Goodnight Moon: Chapter Four
3 May 2008 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonfly11“What’s happening, Bobby?” Dean paced the kitchen.
Sam had, at first, denied asking about their father, but the look on Dean’s face was proof enough. Simultaneously they had yelled for the older man.
“I don’t know,” he admitted wearily. “Sam, you don’t remember asking about your dad?”
“No. Last I remember was going to bed.” Still sitting in the same chair, food forgotten, Sam was hugging his little knees to his chest—truly looking the age he currently was. “What’s this mean, Bobby?” Young, troubled eyes gazed up at him. “Am I really turning into a kid now?”
Taking off his worn cap and scratching the back of his head, Bobby didn’t have the answers the boys sought and it pained him in a way he was still getting used to. Shaking his head, “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t know.”
~*~*~*~
Sitting in the kitchen, Dean sighed, kneading his neck muscles. It had been three days since Sam had first asked for their dad. Three. And he had lost track of how many times his brother’s mind had fluctuated between an adult’s and a child’s since then. As quickly as a turn of a switch, Sam would go from spouting theories and doing research, to watching cartoons and wanting to cuddle.
…of course, Dean smirked, if he really thought about it, he wasn’t so different after all.
Once though, Sam had asked Dean why he was so big. It had never even occurred to him that his own little brother might not recognize him. And that scared him. A lot. Luckily, Sam knew him by more than just his good looks and for now was satisfied with, “Why are you so short?” as a reply.
Still, every…episode, just left Dean feeling more and more helpless…and surprisingly torn. Helpless, because he was losing the brother he knew a little more every day to something he couldn’t even see to fight. And torn, because…after struggling all of his life to preserve at least a fragment of his brother’s innocence…was he really going to be the one that took his second chance at it away?
Dean watched as Sam, or ‘Sammy’ as they had come to refer to him in this state, stacked shotgun shells in front of the TV, humming quietly to himself the theme from an old 80’s cartoon Dean had long ago forgotten. Tears rushed to blur Dean’s vision, but he quickly blinked them away. It was getting harder to do so, though as the days passed. It was getting harder to believe they’d be able to change Sam back. Especially since they couldn’t find an ounce of evidence documented that proved the second spell—the one to actually change his brother back, even existed.
And if they can’t…
If they couldn’t…
He raised Sam since he was six months old and he thought he had done a pretty damn good job of it too. Sam has always been his responsibility. Always. Four, or twenty-four years old, Dean has always looked out for him. Still, he was confident…he had to believe the adult Sam could look after himself once…
But if…
But if they can’t fix this… turn Sam back…
Dean wasn’t going to be there this time to look after his brother. Not with Hell Hounds on his tail.
It was a double-edged sword. To be able to raise Sam again—to continue to protect him as he grew up again, Dean would have to find a way out of his deal…but if he even tried to do that, Sam would die.
Leaning forward, Dean cupped his face in his hands. He could feel the figurative sword pressing in on him, gutting him and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. The threat of failure often did that to him…especially when it came to Sam.
Because soon, he feared, the only thing he’d be able to do for his brother …was die.
Waddling into the kitchen lugging a book, said little brother plopped it loudly onto the table, snapping Dean out of his thoughts like a slap to the face. He was ‘big boy Sam’ again. Dean smirked faintly, sitting back in his seat. The first time he called him that, he got a Fruit Loop in the eye. Those bitches sting.
“Thanks for giving me something at least manly to play with,” the man trapped inside a boy’s body grunted, climbing into the chair.
Dean grinned, watching him pull himself up. “No sweat. I wanted to give you the gun too, but Bobby wouldn’t let me.”
Settling his tiny butt into the seat, Sam paused to gape up at him. “How I survived the first time, I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head in awe.
Dean just looked mischievous as he tried to push aside the rising concerns for his brother’s future, as he tried to push down the boiling guilt. Clearing his throat and scratching behind his ear, “So, find anything?” he asked.
“No. You?”
“Well, while you were playing Bob the Builder over there…” Sam didn’t disappoint by rolling his eyes. “I may have finally found the spell to locate the components we’ll need for the super spell…once we find that, anyway,” he added, as much for his own benefit as Sam’s. They hadn’t told him what they found…or hadn’t found actually.
“Super spell?” A tiny eyebrow rose that was more adorable to Dean than sarcastic, “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“Well, it’s either that, or, “Turn Sammy Back into a Big Boy” spell,” Dean replied cheekily.
