![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonfly11
“Alalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala!” Sammy ran around the kitchen table, Lazarus’ Frisbee raised threateningly in one hand, Dean’s leather jacket flapping against his back. “Alalalalalalalalalalalala!”
“God, Sammy,” Dean groaned, washing a hand down his face as he stood at the table and tried to organize their supplies for a second time in one day. “I’m beggin’ you, go outside.”
“Alalalalalalalalalala!” The four-year-old replied, bounding out the door, never losing his stride as Lazarus excitedly greeted him and made a failed attempt to reclaim her Frisbee.
Dean gave Bobby a dangerous look as he came in the same door a moment later. “I cannot believe you let him watch, Xena: Warrior Princess.”
Bobby shrugged indifferently. “There was nothin’ else on and all you asked was for me to distract him while you got some air. Well, he was distracted.”
“I’m sorry,” Dean drawled sarcastically. “I didn’t realize I had to specify to not turn my baby brother into a warrior princess!” He jerked a hand to point outside where Sammy was currently doing summersault after summersault on the ground, battle crying the entire time—still clinging to the Frisbee even as the mutt tugged playfully to get it free.
Bobby had to scratch his beard and cough to hide his laugh—clearing his throat when he could feel Dean’s eyes burning a hole through him. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Dean. You now how kids are—imitating everything.”
“Yeah, well, if he starts usin’ my jacket as a skirt, you’re paying for the therapy sessions.”
“Your’s or his?” Bobby replied cheekily, receiving a warning glare from the younger man before he turned back to regard the mess before him.
“It’s not in the car either,” Bobby said, “Though I coulda’ swore I had some.”
Dean halfheartedly poked through the supplies on the kitchen table for the tenth time. “Well, it’s not here,” he sighed tiredly, absently rubbing the back of his neck.
When Sammy ran under the kitchen window in full battle cry mode—the raised Frisbee zooming by all you could see, giving the older man a bitter look, Dean grabbed the baby aspirin and popped five in his mouth dry. Making a face, he rechecked the bottle.
“You’re not supposed to chew those ones, ya idgit,” Bobby pointed out, watching as he immediately spit them into the sink and grabbed a towel.
“Gawd, dat’s groth,” Dean complained, scrubbing the cloth down his tongue.
Bobby just shook his head. “And you’re worried about the boy doin’ some cartwheels.”
Lowering the towel, Dean gave him a withered look. In truth, he was going crazy on the inside—screaming at the top of his lungs...in an extremely non-Xena kind of way. He just wanted to fix this. He just wanted to save his brother, give him back his life… before…
Before…
Sam had slipped right back into Sammy-mode while he was still wrapped in Dean’s arms. It was the quickest transition yet. And it was frustrating and as emotionally draining as all hell. Luckily, either Sammy didn’t remember what had put him in Dean’s arm in the first place, or he was simply reassured by then, and with a brief squeeze climbed out of his arms and started flipping through Bobby’s limited channels.
And that’s where ten minutes of Xena had corrupted his little brother for life.
He’d find it a lot funnier if…
“Son?”
Dean looked up from the towel he’d been silently fingering—lost in thought, lost in worry.
“We’ll make this right,” the older man said, almost as if trying to convince himself.
Swallowing, Dean replied roughly, “We’d better.”
~*~*~*~
Finding himself running, Sam immediately stopped and looked up—head cocking, little brow furrowing at the Frisbee he clutched in his hands. His throat felt raw, as if he had been screaming and Dean’s coat was still hanging from his neck. “Oh, God,” he closed his eyes, shoulders falling, arm lowering. The last thing he remembered was the trickster and clinging to his brother. The last thing he remembered…
He was startled when Lazarus suddenly grabbed the Frisbee from his loose grasp and started prancing around him victoriously with it.
“Is it just wishful thinking that you were the only one that happened to see whatever it was I was doing?” he asked the dog hopefully, only to suddenly be bombarded with fragmented flashes of warrior cries and strategic battle moves he had, in all seriousness, made up for Bobby… and his camera. Sam groaned. Dean would never let him live this down.
