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Dean blinked, his brain trying to comprehend all that he had just been told.
“Lemme get this straight,” he said, finally finding his voice. “Not only did Sam contact you with. his. mind,” he drawled sarcastically. “But you think his…his abilities,” the word tasted bitter on Dean’s tongue, “are what saved him from completely turning into a child straight off? Are what stopped that thing from feedin’ off him right away?”
Missouri nodded and replied simply, “I do.”
“I thought they were gone since…” Bobby chimed in.
“Yeah, you and me both,” Dean echoed agitated. Worried.
“Well, it’s a good thing they’re not,” Missouri pointed out.
Dean just gave her a look. He wanted to pace…badly, but was pinned on the sofa by his fevered three and a half foot sibling…again. He was going to have a Sammy imprint.
“When he…contacted you, what did he say?” Bobby pressed.
She shook her head, deep in thought. “He didn’t so much say anything as he did leave me with the impression that I had to hurry.”
“Why?” Bobby asked tersely from his cross-armed position against the wall.
She shook her head again. “All I know is that I had to hurry before he became too weak. You see, the hobyah’s spell is still doing a number on him and that cold is weakening his defenses.”
“You mean his psychic defenses,” Dean spat out. He still couldn’t believe his ears.
Missouri gave him a look this time.
“That’s why he’s been Sammy more.” It dawned on Bobby.
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically.
“Missouri…” Dean started throatily, Sammy held close in his arms as he studied her hard and got to the point, “do you know how to help my brother?”
Eyes soft, “No,” she replied, watching his own fall away with despair. “But he does.” She nodded at the little boy snoring lightly against his chest, tucked under a beloved leather jacket.
~*~*~*~
“Sam.”
He jerked in the darkness.
“Sam, wake up.” It was an order, despite the underlining prayer Sam could pick up in it. He tried to do as the faint voice asked, but his body was making a slow go of it. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what had happened. His mind felt sluggish, muddled with elusive memories, and his body…
He was lying on something soft and warm, he realized as his other senses started to return to him.
“Sam.”
He smelled gun oil, M&Ms…and leather. Something within him relaxed having confirmed what he really already knew. Dean.
“Are you sure this is gonna work? Me just callin’ to him?”
“It already has.”
This time he was carefully lifted away from the warmth, supportive hand cradling his head as something fell from his shoulders.
“Sam, open your eyes.” The hand slid down and squeezed the side of his neck encouragingly. But he didn’t want to. Everything hurt. Especially, God, especially his head. He tried to curl back into the warmth, but persistent hands wouldn’t let him.
“No you don’t, big guy. I taught you better than to invite guests over and sleep through their visit.”
Guests?
“Just give him a moment, Dean,” he heard a woman say softly. “The boy’s confused and he’s hurtin’ somethin’ bad. All he knows is that he’s safe and that’s good enough for the moment.”
~*~*~*~
This time Dean let Sam burrow back into him, a protective arm instinctively curling around the little body. “What do you mean, he’s hurting?”
Missouri frowned, “Fighting off the effects of the spell is getting harder and harder and it’s taking a toll on your brother’s body.”
“So you’ve said,” Dean replied impatiently. “Why the hurting?”
“There are two consciousnesses in that little body,” she said, standing to get her bag. “Both of them are your brother’s, of course, but as his body gets weaker, the spell tries harder to push his younger mind to the front. For Sam to be present, he has to push back…and it’s not easy.”
Looking down at the flushed cheeks buried in his side, Dean suddenly realized just how quickly Sam had slipped so much further from his grasp. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Sam had been leaping onto his back? Wasn’t it just yesterday that the kid had him laughing harder than he had in years?
“Here,” Missouri returned, handing him a marker, “redraw the symbol that was on his chest before.”
Alarmed, Dean looked up.
“Damn, we didn’t even think…” Bobby cursed.
Missouri’s gaze stayed fixed on Dean’s. “You remember what I was telling you about open wounds in your old house? Well, now your brother is one…an open wound, that is,” she clarified. “The incomplete spell is leaving him more vulnerable than ever.”
Dean numbly took the marker…one much like the one Sam had used on his arm, and lifted his brother’s shirt. Still out of it, Sam made a strangled noise and squirmed at the cold air hitting his flesh, trying to hide against the warmth.
“Easy, kiddo, just hold still a minute for me.” Dean eased him back slightly.