Sam blinked. “Good choice.”
More like a fear of Fruit Loops. Was that odd for a grown man?
~*~*~*~
“Sam or Sammy?” Bobby asked as Dean joined him outside.
“Sam,” Dean answered. “I gotta say, though, Sybil got nothing on that kid.”
Bobby grinned crookedly. “Sybil had a bucket load of personalities crammed into that head of her’s, son. Sam is the only personality in that little body. His mind, for some reason, just keeps gettin’ a little confused on what year it is.”
“Ah, a little?”
Bobby shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“How?” Dean demanded.
“We could have a mini-you runnin’ around,” Bobby replied easily.
Shaking that particular image immediately out of his head, “Anyway,” Dean started flipping through one of the books he’d been carrying around religiously since the…downsizing. “I think I might have found the component spell.”
Neither man commented on the second spell. The one they knew they’d never find.
~*~*~*~
Still sitting at the kitchen table, Sam lowered his head into his arms. His headaches were getting worse. They used to taper off for a bit right after his…Sammy…episodes, then increasingly build up til the next time, but now the pain was becoming a constant, and nearing the big V worse. He shuddered at the thought. He hadn’t had a vision since before he…died. And he was white-knuckle hoping that that part of their lives was behind them.
Not that the cosmic powers didn’t make up for it in other ways. He flexed his ankles and weren’t surprised when his feet didn’t even reach the floor. He sighed.
He had no memories whatsoever of his ‘Sammy’ moments. One second he’d be reading Latin, trying to focus through his pounding head, and the next he’d be stacking shotgun shells or, even worse, snuggled up in Dean’s lap.
Just kill him now.
He’d better go through their cell phones and make sure no one was snappin’ pictures. Sometimes he wished Dean could deny his puppy-dog eyes and just say no to cuddling. This whole experience was humiliating enough as it was.
Still, it wasn’t all for naught. Hopefully.
“Headache?”
“Little one,” he lied after a moment. He hadn’t even heard Dean come back in. The next thing he knew he was being handed a glass of water and a baby aspirin. He groaned, half squeaked, “Don’t we have anything stronger?” he asked, not for the first time.
“Not for you.”
Sighing, he swallowed the pill and laid his head back down waiting for it to kick in so he could hit the books again—unless, of course, he fell asleep first. Damn his little body. His brother’s worried gaze burned through the back of his neck, though. “Keep staring at me like that,” he said grumpily from between folded arms, “and I’ll claw your eyeballs out.”
Dean chortled, but went to take a seat beside him. “I’d like to see you try, SammySamSqueakerson.”
Ignoring the jibe and one of many new nicknames, “Don’t underestimate me, Dean. I may be smaller, but I’m also closer to the ground now.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I’m built for speeeed.”
It was the first time Sam had heard Dean outright laugh in a very, very long time. Despite the jackhammer in his head, he grinned into his arm…but it quickly faded.
Would Dean ever forgive him?
~*~*~*~
“Sammy,” Dean admonished gently, looking up from his book. “Lazarus isn’t a pony…despite her size.” Though he found it funny that Sammy wasn’t nearly as intimidated of her as Sam was.
Sammy patted the massive dog’s haunches from his mounted position on her. “I know she’s not a pony, Dean. She’s a lion and I tamed her,” he said proudly.
Dean’s eyebrow rose. “What are you, the Lion Whisperer now?”
“No, I’m Superman. See,” he turned to show off his cape—formerly known as Dean’s leather jacket.
Dean’s eyebrows rose even further, but he decided not to question why Superman would be riding a lion…or why the hell it always had to be his jacket he needed to act like a superhero. This was Sam after all. A four-year-old Sam. “Yeah, well, do me a favor and make sure Simba there doesn’t get snot all over that cape of yours.”
Sammy slid off his ride and placed his little hands on both sides of Lazarus’ gigantic, drool-covered cheeks. “You wouldn’t do that, now would you girl?” he crooned. She nudged his chin in response and he ended up on his butt, giggling.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Dean turned his attention back to the latest book Bobby gave him before running out to get what they needed for the first spell.
As far as they knew, Sam was supposed to be turned into a child—body and mind, straight from the beginning. Why it didn’t happen that way just posed more questions they didn’t have time to answer right now. Right now all their energy was going into turning him back. No matter how hopeless it was. Every day Dean was losing more and more of his brother…to yesterday.
