Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Little child, little child,
Little child, won't you dance with me?
I'm so sad and lonely,
Baby take a chance with me.

"Little Child" - The Beatles

Away from Bobby's for two weeks, the vampire nest well behind them, and Sam still couldn't see his big brother in the person next to him. He'd gotten Dean back briefly, for that one day. He'd seen him in the instant it had taken for him to pull out his gun when Gordon had threatened Sam. His brother was buried under there, somewhere.

Sam just wasn't sure Dean was ever going to let him pull that brother out.

He missed Dean. He missed Dean when there wasn't any music in the car. He missed Dean when his brother's shoulder never bumped near his. He missed Dean when, instead of laughing, bright eyes, he only saw cold, distant ones glaring at him.

And he was trying, so hard, to be the brother Dean had been for him when Jess had died. Always there, ready to lend an ear, ready to even be the shoulder to cry on, or at least lean on for a little bit when the memories became too vivid. Dean, though, didn't want any of that, and worse yet, pushed Sam away whenever he tried.

Sometimes Sam had to wonder if his presence was hurting Dean more than it was helping. If Dean even cared that he was still around. If Dean even lov-

He wasn't going down that road, because he was wrong. Dean still loved and cared about him. He'd proven that much, when push had come to shove back at Lenore's. Dean just had a different way of dealing with things, with grief. That was all.

There was a time, though, when proving how much he loved Sam hadn't been a push or shove deal.

The car was stopped, Sam realized, and he glanced around at the little hotel they were now parked in front of. “Call Bobby, let him know that wizard wannabe is taken care of.”

Sam frowned as Dean slid out of the driver's seat. “We don't know that,” he argued quietly. “I was going to suggest to Bobby that he keep an eye on the town for a little while, make sure no one else goes missing or-”

The door shut before he could finish, and Dean headed off for the front desk. “Never mind,” Sam said miserably.

The job hadn't been all that difficult; a few people had turned up missing in a small town, and a grave had been desecrated before they'd gotten there. They'd found a guy who'd been attempting to do some dark magics with all the wrong but powerful tools and a set of very unwilling sacrifices lined up. They'd handed him over to the authorities for kidnapping charges and the desecration, but something still felt...off. Sam couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Dean's dismissal, though, had sort of been expected. Dean thought the case was finished: Dean didn't want to talk about it.

Dean didn't want to talk about anything these days. Talk about anything, least of all, with Sam.

The car door opened, and Dean slid back in, only to relocate the car to the far end of the motel. He tossed a key in Sam's general direction, then slid right back out again.

With a sigh Sam followed after him. There wasn't anything else he could really do, though. Nothing but pray and hope that his big brother would come back to him.

Dean awoke to the sound of sniffling, and immediately wished he could fall asleep again. He didn't want to hear Sam's quiet grief. If he did, he'd only feel his own, and then he'd turn it into anger just to keep from crying, and that wasn't going to get them anywhere.

He wasn't ignoring his brother. He just...couldn't deal with it. He wasn't dealing on his own. All he could see was his dad in the hospital, the doctor calling the time on the man Dean had once thought immortal.

His eyes burned, and he narrowed his gaze until he could feel the anger burning within him. Finally he sat up in bed, intent on going out to get coffee and ignoring Sam, until he realized that Sam wasn't in bed. The urge to leave fell, and Dean frowned as he scanned the room. His brother wasn't tiny by any means; wasn't all that hard to find in a crowd. So where the hell could he have gotten to in the space they were renting?

Another sniffle drew him back to the bed. Dean's frown only deepened, and he wondered how on earth Sam had managed to draw himself into that tiny of a ball. He could see the covers gathered together, a small nest in the center of the bed, but Dean would barely be able to sit in it, it was so small. So how had Sam managed to fit in there?

“Sam?” he called, and the sniffling abruptly stopped. Then, two tiny eyes peered out from underneath the blankets, wide and afraid. Eyes and head that looked way too young for a twenty-three year old.

But he knew that face anywhere. That was his brother, all right, the one staring at him in trepidation and fear.

It was just Sam at five years old.

Well...crap.

Chapter Text

“Sam?” Dean called again, inching steadily closer to the bed. Sam's eyes tracked his every movement, warily watching him approach.

Guess Sam had been right; that wizard kid case wasn't exactly finished. Sam had probably walked straight into a spell the kid had left laying around.

Dean tried to hide his wince at the fact that Sam had been right. Again.

When Dean came close enough to touch the bed, Sam finally sprang into action, hurrying out of the nest and towards the back of the room, near the bathroom door. “Whoa, whoa, easy Sam,” Dean said, holding his hands up. “It's just me.”

Sam's first words confirmed what Dean had been dreading. “Where's Dean?” His whisper trembled, and he was curling into himself, away from Dean. “Where's Daddy?”

“They, uh, had to go hu-help someone,” Dean recovered. Sam didn't know about hunting yet. Double crap. “With your dad's job. Dean went with him, and they asked me to come watch out for you.”

“Then what's the password?” Sam asked, almost accusingly, and Dean fought the urge to wince again. Damn but they'd trained the kid too well.

Dean sighed. “Dean left before he could tell me,” he said. “He meant to, but your dad was pretty anxious to go, so he just left.” That sounded like something he'd do, right?

To Dean's immense relief, Sam seemed to buy it. “They'll be back soon, right?” Sam asked quietly. His eyes darted all around the little hotel room, and Dean was suddenly extremely glad they hadn't taken out the weapons the night before.

Then he realized he had to answer Sam's question. “Yeah, uh, of course,” he said, faking a bright smile. “But hey, in the meantime, you must be hungry. You wanna go get some breakfast?”

Sam stared up at him so long Dean began to fidget. “Can I go to the bathroom first?” he finally asked.

“Sure can,” Dean said, nodding towards the room. “You, uh, need help washing your hands or...?”

Sam shook his head, then stepped slowly towards the bathroom. Dean let out a small sigh of relief and hung his head. So far, so good.

The next thing he knew, Sam was running past him, straight for the door, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Sam!” Dean yelled, grabbing his little brother just as Sam's hands wrapped around the doorknob.

“NO!” Sam screamed, kicking at him. “DEAN! DADDY!”

Crap. Crap crap crap. He should've known his little brother wouldn't be fooled by such a frickin' lame story. “Sam, stop!” he ordered, dodging his brother's little feet as much as he could.

Sam finally managed to wriggle free, falling towards the back of the room and running for the corner. “Dean wouldn't leave me!” he shouted, curling up into a ball on the floor. “He woulda said goodbye, woulda made me wake up to tell me! He's gonna find you an' beat you up! He'll save me! DEAN! HELP ME!”

Normally, hearing that would've made Dean thrilled to know that Sam was so confident concerning his big brother. The hero worship, though, was only cool when he was actually the hero, and not the bad guy. He was going to have to do something fast. Any minute now, people were going to come knocking on the door, wondering who he was abusing-

Sam made another dash for the door, but Dean caught him effortlessly, lifting him high off the ground and holding him close. “No! Lemme go! Dean! DEAN!” Sam shouted.

“Sammy, listen to me,” Dean said, even as Sam fought and kicked. “Sammy, it's me, okay? It's Dean. Sammy, it's me, just listen to me-”

Sam was pounding with his little fists now against Dean's chest, but his next words came out in a helpless sob. “Dean, help me! Dean please help me!”

“Sammy,” Dean started, but Sam suddenly went limp in his arms, the fight gone. He began to cry, eyes still locked on the hotel door as if the Dean he knew would come rushing in any minute.

“Dean,” Sam whispered miserably, tears rolling down his face. “Dean...”

Dean slowly lowered them both until Sam's feet were touching the ground, before he gently turned Sam to face him. “Sammy, it's me,” he said softly. Never mind the puppy eyes; all Sam had to do was cry, and anyone would do anything for him. Dean was prepared to get down all the way on his knees and beg if it meant Sam would stop crying and looking like he'd lost his best friend.

Which was kind of funny, because he really thought he had lost that friend, and didn't that make Dean feel all sorts of low?

“Sammy, it's me, Dean,” he said again, trying to give him a real smile, but the kid was breaking his heart into tiny little pieces with each hiccup and tear, so smiling was sort of hard to do. Sam's eyes were locked on him now instead of the door, and the tears were rolling single file down his face. “I swear kiddo, it's me. I don't know...I don't know how to prove it to you, but it's me. It's really me, okay?”

Sam sniffed, blinking to clear away extra tears. “What's my favorite color?” he asked, voice still trembling.

Dean stared at him for a second, completely unable to respond. He could've answered this question in a split second a year ago. Hell, even when Sam'd been at college, he'd known all his favorites. Why was this so hard now? When was the last time he'd really thought about his brother? “You...don't have a favorite, I didn't think,” he said slowly. “I thought you liked them all.”

Sam stared at him longer, and Dean began to internally cringe. Wrong answer then. Uh...

A tiny hand went out, as if offering a handshake. Dean reached out to take it, then stopped, knowing that this was the real test, and if he screwed this up, he'd lose Sam's trust. He put his right hand out as if to shake, then moved and gave the tiny hand a sideways high five. The hands came back, the high-five moving in reverse with knuckles tapping briefly. Dean's hand went high, Sam's went low, and they met again as fists, tapping each other before the hands both opened to slide together and grasp tightly.

Last time he'd done the secret handshake with Sam had been only a few months ago, after they'd both pulled the prank on the wannabe ghost hunters. Thank hell for it, too, or else Dean wouldn't have remembered it.

Sam's eyes widened. “Dean?” he whispered in awe.

Dean sighed with relief. “Yeah Sammy,” he said quietly. “It's me.”

Then tiny little arms were wrapped around his neck, and Sam was burying his tiny little face in Dean's neck. “I thought you were gone,” he whispered. “I was scared that you were gone.”