This time he drew it right over Sam’s sternum. He tried to ignore the way his brother laid so lax, laid so completely helpless in his lap with his head turned into him—seeking what little comfort he could. He tried to ignore the way his tiny chest rose sporadically under the black tip. He tried to ignore how fragile he suddenly seemed right now—more so than he had since this whole thing had begun.
But he couldn’t.
He swallowed thickly.
“Good,” Missouri said, taking the cup of warm water she had asked for from Bobby and adding some herbs, “now have him drink some of this.”
Pulling the shirt down and readjusting his rag-doll-brother in his arms, Dean tucked him back in with his jacket and took the mug. “What is it?”
“It’ll help clear his mind a bit and ease some of the aches.”
~*~*~*~
It was a half a cup later that a previously completely out-of-it Sam, looked up at his brother through bleary eyes.
“Sam?” Dean called, hopeful.
“Dean?” Coughing, he tried to sit up, but alarmingly weak, immediately fell back into ready arms. His breathing quickened as he looked up.
“It’s okay,” Dean reassured, voice thick with relief at getting to talk to Sam again. The small body automatically relaxed back into him. “You just gotta learn how to control that wild princess inside you,” he added with a smirked.
Instantly the worn eyes narrowed. “Says the one that cried mercy.”
“Hey,” Dean brought up a stern finger, gladly rising to the bait, “Tickling is cheating.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up tiredly, but amused as he remained lying in his brother’s arms. “No.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “No?” He leaned back a bit.
Eyes sparkling, with the faintest of dimples showing, “It’s resourceful, jerk.”
Throat suddenly tight, Dean was inches from pulling his baby brother up and squeezing the stuffing out of him right there in front of everyone. God, how he had missed him…though he’d been practically attached to his hip. Instead of embarrassing himself, he patted the tiny chest and replied gruffly, “Whatever you say, princess.”
“As much as I hate to break up this little reunion,” Bobby stepped up closer, his own eyes suspiciously moist. “How you feelin’, kid?” he asked sincerely.
Sam’s eyes turned to him, lids already starting to droop. “Like Lazarus did mistake me for the new squeaky toy,” he murmured.
“Sam?” Dean hated the desperation in his voice as he lifted his brother’s down-sized body up against him. “Open your eyes.”
Blinking, Sam struggled to stay focused. “So cuddly,” he grouched good-naturedly.
Dean rolled his eyes. If ever the kettle…
“What’s…” he then breathed, “what’s wrong with me, Dean?”
And it was then that Dean realized just how badly Sam felt.
He was still in his lap. He wasn’t demanding to be put down.
“I told you—”
“I’m not Sammy,” stern puppy-dog eyes interrupted.
Grinning despite himself, “I know,” Dean conceded. “But honestly, Sam…your body is just tired, okay? It’s been through a lot, don’t you think?” While his brother thought on this, Dean scratched his temple, “Speaking of which…” he added uncomfortably, “tell me about the arm.” He gestured to where it lay tucked under the makeshift blanket, his body growing tense just thinking about it.
But Sam’s brow furrowed under brown locks.
Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes—remembering the blood, remembering the fear, “Don’t you lie to me, Sam,” he breathed, begged, low and harsh. “That was you, not Sammy.” He opened his eyes, though, when his brother’s breathing started to increase. “Sam?” He gripped the small shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Dean,” Wide awake now and panicked, struggling to sit up, Sam tried to push the leather jacket aside to see, “what the hell are you talking about?”
Dean’s eyes cut to Missouri’s confused ones. “He doesn’t know,” she said softly.
“Know what?” Sam demanded, then did a double take and squeaked, “Missouri?”
“Sam,” Bobby asked, eyes sharp as he edged closer, “you don’t remember doing some sort of spell in the bathroom?”
“Spell? No. W-what for?” he asked anxiously. “Did we find a way to turn me back?” he looked earnestly between the old family friend and his brother, then down to the wrapped arm he freed from under Dean’s jacket. “What…?” he finally managed to sit up this time with Dean’s help, but ended up doubling over, violently coughing. The only thing keeping him from falling to the floor was the strong arm around his middle.
“Calm down, Sam,” Dean ordered sternly, worriedly, rubbing a hand up and down the small, trembling back without even realizing what he was doing. “This, this…hobyah spell is just wearing you out s’all, okay?”
Finally done coughing, but completely spent, Sam collapsed forward. “Easy, I got ya,” Dean gently tucked him back in under his arm, against his chest. “I’ve got ya,” he repeated.
