Chapter Text
House arrest was never fun as an adult and definitely isn’t as a child. Dean sighs loudly again just to make sure Bobby truly knows how bored he is.
Bobby releases a sigh of his own and drops his latest read, this thick loosely bound book that looks a thousand years old, and stares down the younger. Much younger.
“Unless you want to keep crying like a girl, find something to entertain yourself.” Each word is sassier than the last.
“Bobby, I’m dying here. Tell me again why my brother is out there alone when I should be right next to him hunting?” Dean kicks at one of the books sprawled out next to him in the living room and Bobby looks up in a ‘Lord give me strength’ type way.
“Well if you’d rather be out there in all your three foot glory keeping Sam off his game because he’s too busy watching out for your ass, be my guest.” The old man challenges the boy, hand on his hip and all.
Dean shuts up quickly, which only lasts for about two minutes.
“What am I supposed to do then?” Dean drawls out, knowing full well that he’s being a pain in the ass. Well being here is a pain in the ass.
“I don’t know Dean.” Bobby is getting annoyed if the tick of his jaw is anything to go by. His furrowed brows look a little too mean and Dean finds himself shying away into himself. He didn’t mean to make the man mad at him. He’s caused enough problems for him and Sam already.
He doesn’t remember much from the hospital, more than Sam and Bobby think, but still not much. He remembers the absolute fear that took over him in the woods, remembers the random man that helped him…which Dean can’t even begin to acknowledge the absolute horror that floods his whole body at how trusting he was to a complete stranger.
He was so stupid.
He remembers waking up and seeing that poor nurse dead on the ground…and then it gets fuzzy. And then he woke up in Sams arms. He doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing, the fact that Sam was cradling him like a baby...or that he wanted to embrace it.
There’s a lot of things he can feel…changing. He’s…changing, more than just his height and voice. Not to mention how absolutely distraught he felt at saying bye to Sam when he left with Cas this morning. Damn it he needs to get a grip on himself.
Bobby sighs again but Dean keeps his head down burried in his thoughts. The old man moves across the room and Dean keeps his eyes on his feet.
It isn’t until Bobby’s worn boots are in front of him and he hears the crick of the mans knees as he squats down to be eye level with the kid that Dean looks up.
The look on Bobbys face is no longer strained. His eyes are soft and he smiles at the younger. “All this research and stress’n seems to be gettin at both of us. How’s a movie sound kid? I got enough westerns in here to keep even Sam on the edge of his seat.”
In Bobbys hands is griped a cardboard box with VHS’ inside, all recorded reruns most likely.
Dean can’t help the smile that comes to his lips. “Well what are you waiting for old man? If you’re gonna hold me here against my will, might as well be worth it.”
While Bobbys eyebrow quirks at the remark he still stands and plops the first movie in. Immediately the screen is filled with static until it clears into the opening of a classic sepia filtered western.
“Enjoy yourself kid.” Bobby ruffles the boys hair which Dean doesn’t bother shooing him away and instead allows all his attention to be pulled in by the horses on the screen.
~~~
Bobby is finally able to get some more research done but sadly with each turn of a page he’s only led to more unanswered questions.
Sam has called relentlessly asking about Dean and how things have been holding up, too much that Bobby had to threaten him to get it to finally stop.
The sounds from the living room tell Bobby that Dean is still deep into the western world…however the current show sounds different than what he initially put on for the boy. How long has he been buried in his research? A quick look at the clock shows that dinner should’ve been an hour ago. Damn, kid must be starving.
They’ve held back from telling Dean the whole truth about him staying here. He doesn’t remember the angels, or much of Cas saving him. Distressing the little boy even more with knowing everything going on with the angels seems…a bit too much. Even though it is still Dean.
Walking into the living room Bobby is able to see Dean fully engaged in the colors shown on the screen. It’s no longer John Wayne but some claymation animated show, gumball…gummy…ah Gumby. Thats right. This must be one of his tapes that got recorded over. Bobby can remember the boys watching that when Sam was only a baby. Dean always pretended he hated it but he would watch for the “sake of Sammy liking it.” Seemed Dean did a lot of that…still does.
Dean is sitting crosslegged, a bit too close to the TV and is entirely enthralled by the scenes playing out on screen. Bobby grabs the remote and hovers his thumb over the pause button.
“I think it’s time we both give our eyes a break and get some grub in our stomaches.” Bobby says, but Dean doesn’t stir.
Bobby pauses the show, brows furrowed at the initial lack of response but then raise at Deans gasp.
“Hey! Uncle Bobby! Poky was just gettin rounded up by the cowboys!” Dean says in complete distress. So much that it leaves the older man frozen in place, thinking he just took a trip back to 1984 where Dean truly was this age.
The boy hasn’t called him Uncle Bobby in years.
