Chapter Text
Part Two
Sammy laid on the big blanket on the floor of the library, an ugly brown stuffed bunny beside him along with numerous other toys. Currently, Sam had no interest in any of them, because he was too busy trying to eat his big toe. Both of his hands were gripping his right leg which was pulled up above his shoulder, gums gnawing on said big toe, which constantly kept slipping out every few seconds.
Dean sat beside him, laptop on lap, one beer bottle up on the edge of the table, searching through news articles for any deaths or events that point to the bitch responsible for Sam's de-aged state.
Sam babbled every now and then, said random words and made random noises. There was drool on his chin again, which Dean had to keep wiping off with the sleeve of his shirt, but for the most part, he was a calm baby (at least calmer than most). He rolled over here to there, waved his limbs around and contorted into the oddest positions. He played with (mostly chewed on) his weird-ass stuffed bunny.
And when he got bored, he tried to use Dean's knee to lever himself up into a sitting position, legs in a tripod. Dean looked away from the screen, gripping him around the back to press him against his side. "What's up, bud?"
Sammy turned his face towards him, gazing up at him, floppy-haired head brushing over his bicep as he did so. His head then twitched in the direction of the bunny beside him. He leaned over slightly, his hand patting on it before he curled his fingers on its fur and picked it up, brought it in front of himself, face bowed as he scrutinized it, hands quivering in movement. He looked back up at Dean, slowly, wobbily holding it out to him.
Dean took it, acted playfully surprised. "Woah, for me? Thanks, Sammy." Sam looked delighted at his reaction, mouth growing into a wide smile, big eyes blinking under long eyelashes, beaming up at him. He reached out for another toy nearby shakily, a toy bus that was slightly further away, letting out one baby grunt as he pressed against the support of Dean's arm, mouth falling open in concentration and exertion. He caught it with both hands, plopped back on his shorts-clad diaper, against the side of his ribs. He stared down at it, and then looked back up at Dean, hands stretching out to offer it to him.
Dean grabbed it as well, craning down to kiss the top of his mop. Sam seemed to be waiting for more though. "Oh, uh… yeah, it's… it's really awesome," he said, grinning to show his feigned merriness at the gesture, tousling his hair. "Thanks again, buddy."
The baby cooed happily, grinning back, hands clapping down on the blanketed floor between his legs.
…
Castiel came to the bunker to the scene of Dean carrying a baby, presumably Sam, on his shoulders, fingers wrapped around his knees. He was spinning around for short intervals, slowing to a halt, and then spinning around again in anticlockwise direction. Sam was yanking at Dean's ears, his bellyful laughter having been ringing out all throughout. Although distant and muffled, it was heard unmistakably when he walked through the entrance door.
Castiel thought of what a stranger happiness had become to the man. It almost seemed out of place now, the utterly joyous smile that was gracing his lips. Dean had mostly become full of fury and sorrow these past few years. He had become tired of life, or even more so, he had become deadened to it, after all the horrors and grief. Meanwhile, the strain in his relationship with Sam these days had not been helping matters for his mental and emotional state.
This was the first time he had seen him come alive again after a long time.
When Dean caught sight of him, he stopped. Sam was now hugging him around the forehead, panting and squealing delightfully, kicking his miniature feet in jocular bounces. "Oh, hey, Cas."
"You may carry on, if you wish. We can discuss later."
"Nah, it's fine," he said, stretching his arms up to take the baby by the armpits, ducking his head to carry him over it and down, turning him around to hold him against his side. "Good to see you." He patted his shoulder with his other hand momentarily, and then withdrew it back to support Sam's back.
"You too, Dean," Cas said with a nod. He looked at Sam, who had the back of his head to him, upper torso twisted slightly, his fingers in his mouth. "Have you found any leads on the witch?"
Dean shook his head. "The bitch's probably laying low for now, so we might have to look for something out of magic books. Luckily…" He glanced around at the bookcases pointedly, all fitted neatly with countless paperbacks. "We probably have a lot of them, so better start looking."
Castiel felt lost already, unsure of where to start. His full powers, by the grace that he himself owned, may have had given him an advantage that could have made the process quicker. Now, with his partial abilities that were also dwindling over time, he had to work manually as any other human in this regard.
"Cas…" Dean said, sounded slightly hesitant. He shifted Sam in his arms. "Look...I know you don't have all your mojo, but… I mean, is there no way you can take a look at Sam? Try to see what kind of curse we're up against?"