Dean had frozen at the hug, before he awkwardly brought his arm up to pat at Sam's back. “Still here,” he said. “It's all good.”

Sam pulled away just as suddenly as he'd lunged forward, regarding Dean with a serious frown. “How come you got so big?” he asked, looking up and down to take in the size difference. “Dean? What happened?”

That was the question Dean wanted answered, but for now, he'd go along with what Sam had started. “I, uh...well...”

Okay, maybe that wasn't so easy to answer. “It was magic,” Dean finally said. He was being truthful, really. It had been magic of some type.

If anything, Sam's eyes got even rounder. “Like a witch?” he asked breathlessly.

Dean frowned. “Uh, yeah. Like a witch.”

“I knew it,” Sam whispered, grinning. “And Daddy went to go find 'er and make you small again, didn't he?”

Dean couldn't help the automatic shut-off that came at the mention of their dad. His face went blank, and it only took a moment to school his features into a small, forced smile. It was his routine, now, because anything else would make him think of the man he'd claimed as his hero.

In that short time it had taken him to do it, though, Sam was already backing away, then looking down at his feet. “Can we go get breakfast? Please?” He raised his eyes slowly, as if worried about his request.

At least Dean's features were honest now; absolute, honest confusion. “Yeah, we can do breakfast; you okay?” he asked.

Sam merely nodded, his eyes on his feet again.

Dean shook it off and went over to his clothes bag. He needed to get dressed, and he needed to find something small enough for Sam to wear. “Didn't leave clothes for us, but...there's stuff for adults to wear,” he phrased carefully. “Think we can make something work for you, okay?”

“Gonna hafta,” Sam responded, pulling at the big t-shirt that he was currently wearing. It made a nice nightshirt, Dean had to say that.

Gazing at his clothes bag, Dean sighed and began pulling out things. Something in here had to fit a five year old...at least long enough that people didn't call child protective services on him.

Chapter Text

It turned out, nothing fit a five year old. Sam, at least, had figured this out as they stepped outside and into the car. “I can't believe Daddy's lettin' you drive,” he said in awe, staring at the car. He was also sitting in the back, which Dean had blinked at first before he realized that was where they'd sat as kids. Never the front; it was always too dangerous.

“Yeah, well, he should,” Dean muttered. The diner wasn't far, but he didn't want to have to subject himself or Sam to the gawking that was bound to happen.

They parked and headed inside, then Dean seated them in the farthest booth he could, with Sam hidden from the rest of everyone else. Sam pulled out the menu and began flipping the pages, staring at the pictures solemnly. A few moments later, the waitress arrived. She was cute, a perky little brunette that Dean would've instantly flirted with if Sam hadn't been five.

Actually, Dean hadn't really done any sort of flirting lately. He just...couldn't. Not after everything that had happened.

“Can I get you....” The waitress gazed at Sam, before clearing her throat and continuing. “Boys anything to drink?”

Dean didn't blame her. Sam's t-shirt went well off his shoulder on one side, pulled to his neck on the other, and the sleeves were past his elbows. Dean had used a pair of his sleep shorts as pants, and had tied the drawstrings around several times to get them to fit. No shoes, just the very out of place clothing.

Before Dean could say anything, Sam turned and gave her a brilliant grin. “I'm wearin' Daddy's clothes today!” he stated proudly, his little legs swishing beneath the table. “Aren't they cool?”

The waitress immediately smiled in amusement. “They're pretty interesting,” she agreed, before giving Dean a wink. “I've got two girls of my own who insist on wearing my dresses and heels. Sometimes you just gotta give in.”

Dean gave her a grin that was part grimace, part joy from honest relief. He'd forgotten how intuitive and smart Sam had been, even at five. He wasn't correcting the waitress either, about Dean being his dad, and Dean left her assumption untouched. “Sometimes you just do. I'll have a coffee, he'll have...um, milk.” Sam didn't make a face, so Dean figured he'd guessed right. “For breakfast, I'll take the eggs with toast. Over easy, if you could.” Nothing fancy or spicy today; he didn't think he could handle it.

“And what'll you have, sweetie?”

Figured Sam would get the sweetie. Dean put his menu back at the back of the table, then glanced at Sam. Dean's grin came suddenly, almost surprising him since he didn't think he could anymore, but it couldn't be helped. Kid hadn't changed all that much in his choices: his eyes were always drawn to the chocolate chip pancakes.

Sam's eyes were caught on it now, in wonder and joy. Dean wasn't sure whether to warn him off the sugar high or not. Eh, he wasn't anything Dean hadn't been able to handle before.

Sam blinked, the smile slid away, and he closed the menu carefully. “Can I have eggs?” he asked quietly.

Dean frowned just as the waitress did. Apparently she wasn't blind, either. “You sure sweetie? That's all you want?”

A pause, a small glance at the now closed menu, before Sam nodded. “How do I get 'em?” he asked Dean.

“Scrambled,” Dean answered absently, still trying to figure out why Sam had changed his mind when his heart had so obviously been set on the pancakes.

“Scrambled, please,” Sam enunciated carefully to the waitress. “Oh, and some toast, too.”

The waitress nodded slowly, still frowning slightly. “Okay sweetie, but you change your mind, you let me know, okay?”

Dean continued to gaze at Sam, trying to figure out why he'd ordered practically the same thing Dean had. Sam was putting the menu away now, carefully sliding it into place so as not to knock the other menus out. “How come you got eggs?” Dean finally asked.

Sam blinked at him, then shrugged. “Sounded good,” he said, and Dean raised his eyebrow.

“Right. Looked like something else sounded way better,” Dean teased, and Sam made a face.

“Yeah, but you said eggs, so they sounded better.”

He'd done the copy-cat thing as a kid, too. Whenever they'd ordered a meal, Sam had always gotten what Dean had ordered. Dean had always ordered what had sounded good and wasn't expensive, which Dad had always done himself. Then Sam had ordered what Dean had ordered, because-

Because Dean had always ordered grown-up stuff, because he'd felt like Dad's hunting partner, a grown-up himself at the age of 9 or 10. Because he didn't want to be a kid, hadn't felt like a kid anymore. Because, honestly, he'd been trying to impress his dad.

And Sam had been trying to impress him and not be left behind.

Sam was picking at the placemat, fully bored but completely quiet. Dean gazed at him for a moment more, then turned to their waitress who'd just arrived with their drinks. “I wondered if I could change my order,” Dean said, giving her a more realistic smile, which she readily returned. “There were some chocolate chip pancakes in there, I think? They looked good; I'll have some of those.”

Her smile turned straight into a knowing smirk. “I'll go ahead and change your order,” she said, before casually glancing at Sam, who was staring at Dean as if he'd grown an extra head. “You sure about those eggs, hun?” she asked.

Sam slowly turned his stare from Dean to the waitress. “Um, can I have the...um...pancakes too?” he asked, even more quietly than he'd asked for the eggs.

The waitress smiled and nodded. “Sounds a lot better than eggs to me,” she said, before heading off to put their orders in.

As soon as she was gone, Sam rounded on Dean. “How come you changed your food?” he asked, utterly bewildered. “You don't like kiddy stuff anymore. And now you're all grown up, like Daddy!”

Bingo. “Yeah, but you don't always have to order something just 'cause I do,” Dean pointed out. “You can order whatever you want, Sammy.”

“Yeah, but you always pick the stuff that Daddy's okay with,” Sam countered. “So if I pick what you do, then Daddy won't get upset or anythin'.”

Dean stared at his little brother. “That's why you always pick what I pick?” he asked, stunned. “Sammy-”

“He always worries 'bout money 'n stuff,” Sam said, then shrugged. “I don't want him to be upset, or you to be upset 'cause I picked something that costs lots an' is babyish.”

The kid had been more grown up than he had been back then. Five years old, and already worried about their dad, Dean, and money.

And Dean had thought he'd spared all of Sam's innocence in his childhood.

Sam meanwhile seemed totally oblivious to Dean's shock, and took a big gulp of milk. When he set the glass down, his mustache was clear and visible, and Dean let out a helpless chuckle. No wonder everyone had bent to the will of his younger brother; no matter what the kid did, he was cute.

Except when he cried. That was never cool with Dean.

...Actually, it sort of had been, lately. Well, he still wasn't okay with it, but he wasn't trying to help Sam not grieve, either. Helping Sam grieve meant he'd have to grieve, too, and Dean wouldn't. Couldn't do that, not even for Sam. And he needed to stop thinking about grieving at all, right now.

He leaned forward with a raised eyebrow. “I ever teach you how to play Tic-Tac-Toe?”

Sam glanced up through his too long dark hair, and slowly began to smile.

Chapter Text

“...No, Bobby, I can't find a damn thing about it,” Dean said into his cell. Sam was playing in front of him on the town's playground with a few other kids. Mostly just using the slide and watching out for the other kids who wanted to use it, actually. Still, more than Dean would do.

“Bring him here, then,” Bobby said with a sigh. “We'll figure it out. If the spell was half-assed to start with, it'll be a simple answer to fix.”

“You hope.”

“Hey, you better be hoping on this one, too. Unless I'm wrong and you're having a ball trying to watch out for your literal kid brother again. You used to go nuts if you couldn't see him.”

Okay, point to Sam being taller: made him a lot easier to spot. Sam had gotten lost in a mall once, and Dean had freaked so much, he hadn't been able to stop shaking for hours after they'd found him again. From that point on, Dean had made sure that if they ever got separated again, Sam would know where to go so Dean could find him.

“We'll figure it out,” Bobby added, a little less gruffly. “Like I said, sounds like a half-assed spell of some sorts. We'll get your brother back to size.”

“Appreciate it,” Dean said, before closing his cell phone. At least the kid was wearing something his size; they'd stopped in at a WalMart, with Dean explaining to the ever so helpful employee that they were just vacationing, the airport had lost their luggage, and could she just help-?

