#deaged sam

Jack looked down at the little boy who a few hours ago was the tall towering Sam that he knew, now he was 4-years-old and barely reached up to his knee. He could hardly believe that a boy still small would grow up to be the giant known as Sam Winchester.

“Hey, Sam” he said quietly, the same way Sam had spoken when they first met

“where’s D’n?” Sam whispered, not moving from where he was hiding behind a banister in the library

“he’s not here at the moment, but he’ll be back soon. He left me in charge” Jack responded patiently. Dean and Cas were currently out hunting the witch who had done this to Sam, but before he left Dean had made it clear that this version of Sam didn’t know about the hunting world yet, so Jack had to be careful with what he said

Sam peeked out his little head a little more and Jack had to bite down his tongue to stop himself from squealing. Dean wasn’t kidding, Sam was one heck of a cute kid. “who ‘r you?”

“my name’s Jack, and I’m a friend of your brother” Sam peeked out a little more before stepping out from behind the banister  

“when D’n back?” it took a while for Jack to decipher the 4-year-old’s words, ‘it’s funny’ he thought, how much Sam had changed since he was four, but then he figured everyone was like this.

“he’ll be back soon, he told me to keep an eye on you”

“k. I’m hungree Jac’” Sam said and lifted his arms in the air,

“what would you like to eat?”

“Lucky Charms!” Sam declared happily and Jack froze,  

“what was that?”he asked, barely able to believe what he just heard

“lucky charms!...plueeze?” Sam added, remembering his manners

“sure! To the kitchen!” Jack said and led the way with Sam following him like a lost puppy, Jack smiled  as he thought about older Sam and what he would think about having unhealthy cereal for dinner. He laughed about the differences between his Sam and little Sam.

“you ok, mister?” Sam asked from where he was trying to keep up with Jack’s long strides, another thing he had to get used to. Usually it was the other way around.

“I’m fine Sam” Jack replied, giving him a warm smile which he returned, Jack was glad to know that at least one trait about the Sam he knew was still there. His big heart.

 A few hours later, both Dean and Cas returned to the bunker to find Sam sleeping against Jack by the table with empty bowls of Lucky Charms and Crunch Cookie Crunch in front of them.

“hey!” Jack whispered, being careful not to wake Sam up “did you kill the witch?”

“yeah we did, but it’ll still be a while before Sam will be back to normal” Cas replied as he took the empty cereal bowls to the sink to wash

“so, you kids have fun?” Dean asked and took a seat across from Jack, who nodded happily

“yeah! We decided to mix our cereals together, and then we both got a sugar rush. Well, Sam did. Not so much me. Anyways, we ran around the bunker before coming back here where he collapsed. How come you never told me your brother was this much fun?”

“yeah, Sam outgrew this phase a long time ago. He decided to eat more healthy when he was 10, major killblow, but hey. What can you do about it?” Dean replied as he got a beer and handed one to Cas who had just joined them

“also, you weren’t kidding about his puppy eye look. He is very cute” Jack said slowly and Dean’s grin grew

“I told you. Yeah, Sam was a pretty cute kid.”

“speaking of which, I think we should get him to his bed” Cas said as Sam shifted against Jack slightly, Dean nodded and gently picked his brother up before leaving the kitchen

“you did a very good job Jack” Cas said once dean had left

“thanks, I now know what it’s like to care for someone. Why Dean tries so hard to protect his brother. I’ve only looked after Sam for a few hours, but I already feel more protective of him. Is that normal?”

“nah, that’s just what I call the Sam effect” Dean said as he re-entered the room and took a sip of his beer

“the Sam effect?”

“yeah, its like Sam has this thing that makes everyone he meets want to protect him. I saw a few cold-hearted hunters warm up slightly whenever Sam was present.”

“and you believe it?” Cas sounded sceptical

“well it worked on Bobby” Dean said and Cas nodded, Jack who made met the Bobby from the alternate universe understood. Bobby had a tough exterior around him that made him seem cold-hearted, but Jack could bet that within 5 minutes of meeting little Sam, that heart had warmed up.

“anyways” Dean said as he finished his beer “we should head to bed” he stood up and walked out of the room with Jack and Cas following.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Domestic, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestication, Domestic Fluff, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Kid Fic, Kid Sam Winchester, Witches, Curses, Pining, Everyone Thinks They're Together, sam winchester is a good brother, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Bad Parent John Winchester Series: Part 39 of Nickel's Story Time Series Summary:

When a hunt gone wrong leaves Sam as a toddler, Dean easily slips back into caretaker mode. He's raised Sam once, he can take care of him again until Rowena arrives to undo the spell. However, what Dean doesn't expect is Cas' willingness to help take care of Sam. Watching Cas, seeing a side of the angel he's never seen before, leaves Dean pining more than ever before.

@mangomochaa asked too, so here it is!!

notes: set in season 5.

[part one]

–

“What do you mean you don’t know when he’ll be back!” Dean snaps into the phone. “It’s been a week!”

Cas sighs over the phone. “These things are not always predictable, Dean. It could take anywhere from a few days to a few months.”

“A few months?” Dean repeats incredulously. “Cas, the world is ending! How are we supposed to save it if Sam’s a child?”

“When I examined him the day before I told you he had only a few traces of magic left in his system,” Cas tells Dean patiently. “He will be back in some time, Dean. I cannot predict exactly when.”

“And you’re sure you can’t do anything?” Dean asks, not caring how desperate he sounds, or that it’s the sixth time he’s asking.

“No, Dean,” Cas says. “I cannot. The magic must wear off on its own. I do not want to accidentally cause even more damage.”

“Fine,” sighs Dean. “Fine. If he’s not back within another week, though,” he adds, “I’m kicking your ass.” And then he hangs up before Cas can say anything else.

Pocketing his phone again, Dean steps back inside the motel room. Sam is lying in his bed, curled under the covers, his little chest rising and falling as he sleeps. His head is poking out from the blankets, messy brown curls everywhere, and he’s got his face pressed into his pillow.

Dean sighs again, kicking his shoes off and getting into his own bed. He sits with his back against the headboard, eyes on Sam. His little brother is unusually pale; he’d been complaining of a “tummyache” before Dean had put him to bed, and Dean’s afraid he might be coming down with something. His little nose is red, and he’s sniffling a little in his sleep, and Dean’s worried it might be the flu. Some of that’s been going around, and while adult Sam may be immune, little Sam definitely isn’t.

Dean’s fears are proven right when Sam wakes up a couple hours later, cranky and miserable. He reaches out for Dean as soon as he’s awake, clinging to him tightly when Dean gets into bed with him. “’M sick,” he mumbles, climbing into Dean’s lap.

Dean puts the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead first, and then his neck. “Yeah, you’ve got a temperature,” he mutters, heart sinking. “Does your tummy still hurt?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, but m’head does.” He sniffles. “An’ my nose feels funny.”