Castiel wasn't sure if it would work either, hence not having suggested it, but for Dean, he said anyway, "I can try."
He placed his hand over Sam's back, closed his eyes, fingers glowing blue as he searched for the essence of the spell.
"Was the witch of immense power?" Castiel inquired, feeling the vague warmth of the magic in Sam's body, trying to figure out its intensity.
"Well, I wouldn't say that," Dean replied, shrugging. "But she didn't exactly seem like an amateur either. Probably an intermediate at best, going by the kind of hoodoo she was throwing around. And I mean, she was going after people she had bad blood with from her high school. Doesn't sound like a witch-of-immense-power thing to do."
Castiel nodded in acknowledgement of his answer. "I sense it. It is not as clear as it would have been if I had my true grace, but… I don't believe it is strong. In order to cast a spell that would remain permanent, it would require much power. The intensity of this magic indicates to be of inadequate skill for that."
"So you're saying it's temporary?"
"Possibly, if my reading is accurate enough. However, I cannot exactly tell how long, but these kind of spells estimatedly last for a couple of days at most. I believe she merely wanted to throw you off, keep you distracted in order to make her escape."
Dean nodded. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Thanks, Cas."
The expression on Dean's face, though not quite deeply upset, was not of relief either, as he had expected it to be. Instead, it seemed wistful, almost sad, but resigned. He watched Dean kiss the baby's cheek softly, index finger and thumb holding his chin. He drew back with the tenderest gaze on him, and Castiel thought that he may have understood the reasoning behind it.
…
They still looked through the library for any reversal spells, just in case things became more complicated than they anticipated (which happened a lot, unsurprisingly, owing to their shitty Winchester luck). On top of that, even if the situation was a temporary deal, the witch had to be found and stopped.
Unfortunately, she was not turning up anywhere in the news, no freaky accidents that could possibly be at her hands. She had been going around the country, tracking down all her potential victims (the lady needed to let things go, seriously) and subjecting them to horrific deaths that the local police couldn't explain. Now, it seemed she was putting her mission on hold after being discovered and nearly killed by two hunters, at least just until the entire case got drowned and forgotten.
Therefore, Dean had gone out to interrogate anyone who could possibly tell him about the witch's, Fiona Hastings, whereabouts specifically, to no such luck. However, one conversation as an impersonated FBI agent with the ticket-seller at the bus station narrowed down the state.
"Couple of days, that's all. Three or four at most. You think you can look out for him 'til then?" Dean asked, glancing down at Sam beside him on the library ground, nibbling on the toy bunny's ear, legs up in the air with one hand clutching Dean's pant leg. His duffel bag was dropped at his feet.
Castiel gave a nod in response. "Of course."
Sam started pulling weakly on his jeans, agitated, distressed noises emitting from him through the furry, wet ear between his gums, which signalled that he wanted to be picked up. Dean complied after a few seconds, crouching down to collect him in his arms, put one around him to support him properly, before he straightened back up. Sam immediately curled around him, cheek burrowing into his jacket, hands fisting the cuff of his collar as the bunny dropped.
"Hey, buddy," Dean murmured, tilting his head to his ear, stroking his back. He brushed his palm over his hair. "Listen, I gotta go away for a while, okay? Cas here…" He rotated a little to put Cas in Sammy's line of vision, took his hand and pointed it at their friend to indicate at him, waited until his gaze landed on him. "He's gonna take good care of you while I'm gone. It won't take long. Just a few days and I'll be back, okay? I promise."
Well, obviously, Sam didn't have the slightest clue what in the fuck he just said, but… it kind of lessened his own anxiety somehow about leaving him alone with anyone else besides himself, and hopefully, he could sooth Sam a bit too before he had to let him go. He knew the kid wouldn't make that easy on him. He trusted Cas more than anybody else though, knew he wouldn't let harm befall his brother.
…
"Number one rule: don't let him out of your sight. Not even for a second, okay?" He let go of Sam's back in order to dig into his back pocket, fingers emerging with a thin bundle of folded paper that he proffered. Castiel took it. "Everything you need to know is on there. I even made a schedule. At least thirty-four ounces of formula milk daily. I made a few bottles of it already, all in the fridge, but I wrote down the instructions on how to make more. Solid foods thrice a day. He loves applesauce best. Two naps every day, but he won't go to sleep unless you hum a song, except when he's really tired. And you need to be close by, because he's a cuddly baby and would want you to carry him like, all the time. Also, play time. That ugly bunny is his favorite. Don't know why. But it makes him laugh if you make it talk, likes babbling back to it or whatever. Sometimes he'll hand you all his toys, so look like you just got a free ticket to Disneyland and say thanks. He gets happy, and also, it means he likes you."