One look at Sam's sweet little face, and she'd instantly been ready and willing to help. Four outfits later, and they were able to walk around without people staring at them.

Even in the store, Sam had picked out the plain clothes, the plain sneakers, plain everything. His eyes had certainly caught on the shirts with the race cars and Batman decorating the fronts, but he'd changed his mind and picked plain green and blue t-shirts.

While Sam had tried it all on in the changing room, Dean had gone back for the Batman t-shirt. He'd casually tossed it over the door, and a few moments later, Sam had started giggling. The extra five dollars had well been worth that, Dean felt. Now, going down the slide, his red sneakers went first, before the Batman insigna cleared the way for Sam.

He stopped at the bottom, then glanced over at Dean. He frowned and paused, then hurried over, sliding to a halt in front of him. Dean raised his eyebrow. “There's swings,” Sam opened the conversation with. “They're pretty tall, too.”

“I can see that, Sam,” Dean replied. “And yeah, I can see them from here, so you can go ahead.”

Sam's face fell. “Okay, thanks,” he said, then headed off, almost dragging his feet towards the swings.

Dean rolled his gaze upward. Even as a kid, Sam had never tried just voicing what he wanted, but resorted to pouting.

...Actually, he'd only done that with Dad. He'd always told Dean how he'd felt, even if Dean had wound up having to pinch him to open up.

Dean leaned forward from his seat on the bench. “If you want me to push you, you could just ask,” he asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Sam knew how to pump the swings at five...didn't he? Had Dean shown him how to do that yet?

Sam paused, glancing back with a look on his face that Dean couldn't read. It looked blank, but there was something else, something deeper than that. He let his eyes drift down, then up to Dean, then down and up once more, then bit his lip, uncertain. Dean wasn't sure he really liked it.

Then Sam shook his head, gave a smile, and turned to head back towards the swings. He was there a moment later, climbing up and slowly beginning to swing back and forth.

Dean frowned a little. Was it possible for Sam to actually be in there? His Sam, not the five year old who hadn't recognized him. This looked like his Sam, who was grieving for their dad, too quiet, too polite, too giving of himself. That hadn't been Sam at five. Sure, Sam had been incredibly polite to everyone they'd met, with “Please” and “Thank you” rolling off his little tongue and matching the sincere smile on his face. Even Dad had gotten the good manners.

Dean? No way. Kid had always thought it was Dean's job to take care of him. Well, all right, for the most part it had been, but still, there hadn't been any polite phrases being thrown Dean's way. Of course, whenever Sam had done something for Dean, Dean hadn't said them to Sam, either. It wasn't something they'd done, not really something they'd needed to do. They were brothers; they just did things for each other when the other needed help. They hadn't even had to ask each other for the help, hadn't needed to say “Please” or “Thanks”.

Dean straightened, then rose sharply and made his way to the swings. No wonder Sam was quiet and almost lost; they'd never had to ask.

Not until lately, at any rate. Dean pushed the wince back as soon as it appeared on his face.

Sam had a pretty decent height going there, his feet nearly to Dean's chest. “Looks like you don't need that push after all,” he joked, pasting a grin on his face when Sam swung by him.

Sam's feet barely touched the ground, but he began to brush his toes against the dirt to slow himself down. “I didn't want you to push me,” Sam said, doing the eye thing again as he came to a stop. Dirt, Dean, dirt, Dean. “I wanted you to swing with me.”

One simple little sentence, and Dean realized he'd gotten it wrong. Again. Sam hadn't wanted his help; he'd just wanted Dean. He'd wanted his brother, and all he'd gotten was a grown up who apparently didn't know how to have fun anymore if it didn't involve killing something.

Sam glanced up and parted his lips to speak again, probably saying something like “You don't have to” or “I'll be fine” or Dean's least favorite, especially lately, “I'm sorry”. So before he could speak, Dean sat down in the swing beside him, and turned to Sam, whose mouth was now open in shock. “Race you to see who gets highest,” Dean said, before pushing off from the ground.

Sam didn't bother staring any more after that. With an “oomph” and rapidly kicking legs, Sam began getting himself moving again. “Wait for me!”

They swung higher and higher, Sam giggling once he was up to speed, and Dean found himself laughing genuinely for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Text

Going to Bobby's was fine; Dean had no problem with that. Only problem he had was that the kid wizard was in the opposite direction, but not really that far of a walk. They were heading by the house first this morning, then to Bobby's if Dean couldn't reverse this on his own.

Sam would've known exactly what to do, and Dean clenched his teeth at the unwilling thought. Sam thought he could do anything some days, like fix Dean. Dean didn't need fixing, Dean just needed to be left alone until the grief died out and left. It wasn't present; he wasn't letting it be. It sat in the back, waiting to come forward, and Dean wasn't letting it. Couldn't let it.

Because then his Dad was firmly gone, and he'd have to deal, and no. Not happening.

“Dean?”

Dean glanced down at Sam, who was walking diligently beside him. The house was only a mile down; no sense taking the car which the cops had already seen when they'd shown up to arrest the kid. “What's wrong?” Sam continued, little face upturned towards his.

Dean stopped and stared at him for a second, then chuckled humorlessly before moving forward again. “What is it?” Sam pressed.

Kid wasn't old enough to tie his shoes yet without messing them up, and he was already poking at Dean, trying to “fix” him. “I'm fine, Sam,” Dean said shortly. “Just fine, okay?”

When he glanced down again, Sam had his eyes fixed firmly ahead of him. Good; he'd shut the kid down. He firmly quashed the rising guilt at having done so, because then he'd have to admit he'd done something wrong, which-

He wasn't going to go over the entire chain to grief again.

There weren't any police cars in the area, and no yellow tape was strung across the front door. Still, Dean figured they'd go in the back door to the basement, just in case. He turned to tell Sam, then realized suddenly that he didn't have to; Sam was five. “C'mon,” he said quietly, taking Sam's hand and leading them both to the basement door.

Sam said nothing until they reached the door. “Is this where the witch lives?” he asked as Dean fiddled with the lock pick tools.

“No,” Dean said, glaring at the lock when it refused to open. Stupid old locks were always a pain to get into.

“Who lives here?”

Dean took a deep breath in then blew it out his nose. He'd forgotten the biggest thing about Sam at five: always asking questions. “Sam, I need to concentrate,” he managed to grit out. There, he hadn't sounded too mad.

Sam managed to keep quiet for five minutes, this time, and didn't speak until the lock sank home and the door opened. “Where does the witch live?” he asked while Dean pocketed the tools.

“Far away from here,” Dean answered, unable to keep the aggravation from his voice. How had his dad managed-

A memory flashed through his mind, himself at nine, Sammy at five, and John patiently sliding a coat onto his youngest all while answering the slew of questions that came from Sam's lips. It was almost a physical pain, and the sudden sting of tears was too quick to suppress. He blinked them away as fast as they'd come, breathed harshly through his nose, but not before Sam had seen.

“Are you worried about Daddy and the witch?” he asked, and it was too much.

He rounded on Sam suddenly, clutching his fists tight enough to make them shake. “Just stop, okay?” he hissed. “Enough questions already, Sam. Just...lay off, will you? Lay off.”

Sam stared up at him, expression unreadable. Dean glared down for another few seconds, then forced himself to take a deep breath and turn around. Up the stairs, into the living room. That was where they'd found the kid. The spell must've been around there somewhere.

He was halfway up the stairs before he realized Sam was still standing in the basement. “You coming or not?” he asked, and Sam finally, slowly, started to move. Dean waited until he was on the first stair before moving again himself. He glanced around the upstairs, eyes roaming over everything. He deemed the coast clear, then headed in.

The living room had been stripped bare; there was nothing left. Not even the comfy chairs, and Dean heaved a heavy sigh. “Dammit,” he growled. The entire world was out to get him today. If they'd taken everything, then the thing that had probably caused Sam's age flip was more than likely in a security vault right now.

They'd just have to go to Bobby, that was all. Guy had to be tired of them at this point, and Dean didn't want to sit in one place right now. He was aching for a hunt, something he could throw himself into and forget everything else. That was easiest. That didn't hurt.

Cautious, tiny steps behind him made him glance back at Sam, who was finally stepping into the room with wide eyes. “Nothing here,” Dean said, before snorting. “Probably being burned behind police doors right now.”

Sam nodded slowly, as if he understood. Dean rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards the basement stairs. “Move out,” he said, and Sam turned towards the stairs, with Dean in tow.

He closed the door behind them, wiping any trace of his own fingerprints from the knob. Dead end, time to visit Bobby. “Let's go,” he said, then made his way to the front of the house. Short mile back would give him time to think the problem over, that was good.

It would also give him time to think about stuff he didn't really want to think about, and that wasn't good.

His dad hadn't dealt with grief well, either. He'd holed himself up after their mom had died, then emerged almost a new man, a hunter. When Sam had left, John had thrown himself almost aggressively into hunting, as if to prove to himself that he was doing the right thing. He'd dragged Dean along for the ride, and then promptly ditched him, left him with nothing but a note and the car one morning. Well, that and a newspaper, with an obituary circled in red.

Maybe he could leave Sam for a little while at Bobby's, go out and take a short hunt on his own. It didn't have to be anything really dangerous, just something he could get his teeth into. Something he could cut and bleed, something he could hit as many times as he wanted to.

A persistent tugging at his left leg made him stop and glance down. From the look on Sam's face, he'd been tugging and calling Dean for awhile. When he had Dean's attention, though, he froze for a split second, then raised his arms. “Up?” he pleaded breathlessly. “Please?”

Two mile walk wasn't anything for Dean now; wasn't anything for Sam if he were at the right age. At five years old, though, two miles had to be a killer. Dean hadn't thought about that when he'd headed out that morning.