Dammit, curses Dean silently. Definitely the fucking flu. They’ve got some meds in the first aid kit, but all of them are too strong for someone of Sam’s size and age – and in any case, Sam can’t have them on an empty stomach, and there’s nothing to eat except for some crackers and a bag of gummy bears.

(Dean vaguely remembers adult Sam telling him they should stock up on food that was actually healthy, and he remembers just scoffing at him before loading their shopping cart with junk. Should’ve listened to him, but no point crying over spilled milk.)

There’s nothing else for it – he’s going to have to take Sam out.

He doesn’t want to; Sam’s absolutely miserable, sniffling into Dean’s shirt and probably spreading snot all over it. There’s also the very real risk of them being tailed by some angel or demon, and the last thing Dean needs is for word to spread that Sam Winchester, for the time being, is a child. He’s not an easy target, not when he’s got Dean with him, but Dean doesn’t want to give any opportunity to angels, demons, or any hunters still gunning for Sam.

But he can’t leave Sam alone in the motel either, especially when he’s sick.

Sending up a wordless prayer to no one in particular, Dean gathers Sam in his arms and gets off the bed, lifting Sam with him. At five, Sam should be too old to be carried, but he’s ill, and so damn tiny it makes Dean’s heart hurt, and fuck, he just wants his little brother close.

“Where are we going?” Sam asks, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck.

“Gotta get you some food and medicine, kiddo,” Dean tells him. He gives Sam a once-over, making sure he’s dressed fine, and then picks up his car keys from the motel side table. He’s still in his jacket from when he’d gone outside to talk to Cas, and Sam is wearing a hoodie over two shirts, so they should be fine.

Thankfully the town is really small, and Dean doesn’t have to drive for too long to reach the pharmacy. Sam’s growing lethargic now, head heavy on Dean’s shoulder, one pudgy little hand tangled in Dean’s shirt under his jacket. His skin is too hot against Dean’s, and he tries to ignore the curl of stress in his belly as he loads up a basket with children’s flu medicine and lozenges.

The cashier coos at Sam as she rings them up, and Sam, shy on his best day, is absolutely not having it. He buries his face into Dean’s neck, arms tightening around him, and Dean forces a chuckle as he fishes his wallet one-handed out of his pocket. “He’s shy,” he murmurs to the cashier. “And not doin’ too good right now.”

“I hope he feels better soon,” she says with a sympathetic smile as she accepts the hundred Dean hands her. She tries to get Sam’s attention again when she hands Dean his change back, but Sam’s not having it -- he tightens his limbs around Dean, until it feels like Dean’s holding on to a particularly nervous octopus.

“The lady just wanted to say hi, you know,” he tells Sam once they’re back at the car.

“I know,” Sam mumbles, curling up in the back seat.

Dean fastens the seatbelt over him before getting in the driver’s seat. “You still feelin’ sick?”

“Uh huh,” Sam says from the back. “Where we goin’ now?”

“Gettin’ you some food,” Dean tells him.

“‘Kay.” Then, a second later, “Dee?”

“Yeah?”

“How come Daddy lets you drive his car?” 

Dean pauses. “Well, uh,” he says. “He said I might need it, so he let me have it. Made me promise to take real good care of it.”

“Then what’s Daddy drivin’?”

“Ah, you know, I’m sure he found a car,” Dean hedges, pulling up in front of the supermarket. “All right, kiddo, what d’you feel like having?”

Sam shrugs. “Dunno. When’s Daddy gonna be back?”

“Couple days,” Dean says as he gets out, hoping hope against hope Sam’s an adult by then. He really does not want to have to explain the circumstances of John’s death to his toddler brother. “What do you think ‘bout soup?”

Sam shrugs again, letting Dean unfasten his seatbelt. He reaches out for Dean as soon as he’s free, and, getting the hint, Dean picks him up, letting Sam wrap his limbs around him again. Sam’s nose is cold when he presses it against Dean’s neck, and Dean resolves to get him back to their room as soon as possible.

It takes him no more than ten minutes to gather the ingredients he’s looking for, and another two to check them out. The cashier here, a tired-looking college-aged student, makes no effort to talk to him or Sam any more than necessary, something both of them are grateful for. Ten more minutes, and they’re back at the motel.

Dean settles Sam back in bed with a lozenge as he throws together the ingredients for tomato rice soup. There had been instant options at the supermarket, and Dean had been tempted, but had thought better of it in the end. He’d had the luxury of someone making an effort to make him feel better when he’d been sick as a child, and it wouldn’t be fair to deprive Sam of that. Besides, instant had nothing on Mary’s recipe. 

Sam manages to get through half a bowl before declaring he’s full, at which point Dean pours some medicine down him and settles him back against the pillows, sheets pulled up to his chest. He undresses, stripping down to his shirt and boxers, and is just about to get into his own bed when Sam asks, voice impossibly small, “Dee?”

Dean turns to smile at him. Sam looks even paler in the lamplight, just his head poking out from under the covers. “What is it, Sammy?”

“Can you - can you sleep with me? Please?”

“‘Course I can,” Dean says after a moment. He changes course, getting into bed with Sam, and his little brother immediately burrows into his side, grabbing on to Dean’s arm and wrapping it around himself. Dean chuckles, letting himself be manipulated into whatever position Sam wants. “You comfortable?” he asks, when Sam has managed to situate himself securely between Dean’s arms.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam says, pressing his face into the space between Dean’s chin and shoulder. “You’re warm.”

“How are you feelin’ now?” Dean asks, running a hand down Sam’s back. His brother is so small right now that Dean’s palm almost covers his entire back. Sam had always been a bit on the small side for his age, Dean remembers fondly, until the Great Dramatic Teenage Growth Spurt, better known as the time Dean spent endlessly bitching about Sam being taller than him.

“‘M okay,” Sam tells him sleepily. “Dee?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“What happened to big me?” 

Dean pauses in the act of rubbing Sam’s back. In his worry over Sam being sick, he’d almost forgotten the kid’s propensity for questions and his endless curiosity. “Well, big you became small you,” he says in the end. “It’s the same ol’ you, kiddo. You’re just a bit smaller now.”

Sam is quiet at that. Just when Dean begins hoping his curiosity is satisfied, though, he asks, “Is big me good?”

“Is big you good?” Dean hums thoughtfully. He has no idea how to even begin to answer. There’s nothing about adult Sam’s life that’s even halfway palatable for a child to hear. All the pain and horror, and not to mention the fact that until Sam had become a child, Dean hadn’t been speaking much to him... he has no idea how to explain it.

Sam, it seems, takes the worst possible idea from his silence. He sniffles, in a wet sort of way that has nothing to do with his illness, and then asks, voice watery, “Dee? Am I a bad person?”

“What? Sammy, no,” Dean says at once, heart sinking. Sam sounded so afraid when he asked, like he thought the answer would be yes, and Dean can’t fathom how someone this young could worry so intensely about something like this. “Sammy, you’re not a bad person at all! You’re like a hero, kid. A superhero, like Dad. But even better,” he adds.

