#kid!sam

Prompt from @deancaskiss' s drabble writing challenge

"Did you know that Jupiter has a thunderstorm that can swallow the Earth?" a small voice whispered from the dark. Dean startled, clutching at his blanket, his heart in his throat.

"Cas?" Dean whispered softly, trying not to wake Sam, sleeping across the room.

"Technically speaking the storm is an anticyclonic storm," Cas continued as he finally emerged from the dark, climbing onto the motel bed smoothly. "Its been raging for more than-"

"An anti-what now," Dean interrupted as Cas settled beside him, pulling the covers over them both and huddling down further into the bed. "Cas, you're so weird. I'm 9, not a baby, I'm not afraid of some-" CCRRAACCKK

Dean let out a high pitched yelp as a another clap of thunder shook the room. Diving further into the bed, Dean pulled the covers over his head and looked at Cas, his small face pinched in slight puzzlement.

"I'm not afraid," Dean repeated more forcefully, despite every bit of evidence to the contrary. "I'm not."

"It's okay, Dean," Cas said softly, with a gentle smile. "I'll watch over you."

Dean relaxed finally and smiled at the boy next to him. "I know," Dean whispered, reaching out for the other boy's hand. "Thanks, Cas."

CCRRRAACCCKKK-BBBOOOOMMMM

Dean ducked his head once again as Sammy's high cry pierced the dark, "DEAN!?!" Dean heard the sound of small feet scuttling across the floor, followed by the weight of a 35-pound five-year-old slamming into his own small frame.

"Oof," Dean let out, wrapping his arms around his little brother. "Heya, Sammy, what's this?" he asked, still hugging Sam to him. "You ain't scared are ya? Not of some measly old thunder, right??"

Keeping his tone light, Dean continued to soothe Sam as he quickly looked around the room. As always, Cas was gone. 'Night, Cas, Dean thought silently, turning back to Sam.

“Ms. Lyle, or the thing calling itself Ms. Lyle, wanted Sammy for something. It reminds me of the variant stories about succubi/lamiae taking children, or killing children. And if I’m honest with myself, I have to take that train of thought all the way: the stories also say that succubi come to claim the children that have been fathered by incubi, which is ridiculous.

I still don’t know what Ms. Lyle wanted. She just said Sam was special.”

John’s Journal, April 1st, 1991

“Deeeeeaaaan!”

“Sam, I need him to sleep— I need him!”

“I waaaant him, Dean! Gimme!”

“No, Sam! You had him for three nights in a row! It’s my turn!”

“Deeeeaaaaan! Give me the teddy!”

“No!”

“DEAN!”

Dean closes his eyes shut and holds the plush teddy bear close to his chest. “I said no, Sam! Now go to sleep!” No way. Nuh uh. Sam had his turn. Heck, Sam had more than what was worth. Why does he get to claim the bear whenever he feels like it and Dean doesn’t? Why can’t he keep the bear? It’s just for one night! And if he sleeps with it, he’ll be safe! He won’t see the bright orange light in his dreams. He won’t see the ashy black coating the night sky, the loud, red giants blocking the driveway and the receding, breaking resolve of a father. His father. Why couldn’t Sam see that?

“Dad would give me the bear!” Sam wails flailing his fists against the mattress in protest. The bed squeals and groans along with him, sharing his complaints. “He would’ve given it to me, Dean!”

“Well he’s not here!” Dean retorts, hugging the bear tighter and keeping it out of harm’s way. Sam keeps trying to reach for it. “Sam, I just want him for tonight, then you can have him back—!”

“No!” He punches the mattress again and creaks even louder. “I want him today! I want him now, Dean!”

“Sam—!”

“He keeps the monster away! I need him, Dean! GIMMIE!”

“Wh—!”

Sam cries out and jumps and punches the mattress again. The bed gives out. It toppled on its broken leg and Sam stumbled to the floor. “AH—!”

Dean immediately reaches out and yanks him into his arms. The bear falls to the floor. “O-Oh shoot, Sam! Sam, are you okay? Are you—“

Sam sobs. Dean shuts up. He learns to do that more often.

“I-I’m scared, Dean.” He cries. “They get me when I’m sleeping a-and it scares me so much—!”

“Hey,” Dean kneels down and places his hands on his little brother’s arms, clothed in flannel that’s much too big for him. Dean believes someone as small and puny as Sam will never grow into it. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? Are you hurt?”

The boy sniffles and hiccups but shakes his head.

Dean smiles sadly at him. “I’m sorry you got scared. I’ll let you have the bear tonight, alright? You get the bear.”