Dean couldn’t help but wonder, though, as he watched as Sammy suddenly abandoned his game with the…lion to crouch down and start drawing something in the dirt—what it was like for him? The four-year-old. Did he notice the blank moments in time where he went from playing with shotgun shells to having his nose buried in a book? He never asked any questions other than where their dad was and why Dean was so big. He never seemed confused when coming back to himself. It literally seemed like he just snapped back and instantly ran off to play.
It was weird.
The story of their lives.
When his brother started talking a mile a minute, still drawing in the dirt, Dean walked over to him, brow furrowed as he approached warily, not knowing what to expect anymore.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back,” the boy said as Dean knelt down beside him, book dangling between his knees
Dean gave a cursory glance around them. “Who?”
Still smiling, dimples showing, Sammy continued to draw in the dirt. “Dad,” he said simply.
Before Dean could find his voice again, Bobby pulled in and with a squeal of delight, the supposed-future-leader-of-a-demon-army ran in the opposite direction to hide—leather cape flapping behind him.
Stepping out of the car, Bobby set the last of the supplies for the first spell on the hood. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Heart pounding, Dean’s body felt numb and he nearly dropped the book as he straightened and turned in the direction his little brother had torn off in. One of us might have, he thought to himself. That, or not only was Sam’s mind regressing…it was also failing. He looked to Bobby, green eyes beseeching, “Do you think,” he started hoarsely, swallowing, “I mean, you were there when dad…when he…”
“Dean?” Now he had the older man looking worried.
A loud roar announced Sammy’s presence before the kid even leapt off the junked car and into Bobby’s arms.
Closing his eyes, Dean shook his head. He really needed to teach the boy some stealth.
Sammy was beaming, though, little arms wrapped around Bobby’s neck. “Did I scare you, Uncle Bobby? Did I scare you this time?”
Dean still wasn’t used to seeing the older man’s face soften as much as it did every time ‘Sammy’ was present. “You sure did, kiddo! Have you been working on your roar?”
The boy nodded, obviously pleased with himself. And Dean’s stomach churned.
~*~*~*~
Sammy was back in the living room playing, leather jacket still doubling as a cape while Dean and Bobby prepared for the first spell.
After three days they were finally making some progress, but the mood in air was solemn. The second spell remained outside of their grasps…if it even existed, and the first just seemed pointless without it.
…and the truth they were building up to, unbearable…at least for Dean.
He had even considered summoning Ruby, but he had no way of knowing if her loyalties would shift if suddenly her boy king…was really just a boy.
It wasn’t a risk Dean was willing to take.
Their movements were strained as they wordlessly set about their task…because they both knew, deep down where they allowed it to hurt—that they were never going to find a way to change Sam back. Still, blindly, methodically they pressed forward. What else was there to do?
“Are you going to tell me what’s beatin’ around in that skull of your’s, or are you gonna make me guess?” Bobby asked out of nowhere.
Dean canted his head to the side. There was about a million things actually. He decided, though, to ask the question he’d been dreading since the whole nightmare had started. Picking up the chalice, he lightly fingered it as he searched for the strength to say the words that would literally tear him in two. Still, he had to know. He had to be sure. Just in case.
“What is it, boy?” There was that softness again to Bobby’s voice Dean was hearing more and more often lately…since Sam had died. And Dean with him.
“Bobby,” he finally started hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he numbly lowered the chalice before forcing his voice on—even as his heart screamed and threw itself wildly against his chest. “I need you to do something for me.”
Grey eyes narrowed, but the older man didn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he said softly.
“If…if we can’t make Sammy big again…” Swallowing, Dean bowed his head and gripped the kitchen chair beneath his fingers until his knuckles turned white. It wasn’t something he could accept, but he knew…he knew it was something he needed to prepare for. Desolately, he looked up at the only person other than his brother that he considered family. “I need…”
Suddenly knowing where the conversation was taking them, Bobby sighed and looked away. “Dean—”
“Please, Bobby,” Dean’s voice broke under the weight of the hardest thing he’s ever had to do—relinquish his responsibility for Sam over to someone else. “I need you to promise me.”
“Don’t you think he’d be better off—?”