Little lungs still heaving slightly, wide eyes turned to him—and as full of pain and fear as they were…they were also full of trust. Dean nearly looked away. He didn’t deserve that trust…at least not this week. Swallowing, “Sam, listen to me.” It was so hard not to call him Sammy now. “Why did you contact Missouri?” He needed to know...just in case.
Slowly, hesitantly, Sam turned his head towards her and away from Dean. It was a long moment he studied the psychic…
“Sam…?” Dean asked, before his brother squeezed his eyes shut…and screamed.
~*~*~*~
Dean was pacing. Missouri was trembling. And Bobby was holding an unconscious Sam in his protective…yet undoubtedly shaking arms.
“What the hell just happened, Missouri?” Dean demanded, not for the first time. He had been curled over his brother for the past five minutes, stroking his hair and fervently trying to calm him as he writhed and screamed…completely oblivious to Dean’s desperate attempts—completely oblivious to the blood spilling from his ears and nose…even as he choked on it.
Now that he had finally, mercifully passed out, Dean was pacing as Bobby took over cuddle/cleaning duty.
Unsteadily, the psychic made her way to the living room window. Dean watched her back nervously, fingers digging into his hips as he tried to control the nausea that’d been rising since Sam had started screaming, since he had started bleeding. “What? What is it?”
Looking out the window across the yard, the woman shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she saw. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say.
“If I don’t start gettin’ some freakin’ answers…!”
“It was Sammy,” she finally managed shakily, window blinds casting shadows across her troubled features. The room grew unbearably silent.
“Now that just doesn’t make a lick of sense.” Bobby was the first to speak past the shock, past the confusion.
Looking down, Missouri took a breath, seeking strength. “He’s protecting—”
“Protecting?!” Dean stammered in disbelief, finally finding his voice. “Missouri, I know you heard him screaming at the top of his lungs like his head was being torn open. I know you saw the blood!” he gestured back to his brother.
“Easy, boy,” Bobby coaxed.
Taking a breath and working his jaw—still feeling sick and at a loss for what had just happened, “Tell me…” Dean demanded gruffly, “how the hell’s that,” he pointed again at his unconscious brother, “protecting?”
Shaking her head, Missouri closed her eyes. “He’s protecting,” she practically whispered, looking back up through the blinds, “…you.”
“Lemme get this straight,” he said, finally finding his voice. “Not only did Sam contact you with. his. mind,” he drawled sarcastically. “But you think his…his abilities,” the word tasted bitter on Dean’s tongue, “are what saved him from completely turning into a child straight off? Are what stopped that thing from feedin’ off him right away?”
Missouri nodded and replied simply, “I do.”
“I thought they were gone since…” Bobby chimed in.
“Yeah, you and me both,” Dean echoed agitated. Worried.
“Well, it’s a good thing they’re not,” Missouri pointed out.
Dean just gave her a look. He wanted to pace…badly, but was pinned on the sofa by his fevered three and a half foot sibling…again. He was going to have a Sammy imprint.
“When he…contacted you, what did he say?” Bobby pressed.
She shook her head, deep in thought. “He didn’t so much say anything as he did leave me with the impression that I had to hurry.”
“Why?” Bobby asked tersely from his cross-armed position against the wall.
She shook her head again. “All I know is that I had to hurry before he became too weak. You see, the hobyah’s spell is still doing a number on him and that cold is weakening his defenses.”
“You mean his psychic defenses,” Dean spat out. He still couldn’t believe his ears.
Missouri gave him a look this time.
“That’s why he’s been Sammy more.” It dawned on Bobby.
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically.
“Missouri…” Dean started throatily, Sammy held close in his arms as he studied her hard and got to the point, “do you know how to help my brother?”
Eyes soft, “No,” she replied, watching his own fall away with despair. “But he does.” She nodded at the little boy snoring lightly against his chest, tucked under a beloved leather jacket.
~*~*~*~
“Sam.”
He jerked in the darkness.
“Sam, wake up.” It was an order, despite the underlining prayer Sam could pick up in it. He tried to do as the faint voice asked, but his body was making a slow go of it. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what had happened. His mind felt sluggish, muddled with elusive memories, and his body…
He was lying on something soft and warm, he realized as his other senses started to return to him.
“Sam.”
He smelled gun oil, M&Ms…and leather. Something within him relaxed having confirmed what he really already knew. Dean.
“Are you sure this is gonna work? Me just callin’ to him?”
“It already has.”