Sam’s moist eyes widen in size. “You mean it?”

All Dean does is nod. He reaches for the bear, laying right next to the broken bed, and hands it to Sam. “Here. Let’s get you to bed.”

At that, he picks Sam up (yes, he’s sure Sam will never grow him out) and walks him across the motel room to his father’s bed. (Not that he’ll need it.) He places him carefully atop the mattress and covers him up in the thin, mahogany blanket provided by the establishment. It’s itchy and worn out and part of it is littered with something Dean hopes isn’t mold. It’ll have to do. “This is dad’s bed.” Sam whispers into the air, because as much as he is young, he is also smart. “Where will you sleep?”

“I’ll make it work in the bathtub.” Dean jokes. “Maybe even use the curtains as a blanket. They look cozy.”

Sam smacks his arm and Dean laughs. “No, they don’t!” He reprimands. Then he brings the teddy bear up to his chin and says, “Sleep with me, Dean.”

His brother shakes his head. “Nah, it’s okay. Dad says you need your space. Need all the rest you can get. And we gotta make sure we make do.” He tries to sound smarter by using words he’s recently heard passerby use. He thinks it works. “What if Dad comes back tonight? Gotta be ready.”

Sam frowns. “But you can’t sleep in the bathtub, Dean. There’s worms in there.”

Dean laughs again. “Yeah, you’re right. Bugs are gross.”

“Gross!”

“Yeah,” He says. “Okay, that’s it. Bed. Sleep. You have Teddy, now go.”

His brother pouts and then Dean knows what he’s gonna ask for next. “Talk to Gabe for me?”

Dean sighs. Sam had caught their father praying once. Which, in all honesty, was a real surprise since the man had grown a deadly grudge against anything and everything spiritual; something Dean knew his mother had endorsed once upon a time. It wasn’t a happy night. Dad got angry, Sam got scared and Dean paid the price. But, ultimately (being the smart kid that he was) Sam got curious and tried it himself. Alone in his bedroom, sometimes with Dean, he likes to ‘Talk to Gabe.’ Dean guesses it helps with the nightmares. He also guesses it’s Sam’s own way of isolating himself from their dad. Dean doesn’t know what to think of that. “Sam… “

“Please, Dean.” He pleaded, puppy eyes in overdrive. “I won’t bother you anymore after that! Pleaseee!”

Dean hums, undecided. After a few more seconds of his brother’s crescendo of ‘Pleaseeeeeee!’, he gives. “Fine.” He says. “Close your eyes.” He does.

A quick scope of the room and a second to breathe gives Dean the confidence he needs to close his eyes too and speak. “Um…. Dear, Gabe—“

“That’s not how you say it!”

“Shh, Sammy! I’m doing this my way, okay?”

“Ugh, fine!”

“Right.” He takes a deep breath again and continues. “Dear, Gabe: Hi. It’s uh… it’s Sam and Dean Winchester again. From… From Kansas and we’re in Mississippi now. Um, Dad’s not here again. We— Sam wanted to let you know that he was really good today even though he’s totally lying—“

Sam pushes him. “Don’t tell him that!”

Dean snickers and pushes him back. “Fine! Geez! Anyways, we’re kinda on our own here and Sammy wants to ask for your protection again. He likes it when we talk so I hope you actually hear this and keep him safe, okay?” Dean pauses and peeks out an eye, half of him expecting an actual answer. Instead, he’s met with a silent, moonlite motel room and Sam's big eyes staring back at him. Figures. “Okay then. That was all then. Um… bye.”

He fully opens his eyes and nearly misses his grip as Sam shoots towards him and nearly chokes him in a hug. “Thank you,” he says. Then, he lets go, falls back, turns his back on Dean and closes his eyes. Dean blinks.

“Alright then.” He smiles and climbs off the bed. “Goodnight, Sammy.”

When he doesn’t answer, Dean let’s his smile fall and turns to look at the second bed. It lay tilted into the rug, specks of splintered wood and dust flaking it. Dad was going to kill him. On that happy note, Dean grabs a jacket (it doesn’t matter who it belonged to. they won’t miss it.) and opens the door. He looks back at Sam’s peaceful figure, the small, content smile on his face, and sighs. He needs a soda. And so, he leaves.

It’s not that Dean doesn’t believe in God. It’s that he finds it hard to believe that there can be someone out there responsible for keeping the good in the world when there was already so much bad. If He was real, then where was He? Where was He when people killed each other in cold blood? When monsters lurked in the dark and minced their prey until they were no longer deemed human? When their house burned to ashes, taking his mother with it? Dean finds it hard. He really does. If He really was real, then, as far as he knew, He sucked.