Castiel nodded. On the inside, however, he may be feeling slightly...perturbed. He wasn't sure if Sam would like him as an infant, for one. It seemed like he really didn't want anyone but Dean. Secondly, Castiel may have inadvertently signed himself up for a babysitting job once whilst he was human, in the confused, misunderstood assumption of believing that he was attending a date, but he still barely had any experience when it came to caring for a baby. Nevertheless, he understood that there wasn't much of a choice in the matter. Dean had to track down the witch before the opportunity was lost forever by the loss of too much time, and he would never leave his brother with anyone he didn't know and trust.
"I understand."
"Good," Dean said. He shifted his attention to Sam, who had his head buried into his neck again. He inclined his own head to press his cheek against his forehead affectionately, and after dropping a kiss there with one palm on the back of his hair, began trying to gently unfasten the baby's hold on him. Sam went rigid, fingers tightening on his collar, whimpering fussily. When Dean persisted, he wriggled in protest in his grasp, face contorted and red. His hitching whimpers grew into lurching, high, nasal wails as Dean finally managed to forcibly untangle him from himself, all the while hushedly apologizing, the expression on his face just a little more than deep, utter heartache.
"I'm sorry, little brother," Dean whispered ruefully as Castiel carefully accepted him. Sam was still trying to twisting around towards Dean when he was transferred to him, reaching his hand out for him. He may or may not feel slightly offended about it.
Dean looked like he was ready to stay all for him, but painfully knew that he couldn't. Sam's back seized in an attempt to make Castiel let go of him, crying, but he clutched him tight.
"I'm coming back, okay?" Dean said softly, lightly gripping the baby's outstretched hand in his. "I'm coming back."
…
Sam did not seem to approve of Castiel.
The baby would not even glance his way, would often would shy from his touch, and sometimes, he would weep without any clear reason. He didn't require feeding or changing, wasn't sick or tired, couldn't be consoled with his rocking and inept singing (perhaps that was because his singing was extremely inept) and threw away his toys whenever he tried to lift his spirits with them. So eventually, Castiel interpreted it as his need for his brother and not this stranger that he might sadly seem to him.
For some reason, it made him absurdly...downhearted.
Some part of him understood that he was not the problem. Rather, it was the absence of Dean that was the issue. Nevertheless, he felt ludicrously desperate for his validation. In the face of all their other troubles weighing on him, he realized how frivolous the matter really was, he truly did, but he couldn't help it. Perhaps it may be because Sam, as an adult, was a close friend, so it didn't feel right to have him so detached towards him even as an infant.
"Sam, would you like to play with me?" Castiel asked, putting aside another book of spells on top of the pile of the ones he had already searched through.
Sam paid no mind to him, engrossed in chewing on the rubbery chew toy, chin and fingers wet with saliva. His animal toy laid on top of his legs, close by, but forgotten. Dean had told him that Sam enjoyed simulating communication with the rabbit, but Castiel was uncertain if the baby would allow him to touch his beloved (although a bit unsightly) plaything. He did not want to be doubted nor detested by him any further.
"Sam."
Not one indication that he had heard him. Even if Sam couldn't comprehend his words, he had hoped for some reaction towards the sound of his voice.
"Do you dislike me? Is it perhaps because I have an unpleasant odor?" Castiel did not think so. He did wash his trench coat every now and then. That was an easier task when he was a full-fledged angel, however. He still struggled with those kinds of basic things even after years of direct observation of humans on this planet.
Sam, in response (or lack thereof), just nibbled on the rubber and ignored his presence, gazing up at the ceiling.
…
Sam's legless onesie had been soiled by a spoonful of canned peaches, which he had recoiled his head from at the wrong second after he had been satisfied. Unfortunately, as he had later discovered, all of his shirts were in the dirty laundry basket, some stained with food, leaving nothing for replacement except for one Ailuropoda-themed apparel. In simpler terms, a panda jumpsuit that Castiel could never visualize Dean purchasing of his own accord. It was far too… mellow for his taste. But well, it may be that he was wrong, if he was seeing it here now in the shopping bag of baby clothes.