“I don’ feel like a superhero,” Sam says after some time, voice thin and shaky. “I feel... I feel bad.”

“Like sick?” Dean asks, though he knows that’s not what Sam meant.

Sam shakes his head, curls tickling Dean’s chin. “No, not like ‘m sick. Just... bad, Dee.”

“But you’re not,” Dean tells him, moving his hand from Sam’s back to his head so he can run his fingers through Sam’s hair. He scratches lightly at Sam’s scalp, knowing he likes it, and sure enough, Sam lets out a small sound of contentment, almost against his will. “You’re not bad, Sammy. Not small you, and definitely not big you. In fact, you’re the best person I know.” And as he says it, he realizes it’s true; despite every mistake Sam’s made, he’s the bravest person Dean knows, and the strongest. Not everyone has the strength to keep on fighting against the worst odds in the world like Dean’s little brother does.

“Even when I’m big?” Sam asks, sounding infinitely hopeful. He raises his head to look at Dean, eyes wide and bright, and the innocence of his expression makes something stick in Dean’s throat.

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to sound choked up. “Especially when you’re big. You’re my favorite person, Sammy. In the whole wide world. Nothing’s ever gonna change that, kiddo.”

“Promise?” Sam asks, voice small.

Dean nods. “Promise,” he whispers, and tilts his head forward so he can kiss Sam’s forehead.

Sam watches him for a few seconds, as if searching his face for the truth. Whatever he finds satisfies him; he smiles and presses a tiny, pudgy hand to Dean’s cheek. “You’re my favorite too, Dee,” he tells him, and plasters a wet kiss to Dean’s face. “On the whole planet.”

And then he lays his head back down on Dean’s chest, thankfully before he can see Dean begin to tear up. Dean takes a moment to compose himself, swallowing the lump in his throat and discreetly wiping at his tears with his free hand, before settling back down with both arms around Sam again. “Thanks, Sammy,” he murmurs into Sam’s hair.

What he wouldn’t give, he thinks as Sam begins dozing off, to hear the same words from the adult version of his brother. He misses him so much, so ferociously it’s an ache in his chest, even though little Sam makes him smile and makes his heart feel lighter than it has in forever. And it’s strange, he thinks, to want someone when they’re right next to you, literally sleeping in your lap, but there it is. He misses his Sam, with his stupid floppy hair and his bitchfaces and his weird obsession with salad.

But until the spell wears off, and he gets his Sam back, he’s going to make the most of his time with little Sam. And if Dean has to tell him every day that he’s the best person in the whole world, he’ll do it and not complain even once. It’s the least Sammy deserves.

Aww de-aged sammy would be so cute😭 4 or 5 years old, being the most adorable,curious little mop of brown hair

combining these two prompts to avoid repetition. the mental image you guys are giving me is making my heart melt ;-;

–

One day, Dean is going to take some time out of his busy Apocalypse-busting schedule, and hunt down every single witch in the continental US. Then he is going to kill them. Slowly, painfully. First, he’s going to put splinters under their fingernails, and then under their toenails, and then he’s going to pull their teeth out with rusty pliers, and then–

“Dee! I’m done!”

Dean shakes his head as if he can physically clear it of the violent thoughts, and then steps inside the motel bathroom to help Sam. It’s very weird, having to crouch down to talk to him; he barely comes up to Dean’s knee. Dean’s not entirely sure due to not having his own age as a frame of reference, but gun to his head, he’d put Sam at around four or five. 

Fuck witches. He’s going to use the same rusty pliers to pull their nails out once he’s done with the teeth.

“Help me!” Sam says, tugging at Dean’s pants and drawing his attention once more. He looks down at his unbuttoned jeans in dismay, and Dean chuckles, kneeling so he can help Sam with the button and zipper. Little guy hadn’t gotten the hang of that till seven.

“Gotta wash your hands,” he reminds Sam once he’s done, and hoists Sam up so Sam can access the sink. He supervises the handwashing, and then carries Sam back into the motel room, setting him down on the bed. “You hungry?”

Sam nods, brown curls flying.

Dean laughs again, leaning down to push Sam’s hair out of his face and tuck it behind his ears. “What do you wanna have?” he asks.

Sam shrugs his bony little shoulders. He’s drowning in the t-shirt Dean’s put him in, fashioned by cutting off the sleeves of his smallest shirt. They’d gotten lucky with the pants; Dean had found them hanging to dry outside someone’s house and grabbed them, but unfortunately there hadn’t been any shirts.

“Gotta tell me something, Sammy,” Dean tells him. This part of Sam’s childhood he doesn’t miss at all, the picky eater phase that had taken Sam forever to grow out of it and was probably – definitely – a contributing factor to John’s graying hair.

“Can we have pizza?” Sam asks after a moment of deep thought. The way he frowns when he’s thinking has remained the same throughout the years, despite his age – brow furrowed, bottom lip sticking out, nose scrunched a little – and Dean feels his heart ache a little from the nostalgia.

“You want pizza?”

“Yeah!” Sam says.

“What do you want on it?” Dean asks, reaching for the motel phone so he can order. He can’t really remember if Sam had liked vegetables at age five, but somehow he doesn’t think so.

“Um,” Sam says. “Cheese.”

“Okay. And?”

“Just cheese,” Sam tells him.

“Pepperoni?” Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head, his hair coming loose from behind his ears again. “No! Jus’ cheese.”

“Okay, then.”

He puts the TV on for Sam as they wait for the pizza to arrive, and sits down next to him with the laptop. Cas is not responding to any calls or prayers, so it looks like Dean’s on his own for now, stuck with a toddler version of his brother and hoping and praying that it won’t be permanent. The witch is dead, though, so maybe it’ll wear off in a couple days. He hopes. Until then, he’s just gotta deal with it. He’s already raised Sam once, it can’t really be that hard to do it again, right?

Sam squeals with laughter at something on the TV, distracting Dean from his thoughts. He looks down to find Sam giggling, face pink, little teeth out on full display along with his dimples, and the sight squeezes something in him. He can’t remember the last time Sam laughed like that, even as an adult. Not even when he racks his brains. Sam snorts at his jokes, sometimes, but his smiles and laughter – rare to begin with – are almost non-existent now.

With a jolt Dean realizes he misses it.

It’s not just the looming Apocalypse, and Sam’s guilt over it, Dean thinks. Some of it has to be him, too, and their deteriorating relationship. He’s been hard on Sam – deservedly so, he thinks – but the kid’s beating himself up enough as it is, and Dean adding on to it probably doesn’t help at all.

And ever since Dean threw away the amulet… Sam hasn’t smiled, not once. The first couple of days he could barely look Dean in the eye. Not that Dean wanted to look at him, either, if he’s being honest, but the few times he’d managed to catch a glimpse of Sam’s face, his brother’s eyes had been wet. He knows Sam hasn’t been sleeping well, but it was especially bad after that day. More insomnia, more nightmares when sleep did come. And Dean in the other bed, lying awake too and pretending he’s asleep. God, how did it all go so wrong?