“No, I don’t.” Dean interrupted steadily. Only one person would have been able to detect the hitch in his voice…and he was making a pyramid out of ancient texts in the next room. “Listen, I’ve thought about this. Sam would be safest with you. Lilith could still find him, still be after him. And I can’t…I can’t have people lookin’ out for him that don’t…” Words catching in his throat, flexing his jaw, he looked away when a tear came too close to falling, when his heart came too close to breaking.
“Don’t what?” Bobby ventured hesitantly, softly, eyes narrowed.
Dean met his eyes again and they were so full of raw pain and misplaced failure that it stole the older man’s breath away. But as he opened his mouth, a heart-stopping scream had both men grabbing a weapon and running.
“Sammy?” Dean ran straight to his brother as Bobby’s trained weapon and eyes scanned the room. “Sammy, what?”
The four-year-old had his head buried in his knees and was crying, but the second Dean’s hands touched him, he threw himself into his big brother’s arms. “Hey,” Dean soothed, kneeling. “It’s okay, I got ya. What’s wrong?”
But the boy just cried on, digging his little fingers into him.
“Sammy?” Dean tried again, arms wrapped protectively around his baby brother as he watched Bobby for any signs of trouble. “Come on, little brother. You can tell me.” He didn’t think it was anything on TV that scared him. He was watching Diego, for cryin’ out loud. “What happened?” he prodded gently.
When Sammy finally spoke, it was so soft, so utterly broken that Dean almost hadn’t heard him. “You died.”
Breathless, the world instantly narrowed down to those two words and Dean found himself dizzy with what they could mean. Holding the trembling boy in his arms, his eyes sought out Bobby’s, but the man just looked as stunned and worried as he felt. A thousand possibilities were racing through Dean’s head. None of them he liked. It could be one of countless memories from Sam’s time trapped by the trickster. It could also be a vision of Dean catching his ticket to hell. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to hope for. Visions right now were the last thing they needed showing up again—especially with a four-year-old audience, especially since Dean had firsthand experience with how badly they hurt, but…if Sammy was remembering Sam’s memories now…
“Please don’t die,” the four-year-old version of his brother whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.
Dean closed his own eyes. The tremors were like a thousand needles in the heart. And the words…an echo he’s seen in Sam’s eyes over and over the last few months. “Sammy,” he willed his voice to be steady, reminding himself that he was dealing with his brother as child right now. “I…” he found that he didn’t know what to tell him, though. I’m not going anywhere was a lie and felt like a betrayal. “Are you hurt? Did it hurt?” he instead demanded thickly. If it had hurt his head…
A small nod and Dean swallowed…hard. “Where’d it hurt, Sammy?”
To Dean’s surprise though, his brother didn’t reach for his head. Instead, face buried in Dean’s neck, he wiggled a little hand in between their chests. “Your heart?”
Another small nod, and just as Dean was about to start panicking again…
“When you died,” came a whisper so soft, so mournful as warm breath and tears ran down Dean’s neck, “it hurt here.” A tiny hand fluttered between their chests.
Clenching his jaw, tears filling his own eyes, it was all Dean could do to hold onto him and not start screaming himself.
~*~*~*~
When Sam opened his eyes, his little body was being held in his big brother’s crushing, rocking embrace. And, though it was fuzzy, he actually remembered why. The trickster. The feel of his brother cooling in his arms.
His adult mind was blending more with the child’s then. He was getting worse.
Instead of pulling away, Sam actually stayed in Dean’s arms, not letting him know that he was Sam again. Indulging in the fact that he could cling to his brother and Dean wouldn’t think anything of it—thinking the four-year-old was in charge, fresh tears met Sam’s eyes as he swayed to the rhythm of his brother’s comfort.
It was time.
“We’ll fix this, Sam,” Dean whispered with renewed conviction, somehow sensing him. “We will.”
Squaring his tiny trembling jaw, another thick, warm tear slid free.
Not if I fix you first.
Sam had, at first, denied asking about their father, but the look on Dean’s face was proof enough. Simultaneously they had yelled for the older man.
“I don’t know,” he admitted wearily. “Sam, you don’t remember asking about your dad?”
“No. Last I remember was going to bed.” Still sitting in the same chair, food forgotten, Sam was hugging his little knees to his chest—truly looking the age he currently was. “What’s this mean, Bobby?” Young, troubled eyes gazed up at him. “Am I really turning into a kid now?”
Taking off his worn cap and scratching the back of his head, Bobby didn’t have the answers the boys sought and it pained him in a way he was still getting used to. Shaking his head, “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t know.”