Over the course of this second day, Sam seemed to be showing more leniency towards him. He was warming up to Castiel, as the idiom went, which would perhaps be inevitable towards a person who was providing the baby his basic needs. He was not quite open with him, still reserved and shy, but he no longer drew back from his touch, let him pick him up without much fuss. He still never really met his gaze, never spoke in his infantile language to him, but he considered it progress.
One simple, notable moment that marked that progress was the way Sam had easily nestled into the angel, burying his head into his shoulder, whilst Castiel was putting away all of the dirty laundry (that for whatever reason, Dean did not bother to do) into washing, when before he would demand to be put down through his excessive crying and his incomprehensible (and slightly saddening) attempts to escape by pushing both his fists into his chest, upper body and head away from him at arms' lengths.
Another was during his entertainment session, which was, in fact, initiated by Castiel himself, having gained the confidence to do so after Sam's display of growing trust.
So there he was, sitting cross-legged beside the infant on the blanketed ground, who was currently suited in a ridiculous panda-themed one-piece, with him tentatively reaching for the unsightly rabbit toy. Sam noticed as soon as Castiel began to pick it up from the baby's stomach, big eyes twitching towards his hands taking the furry animal, silently following from under their long eyelashes as he settled it before the baby's face, before they travelled up at him, fingers in his mouth.
"I'm not quite…" Castiel began, voice falling away hesitantly. He wasn't sure if it would be the same for Sam if it was him speaking through the bunny. "I'm not quite sure how I should do this…"
He fitted his fingers around the sides of the inanimate hare, index fingers and thumbs holding the arms. He made the rabbit wave at Sam.
"Perhaps I should modify my vocal tone…" he muttered, although feeling silly and embarrassed at the prospect of doing this. Sometimes, he envied his past self, unshackled by human emotions, free and unapologetic to do whatever he must with nothing but logic and reasoning as his guide.
"Hello, Sam," Castiel said, voice still gravelly and deep as was his default. For a couple of seconds, Sam did nothing but stare at him, unreactive. He cleared his throat, made himself slightly more jolly. "Hello Sam! How are you?"
And then Sam looked down at the stuffed animal. Castiel thought that he had very endearing eyes when he was young. He could see why Dean always seemed to give in to much of what wished for after one look at them, even as an adult.
"Would you like to play with me, Sam?" he asked through the rabbit, shaking him lightly.
Sam took his fingers out of his mouth, cooing softly as his damp fingers clasped around one of the ears.
"My name is Castiel." He raised one arm in another friendly wave. Sam let out a squeal of excitement as he pulled on the long ear, nose scrunching up and mouth open in a toothless grin. "We were friends once, even if you may not remember now."
"Ba buh… buh ga gu muh…"
"Yes." Castiel smiled. "That is true, Sam."
"Aagh oh ma... muh ga guh boh…"
"Is that so?"
It went on and on and on, for a long time. Sam chattered. Castiel listened, encouraging him to continue speaking through the toy, internally pleased for how well it was going.
It was sometime later that the baby began to quiet down, content to just fiddle with the bunny's ear, droopy-eyed as he watched his own fingers. It was at that time that Castiel, although still through the pretense of the bunny, reverted to his normal voice, quietly, softly asking, "Can we be friends once more, Sam?" There was, of course as expected, no kind of response, besides a brief glance up at him at the sound of his voice (which was at least something).
It was a little time later than that when Sam tugged the toy back from him. Castiel released it from his grip gently and easily, wrung his fingers together. Sam brought it up above him, looked almost humorously reverent, arms wobbling as he gazed up at it. He lowered it down to his stomach, still gazing, his feet tottering up in the air.
And then, slowly, unsteadily trembling, he held it out to him with both of his small hands, in some kind of a silent, shy befriending offer in his infantile mind.
Castiel smiled kindly, accepting it, as he said, "Thank you, friend."
...
"Just calling to check in again. How's everything going?"
"Everything is fine, as it was when you called two hours ago. And the couple of hours before that. And the—"
"Alright, Cas. I get the point. You know how to take a picture?"
"Of course," Castiel said, slightly affronted that Dean would still think he was incapable of something so simple. "Sam had taught me how to use all features of the phone."
"Good. Send me one of him." He glanced down at Sam, who had his small fingers encircled around his own comparatively large index finger, making wet razzing noises through his soaked appendages that were perpetually in his mouth, kicking his miniature legs above the ground. He blinked as he gurgled and razzed, big eyes squeezing shut, eyelashes against his cheeks, before he opened them again.