He wasn't even really thinking about it now. His mind was a little caught on the fact that Sam was giving him the word “please”. He'd been granted the politeness that Sam gave strangers and solemn adults, like their dad. Something he'd never done with Dean before, because he'd never had to. He'd always trusted that Dean would help him out.

Sam mistook the silence to be condemnation instead of sharp realization, and began lowering his arms. He stopped when his arms were just brushing his pants, then lifted them back up again, his lower lips trembling. “Dean, m'sorry, but I can't,” he said miserably, eyes pleading with Dean, who stared at him in stunned silence. “I-I tried but I can't-”

In one swift move Dean had him lifted and in his arms. Sam sniffled as his chin dropped onto Dean's shoulder. “M'sorry,” he whispered again, and Dean closed his eyes.

“You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sammy,” he said, one hand going up to slide through Sam's hair and cradle his head. “Nothing at all.”

Tiny hands tightened in his jacket at the nickname, and then Sam finally truly relaxed and rested against him. Dean opened his eyes and turned to look at his brother, and found Sam's own eyes drifting closed. “Shhh, I've got you,” Dean said quietly, and Sam closed his eyes all the way.

Dean stood there in the middle of the empty sidewalk, Sam carefully held in his arms. He didn't move until the sound of a bus engine caught his attention. It was going in the direction of the hotel, and Dean flagged it down. He was careful stepping on, Sam limp against him, and took a seat on the wide benches on the sides. Five other people besides himself and Sam were on board, and he got nothing more than indifferent glances. “The hotel right down the road, if you could,” Dean called softly to the bus driver. He got one solid nod in return before the doors closed.

Sam sniffled and shifted his head so it was laying against Dean's collarbone, face turned towards Dean's heart. He was firmly out for the count. Dean would get him back to the hotel, pack up while Sam slept. They'd leave and head to Bobby's, probably make it by dinner.

“He's absolutely precious.”

Dean glanced up and across the way, where a small woman with graying hair sat. She smiled tenderly at the sight Dean knew they had to be making, then nodded towards Sam. “He looks like such a sweetheart.”

Dean gave a small smile that didn't feel all too forced. “He really is. Well, he has his moments, obviously, but for the most part, he's a good kid.” It was funny, really, that Sam was the same way in his twenties.

“You're so lucky to have such an adorable little one,” she said, before sighing fondly. “And one who's so sweet.”

Dean's small smile began to fall away. He was lucky to have Sam with him at all at the moment, really: the accident could've taken Sam too, not just Dad. It wasn't something he liked even contemplating, because it made his stomach twist, and besides which, Sam was still here, still okay.

Sam was still there, still trying to help him get through his grief, still trying at all. He wasn't giving up on Dean, not like Dean had given up on him. He had, really. He didn't like facing it, but the truth was, he'd left Sam on his own.

Was Sam lucky to have him?

The remembrance of Sam's face after he'd thrown the punch two weeks ago, of Sam's face as he begged to be carried not ten minutes before...

He turned his attention back to the woman, who was still smiling at them. “Yeah, I really am lucky,” he said quietly.

At that point, though, Dean was fairly certain that he was the only lucky one between him and Sam. Why Sam still stayed firmly attached at the hip, Dean had no idea. He didn't know how to change it, how to change himself. He was firmly stuck in a continuing rotation of grief, anger, thinking, back to grief and around again. The grief was always short lived because Dean wouldn't let it come to the surface. He couldn't.

Sitting in the bus, with a tiny Sam in his lap, made him wonder if maybe he needed to anyways. Not just for his sake anymore, but for Sam's.

Chapter Text

Bobby was a miracle. As soon as they were done with this, Dean was going to buy him something really nice. Like a car part he'd been looking for for years, or a really rare book. Or hell, a year's supply of coffee.

He hadn't even explained his cover story to Bobby, but as soon as they'd pulled up, Bobby had come outside, greeted Sam like Sam was supposed to be five, then stared at Dean in shock. “Oh wow,” he'd stammered. Then, “What the hell happened?”

He'd let Sam tell the story and had instead headed inside. The dog was, thankfully, nowhere around, and Dean had allowed himself a sigh of relief. Sam would've remembered a puppy, and a completely different dog on top of it. Less things they had to explain, the better.

“Go wash up, and you can help me set the table,” Bobby rumbled, and Sam took off like a flying bullet for the bathroom. Once he was out of hearing distance, Bobby came over to Dean, glaring at him. “You went back to that damn house?” he hissed. “Are you nuts? What if there'd been another spell hanging around, and Sam'd gotten caught in that one, or worse, you had?”

Dean winced. Guess Sam had told Bobby all of what they did today, and Dean sincerely hoped that Sam hadn't told him about the walk home. “I didn't think of it,” he admitted quietly. That was something he would've left up to Sam to figure out.

Bobby seemed to guess what was going through his mind, and simply shook his head. “Boy, you worry me,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “There was a time you could think for yourself, or better yet, when you and Sam both did the thinkin'. Your brother sees a lot of the picture, most of the time, but not all of it.”

He walked back to the kitchen, leaving Dean feeling five inches shorter than his already self-degraded ten inch status. He'd packed in silence as Sam had slept on, and all the while he'd thought of nothing but Sam begging to be carried. Then he'd thought of Sam's face after he'd punched him. Then he'd gone right back to Sam begging to be carried, and by the time he'd finished packing, his thinking had brought him down far shorter than he'd been to start with.

Bobby was right, though. He knew he'd left Sam to handle things for the both of them, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it until his brother was a firm four inches taller than he was again.

Sam came back in then, and slid to a stop in front of Bobby. “Plates,” he ordered, holding his arms out. Bobby chuckled but handed down three plates, which Sam carefully balanced in his little arms, then pushed onto the table above him. Once they were there, he climbed up on a chair, then began distributing them. He paused for a second, then glanced up at Dean hesitantly. “Um, where do you wanna sit?” he asked.

Dean dropped from five inches tall to three. He'd always sat next to Sam as kids, there hadn't been any question about it. “Where do I always sit?” he countered, raising his eyebrow.

Sam gave a quick grin, then placed two plates right next to each other. Dean turned away with a satisfied smile, which immediately fell as soon as he caught sight of Bobby. Bobby was giving him an all too knowing look, and Dean fought the urge to wince. Again.

Looked like they were going to be having a talk later.

For now, however, Dean was saved by dinner, and he was taking his breaks when he could. Spaghetti was dished out (one of Sam's favorites, and seriously, Dean owed Bobby two rare books for this), and they ate in relative silence, broken by a few words and Sam's slurping.

After dinner, Dean managed to sneak out to the car to grab their duffel bags out of the trunk. He made it back to the door in time to hear Sam ask from inside, “Uncle Bobby? Is that really Dean?”

Dean paused, setting the bags down on the porch and pressing his ear carefully against the screen.

Bobby's snort was incredulous. “'Course he is. Why wouldn't you think he was?”

Only the sound of someone washing dishes was heard, then Bobby spoke again. “Don't you shrug at me; what's goin' on in that head of yours, Sam?”

“It's...I dunno,” Sam said, and Dean could imagine him slouching into the chair. “He's really angry all the time. Like Daddy is, but...scarier. I don't think he wants me nowhere nearby.”

“Anywhere nearby,” Bobby corrected, his voice sounding strained. At least he could talk; Dean couldn't have said a word or breathed if someone had put a gun in his face and ordered him to say something.

Sam gave a tiny sigh. “I just want my Dean back, who's not angry all the time and loves me.”

Dean slowly moved his ear away from the door, then stepped backwards, leaning forward suddenly when he almost fell off the porch. The world felt dizzy, looked dizzy, and he stumbled to sit down on the stairs.

How the hell had he screwed this up so much?

The screen porch opened slowly, before solid, heavy footsteps moved towards him. Dean rested his elbows on his knees, then used both arms to cradle his head, wrists digging into the top of his head. “Bobby,” he managed to croak out. “I...oh god-”

“Sam doesn't know that your dad's not here anymore,” Bobby said gently. “He doesn't know that you're grieving, Dean. That's all.”

It was an excused absolution, an easy way out, and they both knew it. Slowly Dean shook his head. “No. That's not all. I just...I've just shut him out, you know? It's been easier. I can't...”

“Dean, I know-”

“I miss him,” he finally whispered helplessly. His eyes burned but he ignored it, letting his hand hang lower. “I miss him so much it hurts. I can't even call his cell phone because I have it, and the fact that I have it means it's not with him, because...”

A hand gently landed on his head, and Dean closed his eyes and tried to breathe. In, out, in, out. “I know Sam misses him as much as I do,” Dean whispered hoarsely. “But he's grieving and I can't. I just get angry because it's easier, you know? If I'm not angry I'll just cry, and...I can't cry. I need to not cry.”

“For Sam,” Bobby said quietly, and Dean snorted through his tears.

“For me, too. I don't think I could take it if Sam saw me cry. I know he still looks up to me, and if I let him down-”

“You're not letting him down, Dean,” Bobby said, moving to take a seat beside Dean. Dean focused on his own arms and jeans, and took in gulps of air. “You're only shutting yourself off, making you untouchable. The kid knows you're not invincible or perfect, Dean. You ever wonder how lonely he's gotta feel to be the only one grieving?”

No, he really hadn't, and fresh tears burned, sliding over the older tracks.

Bobby sighed and patted Dean softly on the back. “He still loves you,” Bobby said quietly. “Kid'll never stop doing that. And deep down, Sam knows you'll never stop loving him, either.”

“Oh really?” Dean said, finally looking over at Bobby. “Because if that's how a mini Sam feels, how the hell do you think the older one feels?”

“About the same,” Bobby said evenly, sympathy in his gaze. Dean miserably shook his head and turned his eyes back to his jeans.

“So what do I do, Bobby? How the hell am I supposed to fix this?”