~*~*~*~
Sitting in the kitchen, Dean sighed, kneading his neck muscles. It had been three days since Sam had first asked for their dad. Three. And he had lost track of how many times his brother’s mind had fluctuated between an adult’s and a child’s since then. As quickly as a turn of a switch, Sam would go from spouting theories and doing research, to watching cartoons and wanting to cuddle.
…of course, Dean smirked, if he really thought about it, he wasn’t so different after all.
Once though, Sam had asked Dean why he was so big. It had never even occurred to him that his own little brother might not recognize him. And that scared him. A lot. Luckily, Sam knew him by more than just his good looks and for now was satisfied with, “Why are you so short?” as a reply.
Still, every…episode, just left Dean feeling more and more helpless…and surprisingly torn. Helpless, because he was losing the brother he knew a little more every day to something he couldn’t even see to fight. And torn, because…after struggling all of his life to preserve at least a fragment of his brother’s innocence…was he really going to be the one that took his second chance at it away?
Dean watched as Sam, or ‘Sammy’ as they had come to refer to him in this state, stacked shotgun shells in front of the TV, humming quietly to himself the theme from an old 80’s cartoon Dean had long ago forgotten. Tears rushed to blur Dean’s vision, but he quickly blinked them away. It was getting harder to do so, though as the days passed. It was getting harder to believe they’d be able to change Sam back. Especially since they couldn’t find an ounce of evidence documented that proved the second spell—the one to actually change his brother back, even existed.
And if they can’t…
If they couldn’t…
He raised Sam since he was six months old and he thought he had done a pretty damn good job of it too. Sam has always been his responsibility. Always. Four, or twenty-four years old, Dean has always looked out for him. Still, he was confident…he had to believe the adult Sam could look after himself once…
But if…
But if they can’t fix this… turn Sam back…
Dean wasn’t going to be there this time to look after his brother. Not with Hell Hounds on his tail.
It was a double-edged sword. To be able to raise Sam again—to continue to protect him as he grew up again, Dean would have to find a way out of his deal…but if he even tried to do that, Sam would die.
Leaning forward, Dean cupped his face in his hands. He could feel the figurative sword pressing in on him, gutting him and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. The threat of failure often did that to him…especially when it came to Sam.
Because soon, he feared, the only thing he’d be able to do for his brother …was die.
Waddling into the kitchen lugging a book, said little brother plopped it loudly onto the table, snapping Dean out of his thoughts like a slap to the face. He was ‘big boy Sam’ again. Dean smirked faintly, sitting back in his seat. The first time he called him that, he got a Fruit Loop in the eye. Those bitches sting.
“Thanks for giving me something at least manly to play with,” the man trapped inside a boy’s body grunted, climbing into the chair.
Dean grinned, watching him pull himself up. “No sweat. I wanted to give you the gun too, but Bobby wouldn’t let me.”
Settling his tiny butt into the seat, Sam paused to gape up at him. “How I survived the first time, I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head in awe.
Dean just looked mischievous as he tried to push aside the rising concerns for his brother’s future, as he tried to push down the boiling guilt. Clearing his throat and scratching behind his ear, “So, find anything?” he asked.
“No. You?”
“Well, while you were playing Bob the Builder over there…” Sam didn’t disappoint by rolling his eyes. “I may have finally found the spell to locate the components we’ll need for the super spell…once we find that, anyway,” he added, as much for his own benefit as Sam’s. They hadn’t told him what they found…or hadn’t found actually.
“Super spell?” A tiny eyebrow rose that was more adorable to Dean than sarcastic, “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“Well, it’s either that, or, “Turn Sammy Back into a Big Boy” spell,” Dean replied cheekily.
Sam blinked. “Good choice.”
More like a fear of Fruit Loops. Was that odd for a grown man?
~*~*~*~
“Sam or Sammy?” Bobby asked as Dean joined him outside.
“Sam,” Dean answered. “I gotta say, though, Sybil got nothing on that kid.”
Bobby grinned crookedly. “Sybil had a bucket load of personalities crammed into that head of her’s, son. Sam is the only personality in that little body. His mind, for some reason, just keeps gettin’ a little confused on what year it is.”
“Ah, a little?”
Bobby shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“How?” Dean demanded.
“We could have a mini-you runnin’ around,” Bobby replied easily.