Some of his sadness must show on his face – Sammy stops laughing abruptly, and tugs on Dean’s jacket sleeve. “Dee?” he asks, concerned little voice. “Dee, wha’s wrong?”

Dean attempts a smile, running his hand through Sam’s hair before tucking it behind his ears in the vain hope it’ll stay there this time. “Nothing, kiddo,” he says, not sounding convincing even to himself. “I’m okay.”

“You look sad,” Sam points out. His hand is still on Dean’s arm, tiny and warm.

“I’m okay, really,” Dean reassures him. On a whim, he puts the laptop aside, and then he puts his arms around Sam’s body and lifts him into his lap. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Sam says, squirming a little until he’s comfortable. He settles with his head against Dean’s chest, face turned towards the TV where Tom and Jerry is playing on mute. “Dee?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a thing?”

“Sure, buddy.”

“Why’re you so big?”

Dean has been anticipating this. Sam’s been perceptive at any age, and Dean knows he’s been thinking about this one for a while. He’s only asking now because his brain has failed to come up with a solution. “Magic,” he tells Sam seriously. It’s the truth, after all. “And it’s not me that’s big, you’re just small.”

Sam accepts this answer easily, because he’s five and lives in the sort of world where magic is something cool that happens to Disney characters, and because he’ll blindly believe anything from Dean. “Where’s Daddy?” he asks next.

“He’s, um, away,” Dean says. He’s been anticipating this question too.

“Are you as big as him?” 

“Almost,” Dean answers with a chuckle. John is still a superhero to Sam, and he’s not going to be the one to ruin it for him right now. He’s just a child. Let him be innocent to the world for as long as he can.

The pizza arrives. Sam eats half a slice before declaring he’s full, leaving the cheesy travesty for Dean to deal with. Dean goes through four slices anyway before he’s done, and then helps Sam wash his hands. They settle in bed afterwards, the TV on again, but this time Sam climbs into Dean’s lap off his own volition before Dean can even reach for the laptop.

“Can I sit here?” he asks – pointlessly, considering he’s already made himself comfortable.

Dean chuckles. “Sure you can, little guy.” He waits until Sam stops moving and then puts his arms loosely around him, unmuting the TV as he does so before dropping the controller in Sam’s lap.

Sam’s body is so tiny in Dean’s arms. Dean can feel every bone under the baby-soft skin, can feel every single inhale and exhale. Sam’s got his head against Dean’s chest again, hair tickling Dean’s chin a little, and his chubby little hands are both holding on to one of Dean’s hands. They’re so small that Dean could cover them both just by closing his fist.

Sam laughs at something on TV, but it’s lacking his previous energy. Dean looks down at him in concern, wondering if something’s wrong, if it’s because of the spell – but Sam’s just sleepy, eyelids drooping as he struggles to remain awake long enough to finish the cartoon. He’s got the fingers of one hand wrapped around Dean’s thumb, the other clutching at Dean’s index and middle fingers, and his head is growing progressively heavier against Dean’s chest.

Dean’s heart swells. He had no idea how much he’d missed Sam’s dependence on him until it was gone, but this, right now, a five-year-old Sam falling asleep in his lap? It makes him ache for his younger brother, which is strange considering he’s always been right here. Physically, at least – the distance between them has never been greater than it is now.

He raises his free hand, runs it through Sam’s hair and down his back. Sam lets out a tired but contented little sigh, eyes fluttering shut finally, and lets his body relax completely into Dean’s. Within a few seconds he’s sound asleep, little chest rising and falling with every breath, his tiny mouth slightly open.

It’s hard to believe, looking down at him, that this kid is going to grow up to endure so much suffering. Almost impossible to believe he could be capable of starting the Apocalypse. Right now he’s tiny enough to fit into Dean’s lap, and young enough to still look at the world with awe and wonder. But when he’s older he’s going to lose his family just because he wanted normal. He’s going to lose his girlfriend because of a demon deal that happened years before he was born. He’s going to lose his father, and his innocence, and then his life. And then he’s going to lose his brother, and then he’s going to lose himself.

He found his way back, though. He did. It’s important Dean remembers that. Sam’s trying, he really is. He’s not sleeping and he barely eats and Dean can’t remember the last time they just talked without it being about a case or the world ending, but he’s trying.

The Sammy in his lap mumbles something in his sleep. Dean pats his hair, strokes his round, soft cheek, and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. He’s so innocent like this, curled up against Dean’s chest, trusting him to keep him safe from things he doesn’t even know exist just yet. And he’s going to grow up, and lose that sparkle in his eyes, and that smile is going to fade, and he’s going to realize that he’s not safe no matter what he does. That there’s been a target on his back since before he was born, that he’ll never be able to escape from the taint in his blood, that he’s going to be manipulated into ending the world and he’s not going to know it until he already has.

It’s hard to believe it’s this body Lucifer wants. Someone as sweet as the child sleeping in Dean’s arms cannot be Satan’s true vessel.

Sam’s head is resting in the exact spot the amulet used to. Suddenly, Dean has to bite his lip hard just to stop himself from crying, though there are already tears in his eyes. He threw it away, and he did it knowing Sam was watching him, and why? For what? Just on the word of some asshole angels who have been trying to manipulate them since the beginning? Was Sam’s heaven even real? Sam sure as hell didn’t look too happy in it, and it was supposed to be frickin’ heaven.

God, how did it come to this? His little brother is fading before his eyes, and there isn’t a thing he knows that can stop it. The dullness to his gaze, the restlessness of his fractured sleep, the loss of appetite… Sam is dying, right in front of Dean’s eyes. Maybe not physically, but there sure as hell isn’t a lot of life left in him, on the inside.

And Dean misses him. He misses him so fiercely it hurts, like he’s already gone. He’s never had to live without Sam in his life. Stanford doesn’t count, because he’d known Sam was happy and as safe as he could be. And even now, when he has Sam, it still feels like he doesn’t. Not just the kid sleeping in his arms, but the adult Sam, whose world revolves around his big brother even now when said brother won’t speak more than five words to him.

He needs to do better. He needs to be better, needs to stop pinning the Apocalypse on Sam over and over again when it’s clear that Sam’s got enough self-loathing to begin with. Not like the kid did it all on his own anyway. Wasn’t fair to act like it was just him, like he did it all single-handedly. And even if he had, God, he’s Dean’s little brother. He didn’t mean to, and he’s trying so damn hard to make up for it, and he’s losing himself even more in the process, just a damn shadow of who he used to be, and God, Dean needs to do better.

He can start by making Sam laugh, he thinks. Or at least smile. It’s too late for the amulet – that’s a regret he’s going to carry for the rest of his life, every time Sam looks at his chest and then away like he can’t bear to see it empty. Even if they can’t go back to what they used to be – Dean can try. He can make Sam smile, maybe make him laugh. Make sure he eats and sleeps, make sure he knows he doesn’t have to carry all this weight alone. 