The vending machine outside blinked in bleak, neon blue, acting as a siren to any wandering souls desperate for a mediocre drink in the middle of the night. It only presented three options: water, soda and something pink called “Party Pop Surprise”. Dean settles for soda and fishes for his three quarters inside his jacket. It tasted alright (the soda, he means). Could’ve been worse. He walks back toward the motel room, passing the rest of the maroon doors and counting them in his head because, really, what else was there to do? Once outside his door, he sits on the floor, back against it. Tucking his jacket (it’s his now.) closer, he sips at the mediocre soda and watches the moon. Dean doesn’t move for a while.

Until a few moments later when something in the dark moves instead.

He doesn’t react at first, maybe because he’d been lacking in training lately (or maybe it was the soda? Maybe he should’ve been more careful? Eh, what does he know, he’s nine), but once he does, the person is already towering over him, a pair of blue eyes pinning him in his spot. Dean yelps and jumps back, smacking his back against the door. He’s breathing heavily. Whoa whoa whoa wait wait wait— what did Dad say? Shoot first, ask questions later— but he can’t think, can’t move—where’d they even come from— who are they, who is this?!

Dean can’t think of much. All he can muster is Sam is through this door. There is now way in Hell he was letting anyone through it.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Dean braves past his shock. He gets a good look at them and sizes up a very tall and very pretty black girl with her hair up in a bun and body clad in a jersey jacket with jeans and boots. Fairly young, a bit older than Dean. Middle schooler? (What does Dean know? He’s nine.) She keeps her stare firm and locked on him and he squirms. “What?” He squawks.

The girl blinks. “Hello,” she says. Dean doesn’t reply. Infuriatingly, she doesn’t say anything else either.

What? “Hi.” He finally says. “What do you want?”

The girl tilts her head and, maybe it was just the light, but her blue eyes seemed to glow a tad bit brighter. She hums. “I believe the question here is what do you want, Dean Winchester.”

He freezes. “How’d you know my name?”

“I know a lot of names.” She says cryptically. “My name is Castiel. You asked earlier.”

“Castee-what?”

“Castiel.”

“Cas-tee-ehl.”

“Yes.”

“Castiel.”

“Yes.”

Dean blinks. “Okay, Castiel, what do you want? I’m busy.”

Castiel tilts her head the other way and squints. “Busy how?”

“Boy things. You wouldn’t know about that.” Dean shrugs, smugness vivid in his face. In a turn of events, Castiel furrows her brows and (oh my god oh my god oh my god what—) sits next to Dean (so close, so very very close), legs straight as boards ahead of her. She inspects Dean’s own legs bent and tucked close to his body and so, she slowly does the same.

“Elaborate, if you will?” She looks at him and, God, actually looks like she expects him to answer. Instead of sailing smoothly, Dean says: “What does ‘elaborate’ mean?”

And there’s silence for a bit. During this silence, Dean thinks about how his dad would be skinning him alive for not being more careful with strangers who pop out of nowhere and keeping Sammy safe. He also thinks about how he’s an absolutely lame kid who has no chance with girls and should just let the ground swallow him up and let him stay there forever. It’s a productive silence.

Castiel merely gives a small shake of her head. “Elaboration is easily defined as explaining or expanding upon a subject in detail.”

“So… you just wanna know what I’m doing?” She nods. Dean fiddles with the soda can in his hands. “I don’t really talk to strangers about this stuff.”

“I’m no stranger.” Is what Castiel says and, weirdly enough, Dean can’t find her to be lying. It’s like he’s known her all his life, which is odd because he’s known her for about three minutes. Overall, a strange interaction.

“Okay.” He flicks off the can’s pop tab. “I’m waiting for dad to come home.”

Castiel nods. “Yes, he has been gone for two days now, hasn’t he?”

Dean sends her a wary glare. “How did you know that? Are you a spy?”

“I know a lot of things, Dean Winchester. I’ve no need to be a spy as much as you’d need to be a hamster.”

“That’s… exactly what a spy would say.”

“Are you implying I am hearing in on your life and invading your privacy frequently?”

“I’m saying you got all this info from either me or my dad.”

“You haven’t proven it.”

“You haven’t denied it.”

Castiel smiles and that was that. “Why are you sad, Dean Winchester?”

Dean puts his soda can down and sighs, wrapping his arms around his knees and laying his chin atop them. “I don’t know, Cassie.” The name slips out rather easily. “I get bummed a lot. It happens.”