“Dean?”
“Please Bobby? Can I finish the episode please?” Dean asks, full on pouting. Never in his life has Dean Winchester pouted.
“Sure Dean, you keep watching.” Bobby plays the show again and tries not to think about how much in the twilight zone he is in right now.
Deans attention is immediately taken and Bobby backs out into the kitchen.
The call from Sam this time is more than welcome and Bobby answers the phone quickly.
“Bobby I know you said you’d stick a muddy Rumsfeld in Deans car if I called in again, but just tell me he’s doing alright.” Sam says quickly and Bobby can’t help but be grateful at his timing.
“The kid is fine Sam…but I can’t say I’m not a bit concerned.”
“What’s wrong? Where’s Dean?” Sams immediate worry makes the older man shake his head in fondness.
“He’s watchin’ some show in the living room.” Bobby looks over at the boy again just to catch him gasping again at the characters on the screen, eyes as wide as saucers.
“Okay…and?” Sam prods, obviously confused.
Bobby sighs. “And, he’s watching some kids show like it’s a WWE fight.”
“I don’t-“
“He called me uncle Bobby, Sam.”
“He…” There’s rustling over the line and Bobby can hear Cas’ muffled voice. “…can I talk to him?” Sam asks tentatively. Bobby can imagine the younger man running a hand through his hair.
Bobby silently brings the phone over to the kid of the hour. He pauses the show again but before Dean can freak out he holds the phone out to him.
“Yer brother is on the phone.”
Deans eyes widen again but this time in excitement and he grabs at the phone.
“Sammy! When are you comin’ back home?” Dean says, sounding fully like the five year old he appears to be. Bobby’s chest swells at the boy calling this place home. It’s always been home when the boys are here.
“I won’t be back for a little longer. Are you having a good time with Bobby?” Sam’s voice comes through the speaker as Dean grips the thing with all his might.
“I’ve been watching cowboys! But I want you to come back.” Deans little brow furrows.
“I know Dean, me too. How’re you feeling?” Sam says slowly, testing the waters.
“I feel fine Sammy.” Dean says immediately, not even thinking what Sam’s really asking.
“Dean, you mind tellin’ me how old yer feeling?” Bobby chimes in and Sam stays silent, waiting for the response.
Dean looks at the older man as if he were speaking Japanese.
“I’m…” Dean starts but then stops himself. Clarity begins to fill his eyes and he takes a look around himself, at the screen and the way he’s sitting, almost as if just realizing where he is. “I’m…” he tries again but instead of clarity this time panic fills his eyes.
Without warning Dean drops the phone and makes a beeline for the stairs and before Bobby can even stand, the boy has scrambled his way up into one of the bedrooms with the door firmly slammed.
“Dean? Dean are you still there?” Sam’s voice calls out through the speaker.
Bobby bends down and picks up the phone, bringing it to his ear and rubbing a hand over his beard.
“Kid ran upstairs.”
“Bobby what’s going on?” Sam’s worry is tangible even through the worn device.
“I think we both know what’s going on. The longer this curse is on Dean, the more it’s gonna be affecting him.” There’s a soft thud from upstairs and Bobby starts making his way to the stairs.
“So what? He’s just going to act more like a kid until that’s all that’s left?” Sam says almost frantically.
“I don’t know boy.” Bobby reins himself from raising his voice back at Sam.
Once at the door to the bedroom Deans hidden himself behind, Bobby can hear soft sobs from the other side.
“I don’t know but it’s scaring him just as much as it’s scaring us.”
~~~
Dean holds his hands against his mouth to muffle his cries as much as he can but he's still too loud.
He knows what's happening to him, hell, he realized it the moment he couldn't read.
It was clear to him when he got lost. It was only confirmed when he couldn't stop crying after being with Sam again.
His mind is slipping from him and whats terrifying is part of him wants to let it.
Part of him is begging to just let go. Let go of all the flashbacks of hell, the demons and skeletons in his closet. Part of him is so desperate to just be...held, to not be the one that has to be strong all the time. Just for a moment.
He doesn't know if it's the curse making him feel this way or if this was something buried deep the moment that fire lit in their home. If it was buried deep as soon as his dad made a four year old carry his brother out of their dying house. If it was left behind the moment the three of them set off on the road to never look back.
The nights he took care of Sammy, the nights his dad drank too much, the nights of not sleeping and only imagining his moms body burning, the way his hands would ache from how tight he would grip onto a knife, then a gun....the years of 'suck it up Winchester'.
The years of his soul purpose being to get revenge for his mom, be a solider for his dad and a parent for his brother.
He's tired. And not only just tired, but tired of fighting it any more. Tired of being the adult when he honestly doesn't know what it's like to be anything but.
He's damn tired.