Shaking that particular image immediately out of his head, “Anyway,” Dean started flipping through one of the books he’d been carrying around religiously since the…downsizing. “I think I might have found the component spell.”
Neither man commented on the second spell. The one they knew they’d never find.
~*~*~*~
Still sitting at the kitchen table, Sam lowered his head into his arms. His headaches were getting worse. They used to taper off for a bit right after his…Sammy…episodes, then increasingly build up til the next time, but now the pain was becoming a constant, and nearing the big V worse. He shuddered at the thought. He hadn’t had a vision since before he…died. And he was white-knuckle hoping that that part of their lives was behind them.
Not that the cosmic powers didn’t make up for it in other ways. He flexed his ankles and weren’t surprised when his feet didn’t even reach the floor. He sighed.
He had no memories whatsoever of his ‘Sammy’ moments. One second he’d be reading Latin, trying to focus through his pounding head, and the next he’d be stacking shotgun shells or, even worse, snuggled up in Dean’s lap.
Just kill him now.
He’d better go through their cell phones and make sure no one was snappin’ pictures. Sometimes he wished Dean could deny his puppy-dog eyes and just say no to cuddling. This whole experience was humiliating enough as it was.
Still, it wasn’t all for naught. Hopefully.
“Headache?”
“Little one,” he lied after a moment. He hadn’t even heard Dean come back in. The next thing he knew he was being handed a glass of water and a baby aspirin. He groaned, half squeaked, “Don’t we have anything stronger?” he asked, not for the first time.
“Not for you.”
Sighing, he swallowed the pill and laid his head back down waiting for it to kick in so he could hit the books again—unless, of course, he fell asleep first. Damn his little body. His brother’s worried gaze burned through the back of his neck, though. “Keep staring at me like that,” he said grumpily from between folded arms, “and I’ll claw your eyeballs out.”
Dean chortled, but went to take a seat beside him. “I’d like to see you try, SammySamSqueakerson.”
Ignoring the jibe and one of many new nicknames, “Don’t underestimate me, Dean. I may be smaller, but I’m also closer to the ground now.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I’m built for speeeed.”
It was the first time Sam had heard Dean outright laugh in a very, very long time. Despite the jackhammer in his head, he grinned into his arm…but it quickly faded.
Would Dean ever forgive him?
~*~*~*~
“Sammy,” Dean admonished gently, looking up from his book. “Lazarus isn’t a pony…despite her size.” Though he found it funny that Sammy wasn’t nearly as intimidated of her as Sam was.
Sammy patted the massive dog’s haunches from his mounted position on her. “I know she’s not a pony, Dean. She’s a lion and I tamed her,” he said proudly.
Dean’s eyebrow rose. “What are you, the Lion Whisperer now?”
“No, I’m Superman. See,” he turned to show off his cape—formerly known as Dean’s leather jacket.
Dean’s eyebrows rose even further, but he decided not to question why Superman would be riding a lion…or why the hell it always had to be his jacket he needed to act like a superhero. This was Sam after all. A four-year-old Sam. “Yeah, well, do me a favor and make sure Simba there doesn’t get snot all over that cape of yours.”
Sammy slid off his ride and placed his little hands on both sides of Lazarus’ gigantic, drool-covered cheeks. “You wouldn’t do that, now would you girl?” he crooned. She nudged his chin in response and he ended up on his butt, giggling.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Dean turned his attention back to the latest book Bobby gave him before running out to get what they needed for the first spell.
As far as they knew, Sam was supposed to be turned into a child—body and mind, straight from the beginning. Why it didn’t happen that way just posed more questions they didn’t have time to answer right now. Right now all their energy was going into turning him back. No matter how hopeless it was. Every day Dean was losing more and more of his brother…to yesterday.
Dean couldn’t help but wonder, though, as he watched as Sammy suddenly abandoned his game with the…lion to crouch down and start drawing something in the dirt—what it was like for him? The four-year-old. Did he notice the blank moments in time where he went from playing with shotgun shells to having his nose buried in a book? He never asked any questions other than where their dad was and why Dean was so big. He never seemed confused when coming back to himself. It literally seemed like he just snapped back and instantly ran off to play.
It was weird.
The story of their lives.
When his brother started talking a mile a minute, still drawing in the dirt, Dean walked over to him, brow furrowed as he approached warily, not knowing what to expect anymore.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back,” the boy said as Dean knelt down beside him, book dangling between his knees
Dean gave a cursory glance around them. “Who?”