Bobby was quiet a moment. “I read somewhere that shared pain is lessened,” he said at last. “I don't think you two should start cryin' on each other's shoulders, but letting him know you're not made out of granite and fury might help.”

Dean let the words sink in, then slowly nodded. “C'mon, Sam's probably finished the damn puzzle by now,” Bobby grumbled, standing with a few pops. “Kid always managed to finish my 500's in thirty minutes or less, I swear.”

Dean snorted, but it was followed by a genuine smile. “I remember you used to always save those puzzles for when he came over, and he'd finish it for you.” With a raised eyebrow Dean turned to his friend. “I thought you were just trying to make him smile.”

“Shaddup,” Bobby grumbled good-naturedly, and Dean chuckled. When Bobby offered his hand he took it, letting his friend pull him to his feet. Bobby gave him a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder twice, then headed back inside. After taking a deep breath, Dean followed.

Sam was, indeed, almost finished with the puzzle, one Dean couldn't have even started, let alone figure out. He'd always been smart, though, always coming up with an ingenious way to solve something.

When it came to helping Dean, though, Sam hadn't been able to figure it out. Problem was, Dean had hidden a couple of the pieces in his hand, and as soon as Sam was back up to height and age, Dean was going to lay them out on the table. Hell knew Sam had laid his own puzzles out on the table for Dean to help him with, and swear to god, if he didn't stop making clichés from puzzles...

Sam glanced up when he came in, and his hand faltered over a puzzle piece. He bit his lip, indecision written all over his face, before he finally dared to ask, “Are you okay?”

He was expecting Dean to bite his head off, and he still asked. Damn but Dean loved that kid.

Dean swallowed. “No,” he admitted. He let himself sink to his knees, and he'd barely opened his arms before Sam was flying into them, holding on tight. Dean in turn wrapped his arms around his brother, closing his eyes. “But I will be,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Dean was completely ready to shut the book and call it a night, but forced his eyes open to keep reading. So far, this “half-assed” spell was proving to be a full-on pain in the ass. All he wanted to do now was close his eyes and sleep for a month.

The thought of his little brother in the other room, fast asleep, made him flip another page and keep searching.

The sound of a book being shut firmly made Dean look up at last. Bobby was shoving his book away, rubbing at his eyes. “Nothin' else we can do,” Bobby said. “I can't find anything in these books about an age regression spell.”

Dean frowned. “I thought these things were pretty popular.”

“Yeah, but no one's managed to do one correctly, that's the problem,” Bobby sighed. “There's been time shifts, like if he'd been pulled out of the year when he was really five. That would mean that your Sam would be back in '88 or something like that. Then there's shrinking spells, but the memory would stay intact, or the memory loss spells that can go back to a certain period and wipe everything else.”

Dean really didn't want to know what he was going to say next. “But...?” he prompted anyways.

“This is like all of those scenarios at once,” Bobby said. He pulled his hat off of his head to run a hand over his hair. “Something that's never been accomplished successfully, so far as I know. There's always been complications. Always. So either this wizard kid of yours was a genius, or he was a bumbling asshole who just managed to put all the right crap together.”

“I'd vote on the latter,” Dean growled. “So now what do we do?”

Bobby pursed his lips while he thought. “The spell might wear off,” he finally said, pulling his hat back on. “Week's the usual norm for stuff like this, everyone knows that. I don't want to take that chance, though. It's still fairly fresh, only two days old right now. We can still trace it, I bet.”

“Yeah, but we don't know how he did it,” Dean countered, raising his eyebrow. “So how's tracing it gonna help?”

“If it's cast to an object, then we find it, wherever his junk might've wound up, and we bless it and burn it,” Bobby said, before standing. “If it wasn't, then we hook up the spell to a crystal and let it sort out what the stupid kid did. Kinda not a road I wanna go down, though.”

The entire thing was only making Dean's head hurt more. “Does this mean we can go to bed now?” he asked hopefully.

Bobby snorted. “Gonna have to; shopping center's closed by now.”

Dean's heart fell. “Shopping...?”

“Yeah, there's a new age shop in there with specific crystals for things like this. We need four crystals for the map, along with some essential herbs that I don't have stocked. You and Sam should be back by lunch tomorrow, if you leave in the morning.”

Dean stared for a moment, before he let his face slide into a glare. “And you're gonna be doing what?”

“Translating the damn Sumerian text for this into English,” Bobby replied, but he smirked when he said it. “Sorry,” he added without sounding sorry at all.

Rotten bastard.

Dean finally trudged off to bed, grumpy and exhausted, and glanced in to check on Sam out of habit. Two tired but stubbornly awake eyes met his in the dark, and Dean paused, then stepped inside. “Sammy? What's up?”

The small, “Nothin',” was full of a great deal more of something than Sam obviously wanted to own up to. Dean swallowed the sigh that seemed to come naturally and stepped over to the bed. Sam was sitting up, though propped against the headrest, and Dean watched as his eyes slid down, only to blink awake widely.

“There a reason you're not asleep?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged wearily. Kid was wiped, that much was obvious. “Do you...d'you think that Daddy's okay?”

Dean parted his lips to say something generalized, like 'sure he is', but the words wouldn't come out. “I hope so,” he found himself saying, and meaning it. Whatever his dad had done that day in the hospital had been supernaturally based, and he hoped and prayed every night that his dad wasn't burning for it.

Not for him.

Sam's eyes began closing again, and he forced them open once more. “Sammy, go to sleep,” Dean said gently, tugging Sam down and back into the bed. “You're wiped, kid.”

“But I always stay 'wake 'till you're goin' t'bed,” Sam explained with a yawn, his words slurred by sleepiness.

Dean paused, hands over the blankets. “What about when me and Dad are out late?” he asked. Dean had gone with their dad on a few hunts when he was eight, more when he was nine. Before that, he and their dad had stayed up, discussing demons and hunts while Dean had thought Sam was sleeping in the next room. How much had he heard?

“I stay up,” Sam said simply, blinking up at him slowly.

Dean gazed down at him, swallowing past another lump in his throat. “You shouldn't do that, Sam,” he said. “You need your sleep.”

“Can't sleep f'you're no'here,” Sam murmured. “Can't sleep f'you're no'safe.”

“Well I'm here now,” Dean said quietly, resting his hand on Sam's head. Sam blinked once more, then closed his eyes, and didn't open them again.

Dean gazed at his brother in the dark for a long time, wondering why he hadn't noticed any of this for all those years. Wouldn't surprise him if Sam still stayed up waiting for him, even at twenty-three and knowing that Dean could take care of himself.

He turned and headed out to his own room, his own bed. Despite the tiredness he'd felt earlier, it took him a long time to fall asleep.

“Don't let go,” Dean stressed again, holding on tightly to Sam's little hand. Sam merely nodded, eyes wide as they took in the area around them.

Dean hated malls.

Worse yet, he hated large crowds. Not normally, of course, but with Sam not even at his waist, not visible above the crowd like he normally was? Yeah, Dean was a little nervous, to say the least.

Thank hell Sam seemed to be feeling the same way. Of course, Sam'd started being nervous outside the mall, which had in turn led to Dean being nervous with Sam and for Sam. The way he clung to Dean's hand and remained practically glued to Dean's left leg meant that while he was scared and Dean hated it, it meant that he'd be staying close, and Dean was more than okay with that. If he could walk out of here with Sam still by his side, he'd let himself not feel guilty that his little brother was terrified.

Really.

The new age shop that Bobby had mentioned was near one of the exits, and that was blessing. Dean didn't really want to delve into the center of the mall, where everyone seemed to be congregating. Sam bumped into his leg again as a group of people walked by the opposite way, and Dean clutched a little tighter. “I'm right here,” he said, and Sam only nodded.

Dean hated malls.

Then they were in the shop, and Dean relaxed his grip slightly at the low amount of people inside. Just some guy in a leather jacket scanning the shelves, two girls holding hands as they perused the candles, and a shopkeeper in the back. Dean headed there first, giving the woman as sincere a smile as he could. “I wondered if you could help me with some crystals and some herbs,” he asked.

The woman knew her stuff, he had to give her that. She took him around the store, explaining not only what each crystal was intended for, but how to properly use it with the herbs he had. He carefully noted it all and quickly paid for his purchases, snagging his bag with his left hand before turning around and freezing.

His left hand. The one Sam had been holding.

Sam was gone.

“Sammy?” he called, trying to keep the franticness out of his voice. Sam didn't respond, and he wasn't anywhere in the shop, from what Dean could see. “Sammy?” The panic was there for everyone to hear, but Dean didn't care. Not when Sam was missing.

He darted outside the shop and stared in horror at the amount of people in the crowds. Left, right...there were so many. Anyone could've taken Sam, because no way would Sam have left on his own. But he hadn't heard a protest or a fight, so...?

He turned suddenly towards the exit, which was so close. What had once been a blessing was now a curse that made his heart speed up to the point of a heart attack. They could've already had Sam outside, in a van, driving off to who knows where to split him open-

That wasn't helping. Dean forced himself to take a deep breath and turned back to the mall again. No. There was a security guard at the door; he remembered passing the man when they'd come in. He was still standing there, looking bored, but still there. Sam would've put up a fight, and they would've been stopped.

That meant that Sam was still in the mall somewhere.

He could spend hours searching through stores and restrooms and wouldn't find Sam. The loud speaker, that would do it. Had to be in the same room as the cameras, and Dean stepped out to his new destination.

His ears were tuned to hear a small voice, though, through the crowd. Nothing but rushed voices, the tinny music above him, and the rushing water to his left was heard.

Wait a minute. Water?

He jerked his head to follow the sound, and saw the small fountain in the center of the hallway to his left. A memory from years before came to mind, and he began striding towards it.