Wearily, his legs folded and he eased his barely four-foot-constantly-headachy-self to the ground. “Do me a favor,” he told the mastiff/rottweiler mix in all seriousness as he lay flat, “make it quick and go for the heart first.”
“Sammy?!” He heard Dean call from across the yard, probably alarmed by the sudden lack of battle cries.
“It’s SAM!” he hollered back grouchily from his sacrificial position on the ground—though his voice ended up cutting out and squeaking where he needed the most emphasis. Of course that didn’t happen while he was screaming his head off defending the world with a damn Frisbee.
“Are you sure it’s not Sammy: Warrior Princess?!” came a wiseass call in return.
Bravely looking up into the dog’s massive eyes as she licked her chops, “Make sure there’s nothing left of the shirt,” Sam instructed.
~*~*~*~
With his “My Big Brother is the Bestest!” tee-shirt still in one piece and with barely even any drool on it, stomping his feet, Sam made his way back to the house after being ordered closer. If they were going to treat him like a four-year-old, he was gonna act like one. He paused. Maybe his and Sammy’s mind were melding in more ways than one. If possible, his shoulders dropped even more. “Son of a—”
“Sam?” Dean called tentatively, head peeking out the door.
“I’m fine, Dean,” he lied wearily, walking just as wearily the last few feet and plopping his OshKosh butt down on the porch step. He sensed Dean hesitate—wanting to make him feel better, reassure him, talk about what had happened before Sammy took control again—but they were both getting past the point for empty words. Best save some for later, though. No doubt they’d need them.
“Well, squeak if you need anything,” he finally said, though unconvinced. “Bobby and I are right inside.”
Sam didn’t even bother rolling his eyes this time, he just waved him off. He knew Dean didn’t expect him to help. Their luck, he’d turn into Sammy in the middle of the preparation and start eating the concoctions anyway.
Besides, Sam needed some time to think. Tonight would have to be the night to follow through with his own plans…and he’d have to do it before Bobby and Dean did their’s. He was pretty sure he had everything he needed. Now he just had to get out from under his brother’s radar—which would prove to be the most difficult task yet, especially considering his current…situation and Dean’s heightened DEFCON level.
Sighing deeply, Sam picked up a stick Lazarus dropped expectantly for him and threw it. Their lives were so messed up. Former sasquatch, Sam was now only three and a half feet tall and was constantly being hijacked by who he was at the unfortunate cuddly age of four. And Dean…Dean had sold his soul and bought a ticket to hell to bring back said downsized and worthless Sam.
Yup. Messed up. But no longer could he find the humor in it. Not that he could ever find the humor in Dean selling his soul.
Sam brushed aside his bangs, revealing the exhaustion behind them and lightly fingered a folded page through his jean pocket.
It took all he had just to find the hope.
~*~*~*~
Bobby watched from the window as Sam played fetch with Lazarus—apparently, at some point he had made up with the mutt. He could tell the kid’s heart wasn’t in it, though. He seemed distracted—like something especially heavy was pressing in on those tiny shoulders. And Bobby could easily take a good guess at what.
Even as uncertain as Sam’s fate was right now, his concern went straight for his brother. A trait they shared to a fault.
He watched as, head down, Sam wearily brushed his bangs to the side. It was such a drastic, heartbreaking difference from the carefree boy somewhere deep inside him that posed for his camera just a few minutes ago.
It was such a heartbreaking difference between innocence and what was left once stripped away.
“Well, everything’s ready then… except for the sage,” Dean announced, pulling Bobby from his worried gaze. “Are you sure we can’t substitute it with anything else?”
Turning seasoned eyes to Sam’s older, chronically worried and currently taller brother, “Only if you don’t mind him turnin’ into a girl when we change him back,” Bobby replied casually.
Dean snorted, “Like we’d be able to tell the difference.”
Shaking his head with a crooked grin, Bobby looked back out the window, his grin instantly falling as Sam leaned into the dog, forehead to forehead as if for strength, and closed his eyes.
~*~*~*~
“Dude, you sound like a freakin’ broken record.”