Make sure he knows he’s not alone, that he’s always going to have Dean. No matter what.

In a couple days this sweet, lovely child will be gone, and Dean’s going to have his grown version of Sam back. He’s going to buy him breakfast, that girly coffee he loves, and he’s going to make sure Sam eats every bite. Sing him to sleep later if he fucking has to, though he hopes it doesn’t come to that. And the next time anyone tries to blame Sam for the world ending, Dean’s going to rip their tongues out himself. Angel, demon, hunter, anyone, he doesn’t give a shit. Sam’s beating himself enough without the rest of the world – without Dean – lining up to take a swing too.

- he had an upset tummy and was really feverish and was just feeling really bad. (It reminded me of my own baby). dean then made an ice bath because the fever was way too high for comfort and as he was easing he and sam into the bath, poor baby limp in his arms, dean was just apologizing and pressing kisses to sams head when sammy started whimpering from the sudden cold and ugh it was basically just dean being the best big brother in the world and doing all he knew to make him feel better 😔 [2/3]

It was one of the best dreams I've ever had, I slept for a solid 10 hours and it was just really beautiful so thank you💌 if you feel up for it, making it a fic would be awesome but I understand if you can't, I'm a college bub too haha. Again though thank you for the dream and the works [3/3]

Anonymous said: oh wow okay! hmm, I saw you do a lot of angst so I think something with some more sick sammy would be awesome. it could be a really bad fever or aw you know what I just thought of? sam catching on that Dad isnt coming back and getting depressed, not eating and being really clingy with Dean. If you dont want to do angst then the boys making breakfast, jamming out to music and sammy giggling his ass off would be really nice -lizzie

you guys are honestly so sweet ;-; i’m so so sorry that this is late, real life has been A Lot recently, but this fic refused to leave my mind till i wrote it down lmao

[part 1] [part 2]

--

The first thing Dean does in the morning is put his palm across Sam’s forehead. He frowns when he notices that the fever still hasn’t broken, and Sam’s skin is still far warmer than it should be. Still, he’s not too worried, not just yet -- if memory serves, Sam should be fine by the end of the day, or tomorrow morning at the latest. In the meantime, Dean’s got leftover soup, lozenges, and flu meds. They’ll be golden.

He checks his phone; it’s around ten, which means it’s time to be up. The technical problem with getting out of bed, though, is that Sam’s sleeping curled into Dean’s side, fingers curled loosely into his shirt, and Dean’s going to have to be really careful if he wants to get up without waking his very little brother.

It takes some gentle untangling, but Dean soon has his shirt free of Sam’s grip. He yawns as he heads to the bathroom, leaving the door open so that he can hear if Sammy wakes up. Some coffee would be a fucking blessing right now, he thinks sleepily as he empties his bladder, but he can’t really leave Sam alone in the motel room just because he needs a caffeine fix. Maybe if Sam feels up to it when he wakes, they can go out for breakfast.

Sam’s still asleep when Dean comes out of the bathroom, but Dean figures he’ll be up soon. Just in case, he checks Sam’s temperature again. It’s pretty much the same, and Dean tamps down his disappointment -- after all, it’s not as if a few minutes would’ve really made a difference.

But half an hour later Sam is still asleep, and still feverish, and now Dean’s beginning to get worried. He gets up from his chair and heads over to the bed, sitting down and gently running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Hey,” he says, voice low. “Up and at ‘em, kid.”

Sam opens his eyes after a couple shakes, blinking blearily up at Dean. “Hi,” he says, and then yawns. “Don’ feel too good,” he tells Dean a second later.

“Aw, kid,” Dean says, letting Sam crawl into his lap and slump against his chest. He puts his arms around his little brother, rubbing his back gently. “Better or worse’n yesterday?”

Sam shrugs. “Dunno. Is Daddy back yet?”

“Nope,” Dean lies easily. “You feelin’ up to some breakfast?”

Sam considers this for a second. “No,” he tells Dean in the end, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Dean’s neck.

“Gotta eat something,” Dean tells him, tucking wayward curls behind Sam’s ear. “Okay, how ‘bout orange juice? You like orange juice.”

“Okay,” Sam mutters, not opening his eyes.

“You feel up to goin’ out?” Dean asks.

Sam shrugs again. Taking it as a yes for now, Dean gets to his feet, Sam still cradled in his arms. “C’mon, then, let’s get you changed,” he says. “We’ll have some breakfast, and if you still don’t feel better, we’ll come back and watch cartoons. Anything you like. How’s that sound?”

Instead of answering, Sam turns his face into Dean’s neck, small fingers curling into the collar of Dean’s shirt. “’M cold,” he says. He’s still throwing off heat waves, Dean notes with the beginnings of worry.

He tries not to think about it as he dresses Sam and helps him brush his teeth. The diner’s not far, and Dean gets their food to go, not wanting to risk being seen by anything that could want to harm Sam in this vulnerable state. Besides, Sam’s still lethargic, almost still in his arms though he’s not asleep, and Dean knows he doesn’t feel like being anywhere that’s not a bed or a couch.

The kid downs his orange juice without much fuss, and then accepts the spoonful of flu medicine Dean gives him. Then he curls into Dean’s side again, both of them seated on the bed facing the television. Dean has his breakfast wrap and coffee with one hand, the other placed across Sam’s back. It seems to bring the kid some comfort; he’s soon dozing off, paying the cartoons no mind.

Dean texts Castiel once he’s done with breakfast. Still a kid. Still sick.

There’s no reply, so Dean tries praying. O Cass, who art probably busy somewhere, he thinks with considerable effort. Pray thee, uh, drop by and pay us a visit. Sammy’s still a kid, and now he’s sick too. Some help would be great. Uh. Amen.

Nothing. Dean tries calling. There is no response. He’s probably all right, Dean reassures himself, just busy somewhere. He’ll try contacting him again in some time.

He whiles away the time watching television and playing games on his phone. His hand never leaves Sam’s back, rubbing absently as he flips through channels, occasionally stroking through his hair. Sammy’s a little sweaty, which is good. Hopefully the fever will break soon, thinks Dean as he pushes the sheets off Sam until he’s in only a thin blanket.

He dozes off too, eventually, head lolling against the headboard, TV remote clutched loosely in his free hands. The curtains are drawn, not letting much light into the room, and the low hum of the television serves as a lullaby, as well as Sam’s small, warm form next to him. Dean falls asleep with Sam tucked into the space between his side and his arm, his breath puffing warmly over the skin of Dean’s hand.

It’s late afternoon when he wakes again, going by the golden glow barely visible around the edges of the curtains. Sam feels even hotter against Dean than he’d thought possible, and he can’t help the curse that slips out when he puts his hand against Sam’s forehead. The kid is burning up, skin flushed and sweaty, and he looks uncomfortable even in his sleep, face scrunched up. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dean mutters as he scrambles out of bed, rushing to the bathroom and plugging the drain in the ancient, stained bathtub. He opens both taps as far as they’ll go and then goes to get Sam.