“I-I got lost, Dean, and I couldn't find you or Daddy-”

“It's okay, you're okay, I'm right here. Listen, if you ever get lost again, you go find a...a fountain, okay?”

“Like this one?”

“Like this one. All places have 'em, and they're easy to see, so I'll find you. Okay?”

“'Kay.”

“Sam?” he called when he got to the fountain. A few heads turned his way, but none were of the short, floppy-haired variety, so he didn't really care. “Sammy?”

“D-Dean?”

Dean sagged with the physical relief when Sam poked his head out from behind a table. He looked scared as all shit, but he was okay. When he saw that it was Dean, he ran out from his hiding place and tackled Dean's legs with a force that made him stagger backwards. Two seconds later he knelt down to hug Sam for real, breathing harshly and shakily. “Are you okay?” Dean asked, pulling away to look Sam over.

Sam nodded jerkily. “Then what happened?”

“I-I saw you lee-eave,” Sam stammered, tears brimming in his eyes. His lower lip began to tremble. “An' I followed, 'cuz I dinnit wanna get l-left behind, and then you turned 'round and it wasn't you, Dean, and I thought it was 'cuz he had your coat, and he had black eyes an'-”

Oh god no.

“An'...an'...an' I was so scared,” Sam whispered finally, his breath hitching as he began to cry. “M'sorry, Dean, m'so sorry-”

“It's all right, I've got you,” Dean instantly soothed, pulling Sam in close. Sam was practically bawling now, into Dean's shirt so it was muffled, and Dean didn't care. He clutched Sam closer, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to burst into tears himself.

Couldn't they get one freakin' break? Just one? They'd been stuck on an emotional roller coaster since Dad had died, and now the universe was trying to take the one person he had left away from him.

Tenderly he lifted Sam into his arms, and Sam kept crying into his neck. Hot tears had fully soaked his skin by the time he found where he'd dropped his bag in his haste to find Sam, and together they left the mall.

Chapter Text

He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but the kid looked more innocent when he was asleep. He always had, though. Still did, even at twenty-three, and it broke a little of Dean's heart every time he saw it.

“Black eyes,” Bobby repeated, sounding pissed off which was his way of dealing with being concerned.

Dean sighed but didn't turn away from watching Sam sleep. “Black eyes,” Dean said for the fourth time, shifting so his arm was taking the weight of his body against the doorway.

Bobby cursed, low and hard. “Did you see it?”

“No,” Dean said softly. All he'd had eyes for was the five year old tucked in his arms, crying from fear and relief. He'd tapered off as they'd gotten to the Impala, and he'd slid into the backseat with only a sniffle. When Dean had gone to shut the door, though, he'd looked stricken, having forgotten that Dean wasn't staying in the back with him. Dean had paused, hand on the door, and had only debated a second before offering his arms to Sam again. Sam had stayed seated right next to him in the front all the way to Bobby's. He'd fallen asleep about five minutes out from the mall, still sniffling every now and then.

“He'll be fine, Dean,” Bobby said, sighing. “Kid just cried himself to sleep. You and me, we got work to do, though. If there's demons gunnin' for you-”

“Not just me, Bobby,” Dean said, turning at last. “Both of us. They had to have known who Sam still was, and that's what scares the shit out of me the most. I thought after they took Dad, they'd-”

“What do you mean, took your dad?” Bobby asked suddenly, suspicion in his gaze.

Dean sighed and stepped away from the doorway. “C'mon, I can't be the only one thinking it,” he said quietly. “I have a 'miracle' of a recovery the same day the Colt disappears and my dad, who was healthy and fine not twenty minutes before, suddenly stops breathing?” And that was the reason Dean couldn't let the grief in, couldn't let it anywhere near, because if he did, the guilt was going to follow.

Bobby pursed his lips but said nothing. “He did something, Bobby,” Dean continued. “I think he made a deal with the devil. For me.”

“And Sam, if you think about it,” Bobby added a moment later. When Dean frowned at him, Bobby merely shrugged. “Kid's always looked up to you more than your daddy. Sam's always needed you more than your dad. Losin' you...you didn't see your brother those few days after the accident, Dean. He was scared and falling apart because he was so afraid he was gonna lose you. I found him in my place after we'd towed the Impala back, found him in the corner of the bathroom sobbing. For you. And your dad loved you both more than anything else. John had his faults, but that wasn't one of 'em,” he finished quietly.

He'd never really invited Sam to talk about those days in the hospital. Now that he thought about it, he was fairly certain Sam had checked himself out AMA just to be at Dean and their dad's side. Soon as the kid was towering over him again, they were having a major ass talk.

Provided they could get there without a spell or demons interfering.

Bobby cleared his throat, the sure sign of a change in topic. “What were you sayin', about after your dad?”

“I thought they'd leave us alone for a bit,” Dean admitted. “Stupid, I know, but I'd kinda hoped. Long enough for us to regroup. I mean, we got out of the hospital okay, and I know Sam was just as worried about another semi coming around to hit us again as I was.”

“They're not gonna stop, Dean. What you need isn't a break; you need a brother. One that'll stand shoulder to shoulder with you again against them. Let's see if we can't find that spell, all right?”

Dean glanced back into the bedroom one last time, then at the salt and wards on the windows behind the bed. “Let's,” he agreed, and followed after Bobby.

“Wonder if these'll stick in the wall if I throw 'em,” Dean mused, tossing one of the crystals up and down in his hand. Four hours, and so far, the damn crystals and map hadn't found anything that the spell was tied to.

“Don't tempt,” Bobby muttered, glaring down at the map. He turned to the text next with a frown. “Maybe I missed something.”

Dean raised his head, giving Bobby an incredulous stare. “What?” Bobby countered, rolling his eyes. “I'm not perfect, Dean. I don't know everything.”

“Yeah right,” Dean scoffed. “No, I trust your translating skills. I just don't think this is going anywhere because it wasn't damn well tied to anything.”

Bobby took a breath to speak, then stopped, eyes on the doorway behind Dean. Dean turned, then smiled at the picture Sam made. Sleep tussled hair, two fists rubbing at his eyes, and a very sleepy stare with long blinks to finish the picture. “What'cha doin'?” he murmured, blinking more awake by the minute.

“Trying to find the witch,” Dean said. “So we can make sure she doesn't come here.”

“It's not working, is it,” Sam stated, looking at the crystals and map. Dean shook his head.

“I'm sorry,” Sam said finally, before sitting next to Dean on the floor. Dean glanced down at him with a frown, and Sam continued. “For you being a grown up. It doesn't look like fun.”

Bobby snorted to cover his chuckle. Dean rolled his eyes. “It is too fun,” he said. “I bet you'd like being grown up.”

Sam shook his head rapidly. “Nuh-uh. You have to make all those choices, and there's a lotta them to do, too.”

With a smile Dean wrapped his arm around his brother. “You'll be fine, Sammy. You'll make good choices when you're grown up, I promise.” Kid had kept him going all through the last year, and was keeping him going now.

When Sam didn't say anything, but simply stared solemnly at the map before them, Dean suddenly reached down and poked him in the ribs. Sam's giggle was instantaneous, as was his sudden desire to be anywhere but near Dean. Dean hauled him back easily, before he commenced with the tickling. Sam's laughter filled the room, even as he tried to squirm free.

He finally did manage to escape, laughing as he ran. Dean grinned and gave chase, even as he caught Bobby rolling his eyes. Considering there was a smile he was trying to hide as he did so, Dean didn't really think he was that annoyed. Then Sam hit the front door, managing to get it open and down the porch. “I'm gonna hide!” he declared through his giggles, already heading to his secret hiding spots in the cars. Dean hurried after, still grinning, because he knew every single spot that Sam could hide in.

He jogged down the main path of the cars, glancing over at the left side of the yard, where Sam usually hid. The bigger cars were out there, like the size his dad's new black truck was. The truck wasn't here, though; insurance had called, so they'd found it, obviously. Sam must've dealt with it. Sam must've dealt with a lot the past few weeks, and Dean hadn't really considered that until now.

He went to turn to the left, but Sam surprised him, standing in the middle of the path up ahead. Dean chuckled but stepped over. “You forget how to play hide and go seek?” he teased. Then he caught the look on Sam's face and the smile fell. Confused, he followed Sam's gaze to the right and froze, just as his brother had.

The man in the leather jacket from the store was there, eyes black as midnight. He held a large, mangy creature by the scruff of its neck, even as it strained to get to Sam. One of the lesser hounds Hell had at its disposal, maybe. Whatever it was, it was snapping its jaws, and it was staring right at Sam.

Dean let his hand hover over Sam, waiting for the right moment. The man turned to him, grinning suddenly. “Hello boys,” he drawled, blinking his big, black eyes. “Hope you don't mind us crashing the party.”

The sun was setting, Dean realized faintly, and he realized a split second later that there were more demons around. Sam stayed frozen, except for a slight trembling, and he wasn't going to get a better moment. Within a second he had Sam in his arms, and he was running for the house.

Laughter rose from behind him, deep and dark, and a howl was heard. Dean was on the steps when he heard the heavy paws hitting the earth at a rapid rate, and he dove through the doorway, the door still open from before. He twisted and landed on the bottom, Sam still clutched in his arms.

The hound hit the wards at the door and physically bounced back, yelping briefly as it did so. It began to growl, low in its throat, eyes still locked on Sam.

“Back off, you mangy sonuvabitch,” Dean panted angrily, sitting up and placing Sam behind him. The pumping of a shotgun was heard behind him, and Dean let himself relax the tiniest fraction.

“I'd follow his words, if I were you,” Bobby said quietly, steel in his tone. The hound glared at them all, then turned to slink off the porch. Its paws made no sound as it did so.

Bobby reached over and slammed the door shut, and silence filled the room.

Chapter Text

Dean?” Sam asked from behind him, his voice shaking. “Wh-what was that?”