This time he was carefully lifted away from the warmth, supportive hand cradling his head as something fell from his shoulders.
“Sam, open your eyes.” The hand slid down and squeezed the side of his neck encouragingly. But he didn’t want to. Everything hurt. Especially, God, especially his head. He tried to curl back into the warmth, but persistent hands wouldn’t let him.
“No you don’t, big guy. I taught you better than to invite guests over and sleep through their visit.”
Guests?
“Just give him a moment, Dean,” he heard a woman say softly. “The boy’s confused and he’s hurtin’ somethin’ bad. All he knows is that he’s safe and that’s good enough for the moment.”
~*~*~*~
This time Dean let Sam burrow back into him, a protective arm instinctively curling around the little body. “What do you mean, he’s hurting?”
Missouri frowned, “Fighting off the effects of the spell is getting harder and harder and it’s taking a toll on your brother’s body.”
“So you’ve said,” Dean replied impatiently. “Why the hurting?”
“There are two consciousnesses in that little body,” she said, standing to get her bag. “Both of them are your brother’s, of course, but as his body gets weaker, the spell tries harder to push his younger mind to the front. For Sam to be present, he has to push back…and it’s not easy.”
Looking down at the flushed cheeks buried in his side, Dean suddenly realized just how quickly Sam had slipped so much further from his grasp. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Sam had been leaping onto his back? Wasn’t it just yesterday that the kid had him laughing harder than he had in years?
“Here,” Missouri returned, handing him a marker, “redraw the symbol that was on his chest before.”
Alarmed, Dean looked up.
“Damn, we didn’t even think…” Bobby cursed.
Missouri’s gaze stayed fixed on Dean’s. “You remember what I was telling you about open wounds in your old house? Well, now your brother is one…an open wound, that is,” she clarified. “The incomplete spell is leaving him more vulnerable than ever.”
Dean numbly took the marker…one much like the one Sam had used on his arm, and lifted his brother’s shirt. Still out of it, Sam made a strangled noise and squirmed at the cold air hitting his flesh, trying to hide against the warmth.
“Easy, kiddo, just hold still a minute for me.” Dean eased him back slightly.
This time he drew it right over Sam’s sternum. He tried to ignore the way his brother laid so lax, laid so completely helpless in his lap with his head turned into him—seeking what little comfort he could. He tried to ignore the way his tiny chest rose sporadically under the black tip. He tried to ignore how fragile he suddenly seemed right now—more so than he had since this whole thing had begun.
But he couldn’t.
He swallowed thickly.
“Good,” Missouri said, taking the cup of warm water she had asked for from Bobby and adding some herbs, “now have him drink some of this.”
Pulling the shirt down and readjusting his rag-doll-brother in his arms, Dean tucked him back in with his jacket and took the mug. “What is it?”
“It’ll help clear his mind a bit and ease some of the aches.”
~*~*~*~
It was a half a cup later that a previously completely out-of-it Sam, looked up at his brother through bleary eyes.
“Sam?” Dean called, hopeful.
“Dean?” Coughing, he tried to sit up, but alarmingly weak, immediately fell back into ready arms. His breathing quickened as he looked up.
“It’s okay,” Dean reassured, voice thick with relief at getting to talk to Sam again. The small body automatically relaxed back into him. “You just gotta learn how to control that wild princess inside you,” he added with a smirked.
Instantly the worn eyes narrowed. “Says the one that cried mercy.”
“Hey,” Dean brought up a stern finger, gladly rising to the bait, “Tickling is cheating.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up tiredly, but amused as he remained lying in his brother’s arms. “No.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “No?” He leaned back a bit.
Eyes sparkling, with the faintest of dimples showing, “It’s resourceful, jerk.”
Throat suddenly tight, Dean was inches from pulling his baby brother up and squeezing the stuffing out of him right there in front of everyone. God, how he had missed him…though he’d been practically attached to his hip. Instead of embarrassing himself, he patted the tiny chest and replied gruffly, “Whatever you say, princess.”
“As much as I hate to break up this little reunion,” Bobby stepped up closer, his own eyes suspiciously moist. “How you feelin’, kid?” he asked sincerely.
Sam’s eyes turned to him, lids already starting to droop. “Like Lazarus did mistake me for the new squeaky toy,” he murmured.
“Sam?” Dean hated the desperation in his voice as he lifted his brother’s down-sized body up against him. “Open your eyes.”
Blinking, Sam struggled to stay focused. “So cuddly,” he grouched good-naturedly.