The kid wakes up when Dean begins taking off his pajamas. “Dee,” he cries out as he’s lifted into Dean’s arms. “Dee, I don’ feel good--”

“I know, kid, I know,” Dean murmurs soothingly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Here--” He gently lowers Sam into the bathtub, wincing as Sam lets out a cry at the cool water against his overheated skin.

“Dee! ‘S freezing!”

“I know,” Dean mutters sympathetically. “But we gotta get your temperature down, buddy. I promise it’ll be over soon, okay, and then we can watch a movie if you want, all right? Anything you want. Or I could read to you--”

But Sam’s not listening, too busy trying to get out of the tub. Dean steels himself and then gently pushes him back in. “I know it feels cold, buddy,” he tries, “but it’s just for a few minutes, okay? I promise--”

The water isn’t even that cold; it’s tepid at best, but it probably feels icy against Sam’s skin. The kid is crying now, shivering as tears roll down his cheeks, and the sight makes Dean’s chest hurt something bad. He could never bear seeing Sam cry, as a child or an adult, and it’s almost impossible now, even though he knows he’s helping him, not hurting him.

“I want Dad!” Sam’s crying, hands rubbing at his eyes. “Dee, I want Daddy, where’s Daddy?” He hiccups, and then resumes sniffling.

“He’s not here, kid, ‘s just me and you,” Dean tells him, heart aching at the sight of Sam sobbing. “It’ll be okay, Sammy, I promise, just a couple more minutes--”

“Is Daddy coming?” Sam asks, wiping ineffectually at his running nose. “Is he on his way?”

“I -- yeah, yeah I just spoke to him,” Dean lies, helpless. “He’ll be here soon, kiddo, don’t you worry--”

“Does he know I’m sick?” Sam demands.

“Yeah, I told him--”

“Then why’s he not here--”

Unable to handle it any longer, Dean puts his hands under Sam’s arms and lifts him out of the bathtub, cradling him close to his chest and not paying any mind to his shirt soaking up all the water off Sam’s skin. “It’s all right, I got you, I got you,” he rambles, grabbing for a towel with one hand and managing to wrap it around Sam as he carries him back to the bed. He sets Sam down carefully and dries him off, paying special attention to his mop of limp, wet curls. Sam’s shivering a little now, but his sobs have reduced to the occasional sniffle, and his eyelashes are clumped together from tears, but he’s no longer actively crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers to him as he begins dressing him in clean, dry and warm clothes. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I get it if you’re mad at me, but I hadta do it, kiddo. You were burning up.”

Sam sniffles, and Dean wipes his nose with his own shirtsleeve. “’M not mad,” Sam whispers a second later, blinking wetly at Dean. 

Dean zips up the little hoodie he’s just put around Sam, and then lifts him again, hugging him tight. “Promise?” he asks, throat suddenly dry.

“Yeah,” Sam says, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. “I feel a bit better.”

“You do?”

Sam nods, and rests his head down on Dean’s shoulder. “Little bit.”

“That’s good,” Dean says, and then presses a relieved kiss to Sam’s damp hair. “That’s really good. D’you wanna go outside in the sun for a little bit?”

“Okay,” Sam says, curling his fingers into Dean’s collar again.

There are still a couple hours of sunshine left, and Dean spends them walking up and down the motel parking lot, humming under his breath as he rubs Sam’s back. Sam perks up a little once his hair dries off, and begins demanding his favorite songs, and after that his favorite King Arthur story, which Dean takes as a sign that his health is improving. His own mood improves along with Sam’s spirits -- he hadn’t realized how heavy it had weighed on him, having Sam not well, until he’s better. 

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he tells Sam, interrupting his own story.

Sam smiles at him, and presses a wet little kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I am,” he replies.

“You know why?” Dean asks, taking one of Sam’s tiny hands in his and kissing the knuckles. “‘Cause I’m an awesome big brother.”

Sam giggles. “That tickles!” he says, patting Dean’s face with his free hand. “Your face’s like -- like a cactus. ‘S spiky.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I’m about overdue for a shave. You wanna see how I do it?”

“Like how Daddy does?” Sam asks. He seems to have forgotten about when John’s returning, until now, and for a second Dean’s afraid he’ll remember again, but Sam remains cheery as he continues patting Dean’s cheek experimentally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, grinning as he begins heading back inside. “Except better, ‘cause I’m cooler.”

“’Cause you’re Batman,” Sam says, completely seriously.

“Yep,” Dean says, popping the p. “And you’re Robin.”

The fever’s worn off, and Dean can only hope the curse will follow. Just in case, though, he thinks as he locks the motel door behind the two of them, he’s going to need to start looking into alternatives. Maybe try Castiel again, when Sam’s asleep or distracted.

hi anon!!! lucky for you, i’ve had this fic in mind since i began writing bb!sam, and now i finally get to write it :D

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

--

Castiel finally calls back when Dean’s brushing his teeth. “Dee, phone!” Sammy calls out a second after it begins ringing.

“Coming!” Dean calls back around a mouthful of toothpaste, and then spits it out and rinses his mouth. He steps out of the bathroom to find Sam sitting on one of the chairs next to the small table, chubby little legs swinging back and forth as he scribbles on a notepad. The phone is next to him on the table, and Dean picks it up at once when he sees caller ID.

“Cas! About time, man--”

“Dean, you’re in trouble,” Castiel interrupts, sounding graver than he usually does.

Immediately Dean is on red alert. “What’s going on?”

“Demons have caught wind of Sam’s... predicament,” Castiel informs him. “They will be moving towards you soon.”

“Can you come?” Dean demands, already making his way towards the door and windows to check the salt lines.

“Not for a while,” Castiel answers. “A few angels and I are going to try to stop the demons before they can reach you. Do not leave.”

“Cas--” Dean begins, but the angel has already hung up.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, looking up with interest as Dean rushes around the room, double-checking the salt lines and the devil’s trap under the rug.

Satisfied that they’re all intact, Dean strides over to Sam and kneels down next to him. “Sammy,” he says, and his serious tone has Sam looking down at him with a frown. “Listen to me very carefully, kiddo.” He reaches out and takes both of Sam’s little hands in his own. “You know how sometimes in movies the bad guy sends his, you know, his minions, and they try to hurt the good guys?”

Sam nods.

“Well, something like that might happen now. So I need you to be careful, okay? You know how Robin always listens to Batman and helps him out?”

Sam nods again, frown deepening.

“I’m gonna need you to be Robin. But you haveta listen to what I say, all right? I gotta keep you safe, kiddo.”

“Dee, what’s happening?” Sam asks again, now beginning to look a little frightened. “Is someone tryin’ ta hurt us?”