Dean winced as he sat up, his back twinging from the hard fall. Then it was shrugged off, set aside to deal with Sam, who was looking pretty freaked out. Not that Dean blamed him. “Well, it's not something you can keep,” he joked, before sighing. “It's a nasty hound, Sammy. Don't let it bite you, don't let it near you, don't even let it breathe on you. Okay? Remember that for me.”

Sam nodded anxiously, then hazarded another question. “Does he...does he belong to the witch?”

Cover story. Right, he'd go with it. “Yes, he does, and that man out there, with the black eyes?” Dean said. Another vigorous nod. “He's on the witch's side. But we'll keep you safe, okay?”

“How come he was staring at me?” Sam asked, and Dean mentally cringed at the question. Sometimes his little brother was too smart for his own good. He'd figured out the pieces Dean really hadn't wanted him to put together.

Dean thought it over a minute, and used the time to move to his knees in front of Sam. He reached out and placed his hands on each of Sam's shoulders, then began to speak. “The witch is out to get me, Sam. Not you. But she knows now that you're my brother, and that I'd do anything for you, because I love you, okay? And she knows how much I'd hurt if anything ever happened to you.”

“She's trying to get me so she can get you,” Sam summarized, staring at Dean with big eyes.

“That's right, kiddo. So you gotta stay in here, okay? I'll keep you safe, won't let her get to you.”

Sam wiped at his eyes with the back of his wrist, and the look he gave was pure determination. “I'm not gonna let her get you, neither,” he said firmly. “Promise.”

Dean gazed at him long and hard, then began to smile. “I know you won't,” he said, cupping the side of Sam's cheek and resting his thumb near his ear. “You'll stay here though, right?”

“I will,” Sam agreed, before he frowned as Dean stood. “Wait, right here? Right here?” he asked, pointing at the floor he was standing on. “Dean?”

“Yup,” Dean said, heading for the kitchen. Bobby tossed him the container he'd been aiming for, and Dean turned back to his confused little brother. “You trust me?”

Sam nodded without hesitation. “Then I want you to stay right in here,” Dean told him, and began liberally pouring the salt in a circle around Sam. Enough room to let him move if he needed to and not step outside the circle, but small enough to keep him far from the door. That was fine with Dean.

Sam scrunched up his face when Dean finished. “Is that salt?” he asked, still frowning. “How come you put salt on the floor?”

“She doesn't like the color white,” Bobby cut in, and Sam nodded at the apparent wisdom there. Dean owed Bobby well past what he could ever pay back. Coffee supply for a lifetime, maybe. Or hell, a promise not to involve him in stupidity anymore.

....Maybe that last one was a little too steep for Dean to be able to do.

Weapons got grabbed and loaded up with familiarity, and Dean put his back to the wall next to the closed door. “How do I know when I can get out?” Sam whispered.

Dean thought about it for a minute, and his mind came up with the password they'd used for years with Sam. It was so obvious and why hadn't he been able to remember this a few days before? “We'll stick with the password: Lucky Charms,” he whispered back. “You don't leave until me or Bobby says it, got it?”

Sam nodded. Dean reached out with one finger to pull aside the shades, and saw nothing but the dull reds that were fading from the sunset. Bobby waited by the doorknob with his own weapon.

A short nod, and Bobby grabbed and twisted the doorknob almost viciously. In that same instant, Dean slid to the front of the door, shotgun pumped and ready. The hound was waiting on the other side, and growled immediately at the sight of Dean.

Dean merely grinned and took aim, and really, really hoped that Sam was covering his ears.

The hound went flying backwards with the blast, knocking down two demons with it. A roar to the left made Dean hurry out to get a bead on the new challenger, and managed to shoot in time to keep from becoming another hound's dinner. This one was much bigger, with red eyes that glared at Dean, and he wasted no time in putting a second round between them.

Bobby hurried out, and they quickly knocked the two trapped demons out. “There's ropes and chains behind the porch. We'll deal with getting rid of the demons after we figure out how many more we have to exorcise.”

“Well, there's one more at least, some guy with a leather jacket,” Dean said, hurrying to grab the rope. “Seriously, though, multiple people possessed? Demonic dogs? What else did they call in?”

Bobby pursed his lips. “I don't wanna know,” he said with a shake of his head. They started to tie up the demons, but stopped when footsteps approached.

“Keep on them,” was all Dean said, before coming up with his gun. Three more, with Jacket Guy leading the way. Great. “This all you got? 'Cause we can handle it. I've got no problems taking you jackasses out.”

“Sure you don't,” Jacket Guy said agreeably, before he grinned. “Just as much as we don't have a problem killing your brother whether he's a child or adult.”

Dean tightened his grip on the shotgun. “You come near him, and I'll kill you,” he said coldly.

“I'd like to see you try,” Jacket Guy said, before he lunged. Dean couldn't even get the shot off in time, but he did manage to shove his opponent back and away from Bobby. The gun got wrenched from his right hand, leaving Dean with two hands to punch. Jacket Guy kept pushing forward, and Dean had no idea where the other two demons had gone, but he didn't hear Bobby screaming, so...plus in their favor.

A sudden, sharp hit to his side brought Dean to his knees. He was flipped and crushed beneath an unmovable force. He struggled and tried to kick, but the demon only laughed. Ahead, he could see Bobby fighting the two other demons, holding them off on his own. “I thought you should watch,” Jacket Guy said slyly, and Dean was about to give a smart ass answer before he saw the thick cloud of dust that landed on the porch. It pulled itself up, took on a shape, and Dean felt his jaw drop when he saw himself at about eight or nine where the dust had been. The dust form stepped over in front of the door, then gave a casual smirk.

“Sammy, c'mon, let's get out of here,” it said. Voice, inflection, everything was down to the detail.

“No,” Dean gritted out, struggling even harder now.

He couldn't hear Sam's response, but he saw the dust form roll its eyes. “Yes, I'm fine, geek. Dad's here, he took care of everybody. Totally wasted them, and hey! I'm back to normal. Look, he promised us he'd let us have whatever we wanted for dinner, so...c'mon, please? Let's go already.”

Even as Dean struggled, the dust form began to glare inside. “Dude, it's me, okay? I just gave you the password a few minutes ago. What, are you such a baby that you need one?”

Good boy, Dean silently praised. He managed to kick Jacket Guy's leg, and felt a little of the weight slide off. He hated possessed humans, their strength was near impossible to counter. Frickin' demons...

The dust form crossed his arms and shook its head. “You know what, Sam? Fine. Stay here,” it said angrily, before turning away as if it didn't care. “You can stay here. We don't need you. Be a baby, stay in the middle of the circle. Dad's not gonna care, and I sure don't. See you.”

Sam's voice was finally heard, even as the dust form moved as if to step off the porch. “No, wait! Dean wait!” and Sam ran outside to catch up.

“NO!” Dean shouted, and Bobby was turning too late even though his demons were down, they'd drawn him away from the porch and Sam, and the young Dean was turning back with a triumphant smirk on its face, and Dean couldn't move-

He shoved with all his might, and Jacket Guy tumbled back with a startled yelp. Dean was already off towards the porch, and the illusion fell away before his eyes. The vision of his younger self was being replaced with something with dark, sunken eyes, sickly flesh, and withered hands that held Sam fast even as he tried to back away in horror. The jaws opened impossibly wide, and Sam screamed, even as he fought to pull free.

Dean flew onto the porch, wrenching the ghoul off and landing a hard kick to its chest. He grabbed and pulled Sam into his arms in one fell swoop, backing into the house until they were both back within the salt circle. The ghoul came back up, and Dean reached for the longest, hardest thing he could find, then threw it at the ghoul. It hit it in the skull with a crack, and the ghoul tumbled to the ground.

Dean only gave it a sparing glance, before he turned to Sam. “Are you okay?” he asked, crouching to set Sam on the ground.

Sam bit his lip but nodded. “I thought he was you,” he whispered miserably. “Dean, I'm sor-”

“Don't you even think of finishing that,” Dean said firmly. “You had no way of knowing that wasn't me, okay?”

“I should've stayed,” Sam argued. “He didn't know the password. I shoulda known he wasn't you.”

“You should've known it wasn't me because it said it'd leave you,” Dean countered, before softening his voice. “I would never leave you. Got it? I will always wait for you and be there for you.” He'd waited almost four years while Sam had enjoyed Stanford, hadn't he?

Sam nodded at that, not looking as upset anymore. Dean still hugged him hard, because dammit, maybe Sam didn't need it, but Dean did.

Bobby came up on the porch, then grimaced at the sight of the ghoul. “Don't hit it,” Dean cautioned. “I already hit it once.”

“One hit's all it needs,” Bobby said, grabbing the gnarled wrist and pulling it off the porch in one smooth motion. “Unless we want it to get reborn.”

“Are they gone?” Sam asked, and Bobby nodded.

“All gone, kid. I gotta clean up the mess." He paused, then jerked his head towards the table where several puzzle boxes sat. "Sam, you wanna take a puzzle into your room? I can't finish that yellow one with the windmill.”

That would make sure Sam stayed out of the way and couldn't possibly look out to see any dead bodies. Perfect. “I'll do it,” Sam offered, and Dean let him hurry off. He rose slowly, feeling the aches in his knees as he walked over to Bobby. Bobby just nodded his head outside, to where five people were bound and unconscious, including Jacket Guy.

Dean winced. “Sorry I left you to deal with them.”

“Don't be, ghouls are notorious for eating kids,” Bobby said. “That was the more pressing danger, not a couple people possessed. We need to get them in the Devil's Trap, though. Get as many poor sons of bitches free and alive as we can.”