“Pleeeease,” he begged anyway, turning on the Sammy-eyes. They were his best bet. This would be the perfect opportunity. He just prayed to whoever was listening that Sammy stayed away for awhile.
This was his only chance. No room for error. No time for hesitation. And he had the nausea to prove it.
“NO, Sam,” Dean repeated for the tenth time as he distractedly walked through the house looking for his keys. “And stop lookin’ at me like that,” he added, pointing a finger in Sam’s general direction as he searched.
“Like what?” Sam asked innocently, placing his hands behind his back, standing on his tippy-toes and dramatically batting his huge dewy eyes up at his brother.
Dean stopped in his tracks and looked down at him. He blinked. “What is with you?” he asked. Then raising an eyebrow, “Did you grab the wrong “holy water”?”
Sam furrowed his brow. “What? No, Dean. I just don’t see why I can’t stay here with Bobby while you run to town.” Technically he shouldn’t have to ask for permission.
“Uh, because I said so,” his brother answered in a manner that screamed, ‘duh.’ Huffing, Sam crossed his arms and tried his bitch-face. That just made Dean laugh.
Bastard.
“Sam, Bobby will be too busy. He won’t be able to keep a look out for you. Besides, we both know what happened that last time he “watched you”,” he gave his brother a pointed look complete with air quotes.
Suddenly Sam felt even more nauseated, but dismissing the memory and vowing to find those pictures and destroy them, he bit back his usual I’m not a kid retort. Though it hurt. He understood why Dean was being so protective. He knew why he wanted to keep him near. They hadn’t talked about what had happened in the living room, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been screaming in their heads since then. Sam was getting worse. But he wasn’t the only one running out of time.
“What’s the big deal, anyway?” Dean asked.
“Uh, I seem to recall nearly getting run over twice,” he brought up two fingers, including the guy on the sidewalk—though technically he did get run over by him, “last time I was in town. I was chased by Grabby Grandma, and every one of my cheeks were pinched within an inch of life.” He rubbed his rear and said thoughtfully, “I’m still not completely certain I escaped nerve damage.”
Sniggering, Dean finally found his keys and headed for the door. Sam sighed. “What if I prove to you that I can defend myself?” he asked as he followed his brother outside, his little feet working hard to keep up with the longer strides.
It was annoying as hell.
Dean looked amused at the thought, but, “No.”
“Scared?” The man trapped inside the child’s body challenged, crossing his arms and raising his chin defiantly.
Raising an appraising eyebrow, “Oh-ho-ho, bring it on, short stuff.” Before Dean could say another word, Sam ran up to him, kicked him in the knee and jumped onto his back when he bent over in surprise, grabbing the smarting limb. “Ow! Son of a bitch, Sam! Will you knock that off!”
Arms around his neck, Sam lurched as hard as he could, trying to shove his brother off balance. No such luck, though. He was like a freakin’ rock. Looking around for inspiration, Sam covered his brother’s eyes with his hands and quickly kicked off the porch railing—sending Dean stumbling blindly forward with Sam hanging on for dear life.
Ignoring the mumbled curses, Sam then kicked them off Bobby’s car. Dean almost went down that time and was now pawing at him, trying to get him off. But legs wrapped tightly around his chest, and elbows locked, Sam was holding his own.
Chapter 5 Part 2
no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 06:01 am (UTC)My heart just aches for both of them.
no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 01:32 pm (UTC)...you might wanna save some for the next chapter too. (Hopefully it won't be moldy by the time it gets here. lol)
Thanks for reviewing!
hugs,
no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 09:09 am (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 13 Sep 2008 10:44 am (UTC)*smishes you tight*
no subject
Date: 13 Sep 2008 02:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 11:52 am (UTC)This just made my morning. I was worried you had forgotten about this story.
Another great chapter and I'm already anxious for more. ;) lol
no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 01:33 pm (UTC)Thank you!! *hugs*
no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2008 10:10 pm (UTC)I can't wait for more!
no subject
Date: 13 Sep 2008 02:38 pm (UTC)