Still smiling, dimples showing, Sammy continued to draw in the dirt. “Dad,” he said simply.
Before Dean could find his voice again, Bobby pulled in and with a squeal of delight, the supposed-future-leader-of-a-demon-army ran in the opposite direction to hide—leather cape flapping behind him.
Stepping out of the car, Bobby set the last of the supplies for the first spell on the hood. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Heart pounding, Dean’s body felt numb and he nearly dropped the book as he straightened and turned in the direction his little brother had torn off in. One of us might have, he thought to himself. That, or not only was Sam’s mind regressing…it was also failing. He looked to Bobby, green eyes beseeching, “Do you think,” he started hoarsely, swallowing, “I mean, you were there when dad…when he…”
“Dean?” Now he had the older man looking worried.
A loud roar announced Sammy’s presence before the kid even leapt off the junked car and into Bobby’s arms.
Closing his eyes, Dean shook his head. He really needed to teach the boy some stealth.
Sammy was beaming, though, little arms wrapped around Bobby’s neck. “Did I scare you, Uncle Bobby? Did I scare you this time?”
Dean still wasn’t used to seeing the older man’s face soften as much as it did every time ‘Sammy’ was present. “You sure did, kiddo! Have you been working on your roar?”
The boy nodded, obviously pleased with himself. And Dean’s stomach churned.
~*~*~*~
Sammy was back in the living room playing, leather jacket still doubling as a cape while Dean and Bobby prepared for the first spell.
After three days they were finally making some progress, but the mood in air was solemn. The second spell remained outside of their grasps…if it even existed, and the first just seemed pointless without it.
…and the truth they were building up to, unbearable…at least for Dean.
He had even considered summoning Ruby, but he had no way of knowing if her loyalties would shift if suddenly her boy king…was really just a boy.
It wasn’t a risk Dean was willing to take.
Their movements were strained as they wordlessly set about their task…because they both knew, deep down where they allowed it to hurt—that they were never going to find a way to change Sam back. Still, blindly, methodically they pressed forward. What else was there to do?
“Are you going to tell me what’s beatin’ around in that skull of your’s, or are you gonna make me guess?” Bobby asked out of nowhere.
Dean canted his head to the side. There was about a million things actually. He decided, though, to ask the question he’d been dreading since the whole nightmare had started. Picking up the chalice, he lightly fingered it as he searched for the strength to say the words that would literally tear him in two. Still, he had to know. He had to be sure. Just in case.
“What is it, boy?” There was that softness again to Bobby’s voice Dean was hearing more and more often lately…since Sam had died. And Dean with him.
“Bobby,” he finally started hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he numbly lowered the chalice before forcing his voice on—even as his heart screamed and threw itself wildly against his chest. “I need you to do something for me.”
Grey eyes narrowed, but the older man didn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he said softly.
“If…if we can’t make Sammy big again…” Swallowing, Dean bowed his head and gripped the kitchen chair beneath his fingers until his knuckles turned white. It wasn’t something he could accept, but he knew…he knew it was something he needed to prepare for. Desolately, he looked up at the only person other than his brother that he considered family. “I need…”
Suddenly knowing where the conversation was taking them, Bobby sighed and looked away. “Dean—”
“Please, Bobby,” Dean’s voice broke under the weight of the hardest thing he’s ever had to do—relinquish his responsibility for Sam over to someone else. “I need you to promise me.”
“Don’t you think he’d be better off—?”
“No, I don’t.” Dean interrupted steadily. Only one person would have been able to detect the hitch in his voice…and he was making a pyramid out of ancient texts in the next room. “Listen, I’ve thought about this. Sam would be safest with you. Lilith could still find him, still be after him. And I can’t…I can’t have people lookin’ out for him that don’t…” Words catching in his throat, flexing his jaw, he looked away when a tear came too close to falling, when his heart came too close to breaking.
“Don’t what?” Bobby ventured hesitantly, softly, eyes narrowed.
Dean met his eyes again and they were so full of raw pain and misplaced failure that it stole the older man’s breath away. But as he opened his mouth, a heart-stopping scream had both men grabbing a weapon and running.
“Sammy?” Dean ran straight to his brother as Bobby’s trained weapon and eyes scanned the room. “Sammy, what?”