Chapter Text

It wound up being four out of the five that walked away alive; Jacket Guy had, apparently, taken a blow to the head well before Bobby and Dean had encountered him. The others had left, dazed but more than willing to accept the far-fetched story about Bobby being an old war veteran who'd found them out in the woods a few days ago, and was he damn glad they were up and around again. Dean used one of his most recent credit cards to get them plane tickets home, and Bobby promptly drove them to the airport.

The guy with the jacket was buried out back, after his corpse had been salted and burned. The ghoul had finally disintegrated back into dust, which had been promptly blessed and gathered to be thrown off the property.

The next morning, Dean was up early to talk with Bobby about the second spell. “I don't even know if it's gonna work, Dean,” Bobby said over his coffee. “Trying to take apart a well known spell doesn't always work, but something like this...even if it did tell us what went into the original spell, I'm not sure we'd understand it.”

“It's been four days, Bobby,” Dean argued quietly. “I don't want to wait for the week to be over and suddenly find out that it's not gonna wear off. I'm not leaving him like that.”

“Leaving who like what?”

Dean froze, then whipped his head around to the doorway. His brother frowned at him from beneath his mop of hair, hair that was perched at its normal height of six feet and four inches. “Also, I was, uh, kinda wondering why I woke up wearing a sleep shirt with race cars on it. Besides it being ten sizes too small.” When Bobby and Dean simply stared, Sam sighed. “I'm gonna guess I missed something.”

“You don't remember anything,” Dean said. Unbelievable.

Sam shook his head. “Last thing I remember was yesterday, when we checked into that hotel, which...was apparently four days ago,” Sam said faintly, staring at Bobby's calendar with wide eyes. He turned back to Bobby and Dean, fully puzzled. “What happened?” he asked.

“It's a long story,” Bobby said, rising. “You're gonna want coffee.”

“Um...okay,” Sam agreed, moving over to the table. Dean stared at him as he walked by, trying to put it into his head that the spell had worn off on its own, that Sam was back. His Sam was back, and yeah, the kid version was his Sam, too, but not the Sam who'd fought beside him for years, who knew the score as it stood now.

Sam hovered by the table, and Dean nudged the seat beside him out from the table. Sam blinked at him, as if startled by the move, and Dean's grin began to falter. If Sam didn't remember anything from the past four days, though, maybe he didn't know the score as well as Dean thought he did.

Sam sat hesitantly, then accepted the mug Bobby offered him. “Spell went wrong with the wizard wannabe,” Dean explained after Sam had had a sip. “Age spell. You were five years old again. Mindset, body-set, everything.”

The mug was to his lips for a second sip when Sam paused, then lowered it and frowned at Bobby. “Those aren't supposed to be possible, I thought,” he said. “I mean, you can de-age someone mentally, or physically, but both? Without a time-warp?”

Bobby shrugged. “Wasn't a very good one; only lasted four days.”

Sam snorted, setting the mug down. “Thank god for you two. I must've been a pain in the ass,” he said, and Dean frowned.

“Pain in the ass?”

“Dean, I remember what I was like at five,” Sam said quietly, giving him a small smile. “I'm sure you remember it, too. I never stopped asking questions; used to bug the crap out of you and...Dad,” he finished, wincing as he did so. He cleared his throat. “I wasn't any help to you guys. I just got in the way.”

He paused at that, eyes falling to the edge of the table. He looked sad and tired, before he shook himself, pasting a smile on his face. “I'm gonna go snag a shower, if I didn't miss anything else.”

“You know where it is,” Bobby said, and Sam stood from the table, backing his chair out so he wouldn't bump into Dean. Dean watched him leave, shoulders hunched and head ducked low.

He turned back to Bobby then, and said, “I'm gonna go snag my brother, since he missed a hell of a lot more than that.”

The sides of Bobby's lips slid into a small, approving smile, and Dean pushed away to follow after his brother. Down the hall and to the bedroom, where he found Sam with his own bag already opened on the bed. Must've gotten his pajama bottoms out of it before he'd come out. At the moment, his attention was fixed on the smaller duffel bag, the one filled with the children's clothes. His fingers brushed against the Batman logo with a small, bewildered frown that hurt to see.

“Figured you'd enjoy it, and I was right,” Dean said, and Sam snatched his fingers back as if he'd been burned, turning to face Dean just as suddenly. “Red shoes are around here somewhere,” Dean added helpfully.

“Red...?” Sam said, going to fully confused before shaking his head. “Not very practical.”

“They covered your feet, sounds practical enough to me,” Dean said casually. When Sam didn't move, Dean sighed and stepped inside. He was going to have to bring it up; he'd burned Sam too many times for Sam to just start talking about their dad and the accident. “Sam, we need to talk.”

Sam stared at him long and hard, before giving a forced chuckle. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean moved to the end of the bed, forcing himself to not cross his arms. God, this was so hard, but if he didn't do this now, he'd shut Sam out further, possibly for good, and he couldn't do it. He wouldn't. “I'm serious, Sam.”

Sam swallowed hard, then tried for a casual air as he turned to find his own clothes. The tension in his shoulders, though, told another story. “About what?” he said, his attempted breezy tone failing.

“Everything. Dad, the accident, Yellow Eyes. More importantly, the fact that you think I don't care about you anymore. That's kinda the critical one I want to hit.”

Sam's head spun so fast, Dean was almost afraid it was going to fall off. “Wha...h-how did that come up?” he stammered, his face losing some of its color. It lost a little more when Sam asked, “Dean, what did I say when I was five?”

“A few things. All true, as much as I didn't really want to go the grief route or the thinking route or, you know, the fully honest route.” He raised his eyebrow at Sam, who slowly sat on the bed as if he couldn't stand anymore.

“Dean, I...dude, whatever it was, don't worry about it. I mean, I was five, for crying out loud. I was only concerned with myself and Lucky Charms, okay?”

Yeah, right. Dean ignored him and continued on, worry sliding into his voice. “Is that how you really feel, Sam? Like I don't care?”

“No,” Sam said too quickly. “That's not...that's not how I feel, okay?” He let his gaze drop, not looking Dean in the eyes as he said it, though. “Don't worry about it,” he said earnestly and quietly. "I'm fine, Dean. Don't worry about me.”

And there it was, just like Dean had been afraid of. “Seriously, Sam: do you honestly think that I don't want you here?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer, then paused, gazing at Dean before asking quietly, “Don't you?”

It hurt, just like Dean had known it would, and he couldn't help the cringe before he spoke. “Sam-”

“I'm not...I'm not helping you,” Sam continued miserably, turning his gaze to the floor. “I keep trying to be the support you were for me through Jess, and I'm doing something wrong, or-”

“I can't grieve, Sam,” Dean said, moving because...he had to move. The strength he'd felt in wanting to talk about this was failing him, and he focused his gaze on the wall. “I just...can't, dude. And yeah, I know I said all that stuff when you were going through it with Jess, but it was easier to say than it is to do, you know?”

He finally had to swing his eyes to Sam, who was watching him, still looking unsure. “I just...whenever I start feeling that ache in my chest, or that burn in my eyes, I get angry, you know? It's easier. It's so much easier.”

Sam still wasn't speaking. Dean took one deep breath in, let it out, then took a seat beside Sam on the bed. “I forgot what being a big brother was because of it, though. You at five knew that before me at twenty-seven did. I wanna be that big brother again, but...I don't know how, Sammy. I don't know how I can be Dean for you when I don't even know how to be Dean for me.”

Sam shifted over slightly, almost touching but not quite. Still not one hundred percent sure of Dean's reaction to it, but obviously heartened enough to try. Improvement. “Don't shut me out,” Sam said softly. “You can put on the fake smiles and crap for everyone else, but...you don't have to for me. You never have. I'm not gonna think less of you because you cry or have to look away or whatever.”

“So you'd be totally cool with me wiping my nose on your shoulder,” Dean said, knocking his shoulder against Sam's. Contact established, and from the surprised smile on Sam's face, it had been missed.

“So long as you do laundry after,” Sam replied light-heartedly, but his eyes glistened.

“Bitch,” Dean muttered with a grin, and Sam's sudden laugh was worth it.

“Jerk.”

They packed up and left that afternoon, and Dean mentioned something about owing Bobby a lifetime supply of coffee on the way out. It probably had something to do with the four days Sam had missed.

Whatever his younger self had said or done (Dean still wasn't giving up details), though, had done something. Something Sam as an adult hadn't been able to do. Dean was talking to him again, Dean was joking and giving a smile that wasn't forced.

It wasn't all okay. They were on the road for maybe an hour when the radio played one of their dad's favorite songs, and Dean pursed his lips. Sam changed the station as casually as he could, and a moment later, despite BTO telling them they were taking care of business, Dean shut it off. Sam said nothing, resting his head on the door and gazing out at the passing countryside.

“You handle his truck?”

Wasn't all okay, not yet. But Dean was talking, talking about Dad for that matter, and even though the question hurt not just Dean but Sam, Sam cleared his throat and answered. “Yeah, the, uh, the policy was enough to cover the doors for the Impala.”

Dean didn't say anything about it after that, didn't do anything but turn the radio back on. The silence wasn't strained, though, and as the miles rolled on, the random questions came. Did Sam still hurt from the accident? Had he really signed himself out AMA to see Dean and Dad? Had Sam handled all the paperwork from the hospital, too, about releasing the body?

His big brother had lost a few weeks, and was trying to put them back together, trying to regain his footing from when he hadn't been there. Sam answered them all quietly and patiently, feeling a warmth growing inside of him as each question was asked. Dean was firmly back on big brother duty not because he had to be, but because he wanted to be.

“You miss him?”

Sam inhaled sharply at the question, feeling the ache in what had to be his soul. “Every day,” he whispered, before he snorted. “And it hurts.”

A hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, before Dean replied with a rough voice, “Yeah, I know. Me too.”

It wasn't all okay, but he had Dean back, and right now, that was more than enough. They'd work to all the way okay together.