Dean gets to his feet and puts his arms around his little brother, pulling him into his chest as he stands. “It’s nothing,” he lies to Sam, placing a hand on Sam’s back. “We’ll be fine, as long as you listen to me, all right?”

“You’re scarin’ me,” Sam tells him, the corners of his mouth turning down. He wraps his limbs around Dean’s neck and waist and hangs on, looking confused and apprehensive.

“‘S nothin’ to be scared of,” Dean tells him, trying to grin at him. “You got your big brother with you, kiddo, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sam considers this for a second. “’Cause you’re Batman,” he says in the end.

“Damn right, kid,” Dean says, ruffling Sam’s hair with his free hand. “Come on, now.” He takes him to the bathroom and sets him down in the bathtub. “Look, you may hear some loud noises, all right? And it might make you scared. But I need you to stay here and not move, okay, Sammy? No matter what you hear. Don’t move till I come get you. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, watching as Dean puts down the toilet lid and sits on it. “Dee, what if you get hurt?” 

“C’mon, Batman doesn’t get hurt!” Dean reminds Sam with false bravado. His gut is churning and he feels nauseated at the very thought of what could happen, but he tries not to let it show as he smiles down at his kid brother. “I’ll be fine, Sammy. We’re both gonna be all right.”

Sam nods. “Okay,” he says in the end. “Promise?”

“Swear,” Dean tells him. “Now -- do you remember what I just told you?”

“To stay here and not move till you come get me,” Sam recites dutifully.

“Good man,” Dean says, ruffling his hair again. “Hey -- you want your bear? He can keep you company till I’m back.”

Sam nods again, so Dean stands to go get it. The bear is facedown on the bed where Sam had left it, a tattered, faded old thing that Dean had found deep in the trunk of the Impala, a keepsake from Sam’s first childhood. He hands it to his brother, who accepts it gratefully and immediately cradles it to his chest.

“Thanks, Dee.”

“No problem, kiddo.” On a whim, Dean leans in and kisses Sam’s forehead. “Okay, I’m gonna go out now, all right? Be safe, Sammy.” He waits for Sam’s affirmative nod, the kid’s eyes wide and scared, and then draws the shower curtain closed.

There is silence as he goes back into the room, and Dean quietly loads his gun and sits down on the foot of the bed, Ruby’s knife in his other hand. The bathroom door is shut but not locked, and Dean can’t help but glance at it every now and then. Sam, true to his word, is quiet, but that doesn’t stop Dean from worrying about his little brother.

He sits there for around ten minutes, growing more and more restless with each passing second, until the phone rings again. The loud sound in the silence of the room startles Dean, and he almost fires the gun in his hurry to grab the phone. “Hey,” he barks into it when he picks up, pressing it in between his ear and shoulder so he can keep his hands free.

“Dean?” comes Castiel’s gravelly voice.

“Yeah. What’s the update?” 

“It’s under control,” Cas answers.

“You got the demons?”

“Yes.”

“Sammy’s safe?”

“Yes.”

The tension melts out of Dean in a rush of dizzying intensity, and he puts the knife down so he can hold the phone to his ear properly. “You for real, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean. But I would still advise being on your guard.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course. Thanks, Cas.”

“You are welcome,” Castiel answers a second later, a little awkwardly. He’s still getting the hang on human behaviors, it seems.

Dean grins at the phone as he hangs up, so relieved he thinks he might actually laugh out loud from it. “Sammy!” he calls out. “It’s safe now, kiddo, you can come out!”

There’s no answer from the bathroom.

“Sammy?”

Nothing, except for a loud bang, and then a crash as if something’s just fallen.

Frowning, the tension back, Dean gets to his feet. The room remains totally silent as he draws closer to the bathroom door, gun at the ready just in case. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but apprehension is making his guts roil again, heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Sam?”

He pushes the door open, gun at the ready. There is no sound or movement as Dean approaches the shower curtain.

“C’mon, kid, you’re freakin’ me out.”

He’s just reached out to pull the curtain back when it moves by itself, the rings clattering along the rod as its pushed aside. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as he realizes that little Sammy’s no longer there.

In his place, confused and naked as the day he was born, is adult-sized Sam, curled against the far side of the tub with his arms wrapped around himself.

“Sam?” Dean says, hardly able to believe it. “Sam, that really you?”

Sam blinks, and squints up at him for a second before nodding wordlessly. Just in case, though, Dean grabs a handful of salt from the bathroom windowsill and flicks it at Sam.

His brother blinks, but before he can protest Dean douses him in holy water from his hip flask. That finally moves him to talk; moving his wet hair out of his face, he says, “Dude, what--”

“Just checkin’, man,” Dean says, satisfied. “Looks like the curse wore off, huh.”

“I guess,” Sam says, wiping at his face with one hand. “Mind bringing me my clothes?”

“Wha-- oh, yeah, sure,” says Dean, heading back into the room. He puts his gun down on the bedside stand and grabs the first few things he finds in Sam’s duffel, trying to ignore the weird feeling in his belly at the sight of seeing his brother as an adult again.

He gives Sam privacy to dress in the bathroom, and instead waits for him at the foot of his bed, tapping his feet against the floor. Everywhere he looks around the room he sees signs of the kid brother he’d had just a few minutes ago -- tiny shoes in the corner, a small hoodie slung over the back of a chair, the half-complete drawing on the table. 

But there are also signs of adult Sam -- his laptop, his duffel, one of his flannels draped over the back of the other chair. And it makes Dean’s heart ache, because he’d missed Sam fiercely. He’d missed the adult version of his brother, and now that he has him back, it’s weird to think that he’s going to miss little Sam too.

The bathroom door opens and Sam emerges, dressed and holding his old bear awkwardly in one hand. “Um, I found this with me,” he tells Dean, putting the bear down on the nearest bed. “And these.” He’s got the clothes he’d been wearing, neatly folded.

“Yeah, uh, we’ll give those away later,” Dean says, getting to his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Won’t really need ‘em now, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Sam says shortly, putting them down next to the bear.

“Do you remember anything?” Dean asks. “From the past couple days?”

“Vaguely,” Sam tells him, sitting down in one of the chairs. Dean sits back down on the foot of the bed, not failing to notice how Sam’s quietly put physical distance between the two of them.

“Right,” says Dean. He can’t figure out why Sam’s answer has him feeling disappointed. Maybe he’d thought that if Sam remembered how close and affectionate they’d been, it would make some sort of difference in their relationship now as adults. But it seems that everything is still exactly the same -- distance, stilted conversations, Sam not looking him in the eye.

You’d wanted to fix this, Dean reminds himself. So fix it.

He stands and goes over to sit in the other chair, across the small motel table from Sam. “Hey, man, listen,” he says, and waits for Sam to look up before continuing, “how’re you feeling?”

“Um, fine, I guess,” Sam answers, looking up at him. “I don’t feel weird or anything. You killed the witch, right?” 

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“So it’ll be fine,” Sam says, and then goes back to fidgeting.