The four-year-old had his head buried in his knees and was crying, but the second Dean’s hands touched him, he threw himself into his big brother’s arms. “Hey,” Dean soothed, kneeling. “It’s okay, I got ya. What’s wrong?”
But the boy just cried on, digging his little fingers into him.
“Sammy?” Dean tried again, arms wrapped protectively around his baby brother as he watched Bobby for any signs of trouble. “Come on, little brother. You can tell me.” He didn’t think it was anything on TV that scared him. He was watching Diego, for cryin’ out loud. “What happened?” he prodded gently.
When Sammy finally spoke, it was so soft, so utterly broken that Dean almost hadn’t heard him. “You died.”
Breathless, the world instantly narrowed down to those two words and Dean found himself dizzy with what they could mean. Holding the trembling boy in his arms, his eyes sought out Bobby’s, but the man just looked as stunned and worried as he felt. A thousand possibilities were racing through Dean’s head. None of them he liked. It could be one of countless memories from Sam’s time trapped by the trickster. It could also be a vision of Dean catching his ticket to hell. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to hope for. Visions right now were the last thing they needed showing up again—especially with a four-year-old audience, especially since Dean had firsthand experience with how badly they hurt, but…if Sammy was remembering Sam’s memories now…
“Please don’t die,” the four-year-old version of his brother whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.
Dean closed his own eyes. The tremors were like a thousand needles in the heart. And the words…an echo he’s seen in Sam’s eyes over and over the last few months. “Sammy,” he willed his voice to be steady, reminding himself that he was dealing with his brother as child right now. “I…” he found that he didn’t know what to tell him, though. I’m not going anywhere was a lie and felt like a betrayal. “Are you hurt? Did it hurt?” he instead demanded thickly. If it had hurt his head…
A small nod and Dean swallowed…hard. “Where’d it hurt, Sammy?”
To Dean’s surprise though, his brother didn’t reach for his head. Instead, face buried in Dean’s neck, he wiggled a little hand in between their chests. “Your heart?”
Another small nod, and just as Dean was about to start panicking again…
“When you died,” came a whisper so soft, so mournful as warm breath and tears ran down Dean’s neck, “it hurt here.” A tiny hand fluttered between their chests.
Clenching his jaw, tears filling his own eyes, it was all Dean could do to hold onto him and not start screaming himself.
~*~*~*~
When Sam opened his eyes, his little body was being held in his big brother’s crushing, rocking embrace. And, though it was fuzzy, he actually remembered why. The trickster. The feel of his brother cooling in his arms.
His adult mind was blending more with the child’s then. He was getting worse.
Instead of pulling away, Sam actually stayed in Dean’s arms, not letting him know that he was Sam again. Indulging in the fact that he could cling to his brother and Dean wouldn’t think anything of it—thinking the four-year-old was in charge, fresh tears met Sam’s eyes as he swayed to the rhythm of his brother’s comfort.
It was time.
“We’ll fix this, Sam,” Dean whispered with renewed conviction, somehow sensing him. “We will.”
Squaring his tiny trembling jaw, another thick, warm tear slid free.
Not if I fix you first.
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Date: 3 May 2008 11:14 pm (UTC)I can understand why Dean would want Bobby to raise him if he wasn't around. Who else knows the Winchesters' story? Who else could tell Sam of the people he loved - of the people who loved him.
This cute little age regression fic is turning into a real tragedy... and I don't blame Sam for wanting that hug because as an adult it was something he was unlikely to recieve ...
Can hardly wait for the next instalment.
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Date: 14 May 2008 02:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 4 May 2008 01:11 am (UTC)Please to be writing more soon. PLEASE.
~Nebula
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Date: 14 May 2008 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 4 May 2008 01:55 am (UTC)Can't wait for the next chapter!
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Date: 14 May 2008 02:36 pm (UTC)Thank you for reviewing! *bhg*
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Date: 4 May 2008 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14 May 2008 02:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 5 May 2008 03:52 pm (UTC)I love this story!! I cannot wait to see where you go with it.
no subject
Date: 14 May 2008 02:38 pm (UTC)Thank you again!!
Will you continue?
Date: 9 Jul 2008 07:46 am (UTC)I just came across your story through a vid you posted on youtube. This is GREAT and looking at the last update-date I was wondering if you are still working on it? *hopes*
Angi
Re: Will you continue?
Date: 9 Jul 2008 02:13 pm (UTC)