Castiel obliged to the request, going to 'Camera' on his phone. The viewer screen showed up, and he aimed the lens at the baby at a 30-degrees. angle from the top. He touched the capture button with his index finger.
He sent the picture. There was a pause as Dean, assumingly, put down his phone to take a look at it.
"Dude...what are you making him wear?"
"Do you mean the jumpsuit that you purchased for him?" Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow. "As well as factoring in the fact that you did not fulfil your laundering duties, therefore due to a shortage of clothing, I had no other option."
Pause. "Okay, one: I didn't buy that of my own will. The kid forced me to. Two: whatever, mom. Let me talk to Sam." Dean's monitoring calls were often short and quick due to running low on time, so this was a feat.
The phone was put on speaker and next to Sam. Dean's voice carried through from the other end.
"Sammy?" Sam's head twitched towards the source of the voice. "Hey buddy, it's Dean. How are you doing, huh?"
Sam stared at the device. Castiel wondered if he would recognize his brother's voice through the phone.
"You havin' a good time with Cas?'
Sam rolled slightly over towards his side. "Ba buh…"
"Yeah? You havin' fun? He being good to you?"
The infant's mouth then grew into a broad smile, huffing excitedly as he jounced his limbs back and forth in the air with joy.
Dean chuckled. "I miss you too, little brother. I'll see you real soon, okay?"
...
Soon came two nights later.
The magic in Sam's veins remained, it seemed, even after Dean informed him over the phone that the witch was dead. By the time the hunter returned, Castiel could no longer sense it due to how much it had diminished. He estimated it to be a half a day before Sam would return to his normal self.
The baby was quiet and content, eyes drooping as he teetered on the edge of slumber, nestled into Castiel's chest, sat on the bed. The angel could feel his heart beating slowly and steadily against his palm on his back. For some reason, it made him realize deeply how vulnerable and frail humans really were. He thought about how the only two friends he had were just as vulnerable and frail, not at all invincible despite their unusual history of being resurrected numerous times from the dead.
There would come a day when it would be their last. It may well be the last he would ever see of them.
He slid his palm over until it went around Sam's back, tightened his grip around the infant silently.
When the door clicked and creaked open, Castiel looked up. Dean poked his head and upper torso in through the gap, strap of the duffel bag on his shoulder.
"Hey," Dean greeted quietly.
"Hello," Castiel replied.
Dean nodded in acknowledgement of his response, and then jerked his chin at the baby. "He asleep?" he whispered.
Castiel tilted his head slightly, pulling it in, and glanced down to get a look at him. Sam's eyes were closed gently, cheek smushed as his mouth hung open. The shoulder of his trench coat was wet with drool. "Yes."
Dean raised his chin in a slight nod, mouth shaped in a circle. "Alright then. I'll get him in about a half an hour, okay? Need a quick shower."
And truthfully, Castiel did not really mind spending a little more time with him.
…
The next morning, Dean woke up to Sammy wriggling against his chest as he began to wake, little arms stretching up above his head over the pillow, yawning.
"Hey there, little man," Dean murmured, running his fingers across his eyes to clear the blur. He smiled down at the baby on his elbow when he looked up at him (man, why did the kid have to have such enormous and adorable fucking eyes?), his mop of chestnut hair tousled and sticking up all over.
When Sammy caught sight of him, he only stared at him for a couple of seconds at first, blinking, eyelashes brushing his cheek briefly as he did. And then his pink, rosebud lips slowly spread into a broad grin, and then he was panting happily the way Dean had heard him on the phone, limbs swinging back and forth jubilantly as he flailed on the mattress.
"Easy, tiger. Easy," Dean said lightly through a chuckle, voice still rough and thick with sleep. He hauled him up above him in the air, turning over onto on his back as he did, lowered him slightly and strained up to kiss the baby's soft, chubby cheek. "You happy to see me?" He pressed another to his other cheek. "You happy?"
Sam let out another one of his characteristic loud squeals of delight, arms and legs jerking straight and his body going taut with the force of his vocal joy, little fists clenching.
"Yeah," Dean said softly, smiling, his heart big and light behind his sternum. He brought him down, laid him gently on his chest, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close and as tight as he could without hurting him. He touched the back of Sammy's hair, shifting his head to bury his nose into his soft shoulder. "I'm happy to see you too, buddy."
Sam's arms came up loosely around his neck. Dean brushed his palm down his head.
Having the baby in his arms, feeling his little heart beat steadily through his blue Captain America shirt and against his own chest, he felt the fragility painfully in the shrivelling of his innards, in that sudden, hot rush of wanting to protect him from anything and everything. He gripped Sam a little tighter.