“But surely it must not be enjoyable?”

“Nah, I don’t like it.” He shrugs. “But I can’t win ‘em all.”

She slowly moves her arms too and perfectly mimics Dean’s posture. “What is there to win? Your father’s love?”

Another shrug. “I guess.”

“Yes… Then I can understand that pain.”

He looks at her. “You got a lost dad too?”

It surprises him to see her face morph in confusion. Maybe irritation. It’s the most expressive he’s seen of her yet. “I… am yet to know. My Father is present, yes, but lately he has felt… distant.”

Dean turns his full body toward her. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Yes. Many of my siblings and I… we all wish for our Father’s Love. It is natural to yearn for a parent’s affection.” Castiel turns her head to him. Her eyes are still as blue as before. “But I believe one must know that a being is not defined by the attention they are given or the attention they are deprived of.”

What? “What’s that mean?” Dean raises a brow.

Something in Castiel’s face changes and from one second to another, she shifts into what Dean could only compare to being his dad after a long weekend of work, finally coming home to drag himself toward the couch and passing out. Old and very very tired. Also lost.

“It means that sometimes the people you love will hurt you, but it will never be your fault.” She says. “Your father may practice favoritism in your eyes, Dean Winchester, and that act falls solely on your father’s shoulders alone, but you should know that it is not your fault.”

Dean slowly straightens up. “What are you saying?”

Castiel faces him. “I’m saying that you are so much more than what your father or the role forced upon you makes you to be. You are never a burden, you deserve to have the life of a child, not a parent, and you rightfully deserve the unconditional love promised to you at birth.” There’s warmth enveloping his hands. Castiel had clasped them between hers. “Dean, you are worthy of love. And you are worth so much. A life is priceless and your own is a treasure. I know there is more bad than good in your life now, but it comes to pass. Hardships come to erode the pain and leave your soul like a pearl in the sun. Please don’t forget this, Dean.”

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand— “Why are you telling me this?”

Castiel grips his hands so tight, Dean thinks she could leave a handprint on them. “Because as much as you need Sam to be safe and be loved, someone else will want the same for you. And you need to know this.”

He tries to hold eye contact. It’s hard. “Is that why you came? Just for that?”

Castiel gives another smile, this one smaller. “You looked like you could appreciate the company.”

“You’re so weird.” Dean hesitates. “And yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Sam isn’t the only one who can ask for company you know.”

He stutters in his words. “Y-You heard that?”

“After claiming I was a spy in the midst of your troubles, it surprises you I know this?”

“I don’t know!” Dean throws his hands up.” I’ve never met a spy before!”

“Apologies. I’ll make sure to make that certain next time.”

Dean lowers his hands and notices how hopeful his voice sounds in his next words: “Next time?”

Someone clears their throat. Dean and Castiel look up.

There’s a man there; a red head. Tall, lean and wearing a tux. He’s mad. “Castiel.” He says. “Here’s where you’ve been.”

“Zachariah.” Castiel replies cooly and Dean doesn’t know how to react. A kid like her was fine. An adult? What should he do?! Go get his gun? He’d have to go past Sammy for that! He can’t risk it.

The man smiles. “Come now, what’s this all about, hm? What’s with the chit chat?”

“I—“

“No, you know what? I don’t want to know. You know who would like to, though? Naomi. Ha! That would be a laugh!”

Next to Dean, Castiel stares blankly at him. “She is aware of this visit?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. You’re in for it now.”

Dean nudges her with his shoulder, keeping a close eye on the man. “Hey, you in trouble?”

Castiel grimaces. “Appears so.”

“Oh.” Shoot. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No worries.” Castiel stands up, lightly brushes away at any residue of dust on her jeans and straightens up. “Very well. I’ll return back home.”

“Huh— w-wait!” Dean scrambles to get up as he watches Castiel walk toward the man. “Cassie, wait!” She stops and turns to him. “Do… do you live nearby?”

She thinks about it. “I’m never too far.” She answers.

“Then can I see you again?” He huffs. His cheeks are red but there’s no way he’s acknowledging that right now. “I… I really liked talking to you.”

Castiel doesn’t respond again. Neither does the man. He thinks maybe it was a bit too much. “Our paths will cross again.” Castiel says and a ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “In another time, Dean Winchester. Good bye.”

And in a blink of an eye, their spot was empty. No one was around for miles. Just Dean and his mediocre soda and his sleeping toddler of a brother inside their motel room. His brain tries to make sense if it. Yeah, they just walked off and Dean blacked out for it. Yup, sounds about right.