Dean rolled his eyes. If ever the kettle…
“What’s…” he then breathed, “what’s wrong with me, Dean?”
And it was then that Dean realized just how badly Sam felt.
He was still in his lap. He wasn’t demanding to be put down.
“I told you—”
“I’m not Sammy,” stern puppy-dog eyes interrupted.
Grinning despite himself, “I know,” Dean conceded. “But honestly, Sam…your body is just tired, okay? It’s been through a lot, don’t you think?” While his brother thought on this, Dean scratched his temple, “Speaking of which…” he added uncomfortably, “tell me about the arm.” He gestured to where it lay tucked under the makeshift blanket, his body growing tense just thinking about it.
But Sam’s brow furrowed under brown locks.
Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes—remembering the blood, remembering the fear, “Don’t you lie to me, Sam,” he breathed, begged, low and harsh. “That was you, not Sammy.” He opened his eyes, though, when his brother’s breathing started to increase. “Sam?” He gripped the small shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Dean,” Wide awake now and panicked, struggling to sit up, Sam tried to push the leather jacket aside to see, “what the hell are you talking about?”
Dean’s eyes cut to Missouri’s confused ones. “He doesn’t know,” she said softly.
“Know what?” Sam demanded, then did a double take and squeaked, “Missouri?”
“Sam,” Bobby asked, eyes sharp as he edged closer, “you don’t remember doing some sort of spell in the bathroom?”
“Spell? No. W-what for?” he asked anxiously. “Did we find a way to turn me back?” he looked earnestly between the old family friend and his brother, then down to the wrapped arm he freed from under Dean’s jacket. “What…?” he finally managed to sit up this time with Dean’s help, but ended up doubling over, violently coughing. The only thing keeping him from falling to the floor was the strong arm around his middle.
“Calm down, Sam,” Dean ordered sternly, worriedly, rubbing a hand up and down the small, trembling back without even realizing what he was doing. “This, this…hobyah spell is just wearing you out s’all, okay?”
Finally done coughing, but completely spent, Sam collapsed forward. “Easy, I got ya,” Dean gently tucked him back in under his arm, against his chest. “I’ve got ya,” he repeated.
Little lungs still heaving slightly, wide eyes turned to him—and as full of pain and fear as they were…they were also full of trust. Dean nearly looked away. He didn’t deserve that trust…at least not this week. Swallowing, “Sam, listen to me.” It was so hard not to call him Sammy now. “Why did you contact Missouri?” He needed to know...just in case.
Slowly, hesitantly, Sam turned his head towards her and away from Dean. It was a long moment he studied the psychic…
“Sam…?” Dean asked, before his brother squeezed his eyes shut…and screamed.
~*~*~*~
Dean was pacing. Missouri was trembling. And Bobby was holding an unconscious Sam in his protective…yet undoubtedly shaking arms.
“What the hell just happened, Missouri?” Dean demanded, not for the first time. He had been curled over his brother for the past five minutes, stroking his hair and fervently trying to calm him as he writhed and screamed…completely oblivious to Dean’s desperate attempts—completely oblivious to the blood spilling from his ears and nose…even as he choked on it.
Now that he had finally, mercifully passed out, Dean was pacing as Bobby took over cuddle/cleaning duty.
Unsteadily, the psychic made her way to the living room window. Dean watched her back nervously, fingers digging into his hips as he tried to control the nausea that’d been rising since Sam had started screaming, since he had started bleeding. “What? What is it?”
Looking out the window across the yard, the woman shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she saw. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say.
“If I don’t start gettin’ some freakin’ answers…!”
“It was Sammy,” she finally managed shakily, window blinds casting shadows across her troubled features. The room grew unbearably silent.
“Now that just doesn’t make a lick of sense.” Bobby was the first to speak past the shock, past the confusion.
Looking down, Missouri took a breath, seeking strength. “He’s protecting—”
“Protecting?!” Dean stammered in disbelief, finally finding his voice. “Missouri, I know you heard him screaming at the top of his lungs like his head was being torn open. I know you saw the blood!” he gestured back to his brother.
“Easy, boy,” Bobby coaxed.
Taking a breath and working his jaw—still feeling sick and at a loss for what had just happened, “Tell me…” Dean demanded gruffly, “how the hell’s that,” he pointed again at his unconscious brother, “protecting?”
Shaking her head, Missouri closed her eyes. “He’s protecting,” she practically whispered, looking back up through the blinds, “…you.”