And he had the sorrowful realization that he was in that list of everything he was supposed to protect Sam from now. He had never, not once, thought that he should be there, but well, he was now. He always tried so hard to let nothing hurt his baby brother (yet he had failed countless fucking times), but he forgot to keep him safe from himself.
He never thought to think that he could be just as cruel with his words as anyone else he had defended Sam from, and that he could hurt him just as bad with his actions as anyone else he had wanted to hurt back for doing. Hell, maybe he could do it even worse than everyone else, because nobody else really had that kind of power more than the person who mattered most. He knew that better than anyone. Sam might not like him all that much anymore, but before he found out about what he did, Dean was still the one who was that person for him, the person he chose to keep living for over saving the whole damn world.
"Sorry I let anyone hurt you," he mumbled quietly into the baby's shoulder, half-smiling tightly with rue. "Sorry I was one of 'em."
Sammy turned his head from where his mouth was pushed into his shoulder, face now nuzzled into the side of his neck. The kid sure was a cuddly one, but he didn't mind it in the least.
Dean planted a tender kiss to his shoulder and rubbed his thumb over the side of his ribcage, and they settled into the content silence.
And then Dean smiled as a memory began to come to his mind. "I remember you said your first word when you were this old." He shifted on the mattress, tugged Sam away to catch his eye as he told the story, hands coming up to grip his tiny wrists. "I tried so hard to make you say 'Dad', because I knew it'd make him damn happy. But I guess you used to hear 'Dean' all the time too, so I don't know. For some reason, your little baby mind learned my name first. Dad was there when you said it. My name. Almost all of the letters missing but...yeah, that's what it was. You said it so softly I almost missed it, but you were sittin' there lookin' at me with those big puppy eyes of yours. I looked at him, not sure what I'd see on his face when I did. Was a big deal, you know? His youngest kid's first word. I thought he would have wanted it to be for him, but… Dad just smiled, looked proud."
Sammy fisted one hand on the collar bone of his shirt, the other clapping down on it, a small smile gracing his lips. Dean returned the gesture, and with his palm against his nape, he gently tucked his head into his neck once again. He knew he needed to get up, but it could wait a little while. He closed his eyes and breathed in the feeling of his baby brother living, the warm solidity of him and the thudding of his heart against his own and his hot exhales of air into his neck.
And then the baby mumbled, muffled into his neck, "Ba buh… ga muh... da dah…"
And he stilled.
Da dah.
He couldn't tell if he knew what the significance of his words were, or if it was even significant at all, just new sounds to learn and mindless baby-talk stemming from his subconsciousness in the myriad of times he had heard it as an infant, brought on by the word being repeated throughout the story he had just recounted.
And then he thought that it didn't matter. The truth was there all the same. Not that he hadn't already known that. He just didn't know if Sammy knew it.
He cleared his throat slightly. "Yeah," he said, quiet and rough. Tilted his head until their foreheads met. "Yeah, you're my boy, huh?" A soft grin grew on his lips. "You're my boy."
In a couple of hours, things would go back to the way they were before. Sammy would not be looking at him the way he was now, with that adoration and trust that he had stopped deserving a long time ago, that he had lost every bit of now. He would be back to having the Sam of present time who would barely glance his way and would talk about nothing but victims and monsters and how to kill them with him and wouldn't want to be in the same space as him longer than necessary, locking himself in his room as soon as they got to the bunker, and he'd be stuck again with the words that he could never get past his throat, be once again burying his sorrows and fury at the world at the bottom of a whiskey bottle every night.
And now that he had been reminded again of what it felt like to be needed, to be trusted and adored so endlessly, it would hurt ten fucking times worse to go through without it again.
But the inevitable was coming anyhow, all the issues he had been holding off on, and he would eventually have to face it. The future seemed dark and uncertain, as it always seemed to. He didn't know what he had signed himself up for by taking on the Mark on his arm, and the monster that hurt his brother was MIA, and they had nada on that bitch Abaddon's whereabouts.
Right now though, the world was still and calm besides the steady pulsating against his palm and the sound of even, lilting breaths in his ears. His world, his senses and his thoughts all narrowed down to those things, and he felt the vice around his heart and lungs let go, felt his breaths come and go easier and freer. When the fight would come, he'd fight it. But for now, everything else didn't seem to matter except for the aliveness of the boy (his boy) that had always mattered above everything else.