviously hearing the threat.

Dean could practically see the dimples. “Yeah, he’s giving me a piggy-back ride!”

Nodding, Bobby turned back towards the shed, but not before giving Dean a warning look. “Good.”

As he walked away, feeling about ‘yeh big’, Dean fumbled with how to explain to his brother that he was just teasing, when the boy leaned down in his ear, “What was that you were saying about puppy-dog eyes?”

Before he could react to the deception, little hands covered his eyes…


~*~*~*~

Five minutes later, both panting heavily, Sam still clung to Dean’s neck and Dean still stood.  “Give it up, Sam. You don’t have your faithful Frisbee,” the older boy mocked, even as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

Exhausted just from holding on, Sam glared at the back of his head. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Dean rose to the bait, “can you throw in a little battle cry next time? It’s just not the same without it.”

Sam’s face hardened. That’s it. It was time to get dirty. “You did this to yourself, Dean,” he warned before launching his next wave of attack.

Spider fingers that surprisingly hadn’t forgotten their way, a cry of surprise and a very conveniently placed rock later, and Sam had Dean on the ground. Just. Like. That.

“AlrightAlrightAlright! Mercy! Uncle! Whatever!” Dean cried between barks of laughter Sam couldn’t remember hearing since the last time he tickled him—when they were both kids. So he continued.

Greed. That was his first mistake, because now he was vulnerable. Sitting on Dean’s stomach—though not very effectively pinning him—he was easily attacked in the same manner. Squealing, damnit squealing, Sam’s whole body lurched backwards trying to escape. Then the next thing he knew, one squeak later and he was dangling in the air…perched on the bottom of Dean’s shoes.

“Don’t you,” Sam panted, trying to catch his breath, “think I’m too old for airplane?”

“Don’t you think I’m too old to be tickled just short of pissing myself?” Dean retorted, also trying to catch his breath.

“It worked,” Sam smiled smugly, even as he continued to dangle.

“Okay, Sam. I admit it,” Dean conceded, “You can defend yourself.”

Tiny fingers clutching his boots, little eyebrows rose in surprise, and with a squeak, “Really?”

“Yes. In fact, next time we hunt a wendigo, I’ll wait in the car while you tickle it to death.”

All Sam could do was glare… and dangle. “Well it worked for you, anyway, and you have an unfair advantage, Sasquatch.”

“You remember that when you get your freakishly long-ass legs back.” Dean pointed up at his hovering brother.

“Truths?” Sam breathed, “Your boots are digging into my spleen.”

Dean nodded, “Truths” and slowly lowered his legs to the side so Sam could roll off.

They both lay panting on the ground then. “Built for speed, huh?” Dean asked after a moment—remembering how Sam had made it onto his back before he even knew what had hit him.

Sam flashed his dimples. “Yup.”

“Guess it’s a good thing no sharp objects were laying around.”

“Damn straight.”

 ~*~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later, staring off into thought, something was nagging at Dean.

“That boy actin’ funny to you?” Bobby asked, snapping him out of his reverie. They were outside grabbing more candles from the shed before Dean ran into town alone to get the sage Bobby swore he already had. It seemed like it was taking forever just to get the first spell put together.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“I mean…other than,” the older man flounder. “Shut up.”

Dean’s grin didn’t last long, though. “Yeah, actually,” he rolled his eyes, “if that makes any sense.”

“You think he’s up to somethin’?”

Dean’s face hardened as he thought back. As he continued to try and place what it was that was bothering him. When he had told Sam they’d fix this, he felt his body stiffen. At the time, he just figured it was in determination towards finding the spell they needed to change him back. But that wouldn’t explain why Sam had wanted to stay home so badly. That wouldn’t explain the feeling Dean had in the pit of his stomach right now.

Without a word, he took off running for the house.

“Sam!” he called before he even got inside, heart suddenly pounding—knowing what his mind still hoped against; that his brother was in trouble. “Sammy?” Not seeing him, he ran straight for the bedroom they shared. “Sam!” He wasn’t there either.