“You hungry or anything?” Dean asks after a few seconds of near-unbearable silence.

Sam shakes his head. “Not really. I just mostly feel tired, actually.”

“Should be fine after a good night’s rest,” Dean says. “We can check out tomorrow.”

“Okay,” says Sam. His eyes fall on the half-complete drawing his younger self had made not an hour earlier, and he freezes up. “Um -- did I do that?” 

Dean glances down at the stick figure versions of himself, Sam, and John. “Um, yeah. Like, an hour ago.”

Sam blinks. “Oh.” He reaches out hesitantly and pulls the drawing towards himself, examining it with more attention than he’s ever given a lore text. “Dad’s in here too,” he murmurs, more to himself than Dean, but Dean responds anyway.

“Yeah. You asked about him a lot.”

Sam looks up again. “Yeah? What’d you say?”

“Said he was away and on his way back,” Dean answers. “Don’t think you bought it though, honestly.”

Sam snorts a little at that. “Yeah, sounds about right,” he mutters, ducking his head. His hair falls into his face, shielding his eyes, and suddenly Dean is hit with relief all over again. He hadn’t realized it before, but a part of him that he hadn’t paid attention to had been convinced that he was never going to get his Sam back. And now he’s here, in front of him, with his stupidly long hair and his puppy eyes, and Dean is half-afraid that if he looks away, Sam will disappear again.

“Sammy?” he says, barely managing to speak past the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yeah?” Sam looks up, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“I missed you, man,” Dean admits. Sam’s face goes a little slack, eyes widening in surprise, and Dean continues, “I mean, little you was fun. Adorable as all hell. But I missed you.”

Sam opens his mouth, and then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words.

“And I’m glad you’re back,” Dean tells him, standing. He goes round the table, aware of Sam’s eyes following him, and then leans down to frame Sam’s face with his hands. Sam doesn’t move, eyes wide as he looks up at Dean in confusion.

“Dean?” he says uncertainly when Dean doesn’t move for a few seconds.

In response, Dean bends his head and kisses Sam’s forehead. He feels Sam freeze against him, but he doesn’t move away, instead closing his eyes and keeping his lips pressed to Sam’s forehead for just a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary.

“Dean?” Sam says again when Dean finally moves away, wiping discreetly at his eyes.

“Yeah?” Dean smiles.

“Are you, um, are you all right?” Sam asks. He hasn’t moved from his place, and he’s still wearing that expression of uncertainty, except now there’s a little bit of hope there, and caution, like he’s afraid of hoping too much. It breaks Dean’s heart; a little bit of affection shouldn’t be so out of place for Sam that it makes him worry.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” he reassures him, running his hands through Sam’s hair one last time before finally letting them fall to his sides. “More’n fine, in fact. I’m great.”

“You sure?” Sam asks, not looking convinced.

Dean rolls his eyes, a fond gesture. “Sammy, c’mere, man,” he says, and steps back to give Sam room to stand. The moment his little brother is on his feet Dean wraps both arms around him, pulling him in close and gripping the back of his head.

Sam remains still for a few seconds, but eventually melts into the embrace, his arms coming up to wrap around Dean. He hunches, trying to make himself as small as possible, and drops his chin on Dean’s shoulder, the side of face pressed into Dean’s neck. A second later, Dean feels wetness on the shoulder of his shirt, and his heart squeezes.

“I’m sorry, man,” he whispers, tightening the hug. “For the way things have been between us lately. And I know I haven’t helped. I’m gonna be better, Sammy. We gotta be better. You’re all I’ve got, man. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sam says thickly after a few moments. “I should’ve been better, I should’ve tried harder to be good--”

“Hey, stop that,” Dean chides gently. “We gotta stop lookin’ back, Sammy. What’s done is done. From now on we just gotta keep lookin’ ahead, and have each other’s backs. Like we always do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam says after a pause, and then presses his face into Dean’s neck, wet nose and all. “You and me against the world, right?”

“Damn right,” Dean tells Sam, grinning. He holds the embrace for some more time, letting Sam have as long as he needs, and then they step back at the same moment, both of them pretending they weren’t just crying.

“So, um,” Sam begins, and then gives Dean a watery sort of smile. “I’m exhausted, man.”

“Not surprised, honestly,” Dean tells him, wiping at his own eyes before reaching out to get rid of the last of Sam’s tears. “C’mon, man, let’s get some shut-eye, and then we get the hell outta here tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says, and gives Dean a half-hug when he passes by him on his way to the bed. Dean follows, kicking his boots off and stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers before getting into his bed. It’ll be a bit weird, sleeping on his own without a tiny child burrowing into his side, but instead of that he’ll have Sam’s deep breathing just a few feet away, and that kinda makes up for it.

“Breakfast on me tomorrow,” Dean tells Sam as he pulls the covers over himself.

Sam laughs, doing the same in his own bed. “Yeah, definitely,” he says.

“And look, man, if you still wanna sleep with the bear, I’m not gonna judge,” Dean tells him.

That gets him an eye-roll. “Shut up, Dean,” Sam says fondly, and then turns off the lamp. “’Night, Dean.”

“‘Night, Sammy,” Dean answers, smiling to himself in the dark as he settles on his side, facing Sam’s bed. Yeah, he’s going to miss little Sam -- but there’s no denying that his Sam, the right version of him, feels like home.

They’ve got an Apocalypse to end, a world to save, and angels and demons to fend off. And it should feel like a burden -- it does, most days. But they’ve got each other too, and there have been missteps and pitfalls along the way, but they’re all right. They’re always going to come back to each other in the end, because this is where they belong, at each other’s sides.

There is nowhere else that Dean would rather be, and he knows that the same holds true for Sam, too.

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Gabriel, Sam Winchester & Mary Winchester, Castiel & Mary Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Gabriel & Raphael & Castiel, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Mary Winchester & Raphael, Zadkiel & Sam Winchester Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel, Raphael (Supernatural), Morpheus, Zadkiel, Nuriel, Sariel, Michael (Supernatural), Hecate Additional Tags: Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Protective Gabriel, BAMF Gabriel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Morpheus is the best little doggie, Who is sometimes a big doggie, Sam Winchester's curiosity, Angel Sam Winchester, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Chuck is God, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, De-Aged Sam Winchester, angel grace, Wingfic, Team as Family, Insecure Sam Winchester, Insecure Gabriel, Dark Magic, Age Regression/De-Aging, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, terrible memories, Hallucinations, Hellhounds, BTGOG-verse, TheRiverScribe, Fledglings, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Fluff and Angst, Grief, Loss, loss of a loved one, Family as Flock, Anxiety, Enochian, What do you call a fanfic of a fanfic?, fanfic-ception, Emotional Baggage, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary:

When Sam stumbles across an object of dark magic in the bunker, he is sealed inside a room and forced to suffer through his greatest fears. Dean and the others desperately try to find out how to rescue him from behind wards that can stop an archangel, but even if they get him out of the room, will they be able to save him from his own mind?