And just like that, Dean went from worried to full-blown-frantic-big-brother mode. He could feel something was wrong. He could feel it. He needed to find his brother, and he needed to find him now. “Saaaaaam!” he called at the top of his lungs, racing throughout the house.

He was heading upstairs when he saw a light flickering through the bottom of the bathroom door. “Sam,” he breathed, quickly rushing up to it and pounding. “Sammy!? SAM!”

But there was still no answer.

So stepping back, Dean kicked the door in.

His legs nearly failed him at the sight and he had to grip the doorframe to keep upright. Red. All there was was red…and his baby brother was sitting in the middle of it.

Oh God…

“Bobby!” he hollered, sweeping a bleeding, weakly protesting Sam up in his arms and running. “Bobby!” he cried.

Oh, God, oh God, oh, God…nonononono

“What happened?” Bobby was already there. “What’d he do?”

Dean’s legs folded in the middle of the living room. “Sam?! Sammy!” he shook the pale boy in his arms. “Look at me, damnit,” he growled anxiously, gripping his face. “What’d you do?” his voice broke, but Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Grabbing the tiny, limp arm in his hand, Dean’s heart skipped a beat and for another moment he forgot how to breathe. Black symbols covered Sam’s flesh, and a gut churning cut ran straight from his inner elbow all the way down to his wrist between two solid black lines—as if a runway for the damn knife. Shock blurred his vision as Bobby applied pressure with a towel.

“It doesn’t look that bad, son,” the older man tried to reassure. “Don’t even look like he hit a vein.”

Green eyes swimming with fear, with confusion, with betrayal; as if the blade had slit his own wrist, Dean looked back up at the trembling boy in his lap.

“I had to,” Sam whispered brokenly, tears slipping from his eyes as he met his brother’s for the first time.

“Had to what, Sam?” the older boy tightened his grip on the small shoulder. “What did you do?”

When his brother looked away, Dean shook him. “Sam! You had to, what?” he demanded more forcefully as a new wave of fear surged through him.

“Dean,” Bobby interjected.

Another tear broke free, slowly sliding down Sam’s pale cheek, across his jaw and onto Dean’s thumb, but he wouldn’t meet his brother’s eyes again.

Shakily, numbly tearing his gaze from the warm liquid running down his hand, Dean looked back down at the arm Bobby held between two palms. Tremors shooting through his own body, he gripped the small frame harder. God, he had almost lost him again. He had almost lost him again…and this time, by Sam’s own hand.

“Dean?”

“Jeezus,” Closing his eyes, Dean turned away. That was Sammy’s voice. His scared voice. And suddenly Dean’s mind was flooded with twenty-four years of that tone. Of every time Sam had turned to him for comfort. Of every time he had expected Dean to make it better. Of every time he had trusted Dean, put himself in his hands.

Now Sam was taking matters into his own hands.

And Dean hadn’t been able to protect him from himself.

God, what had he done?

What had he done?

Swallowing, Dean shakily looked up, searching Bobby’s own tear-filled eyes first, but the older man just shook his head. He didn’t know what to do either.

God…

Forcing down the bile, Dean turned to the little boy in his arms, the little boy he had always had an answer for. Until now. “Yeah,” he rasped, fake smile already faltering, “you’re gonna be okay, Sammy, alright?” he said thickly. He didn’t know how to promise otherwise. “We’ll fix you up.” His chin trembled, though, as he brushed aside wayward sweaty bangs—overwhelmed with the memory of the last time he had held his bleeding brother in his arms. Overwhelmed with the memory of the last time he had made such a promise.

~*~

Pushing his own fear to the side, Sammy studied him closely. He didn’t understand the pain he saw in Dean’s eyes, but knowing what had caused himself to cry last time, “Did you die again?” he asked in a hushed, worried whisper.

~*~

With his own heart pounding so loudly, Bobby almost hadn’t heard it when Dean pulled his brother in roughly against his chest—the choked and ragged, “Almost.”

Chapter Six