Chapter Text
Dean was already pulling his knife from the sheath at his ankle when he recognized the rhythm of the shaking to his shoulder. Not even opening his eyes, he slid the knife back into place and grumbled.
“Dammit, Sammy, you’d better have a good reason for waking me up.”
“At least his brain’s still in one piece.”
Dean was pulling the knife back out in the next instant, now fully awake. He didn’t recognize that voice, and that meant danger.
“Sammy! Where are you!” Dean yelled, rolling away and taking a defensive stance so quickly that the very large man didn’t have time to react. “Sammy!”
“Dean, it’s me,” the large man, said, which made no sense at all, because Dean would certainly remember a god damned giant.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you’d better tell me what you’ve done with Sammy before I kill you! I can and will make it hurt!” From any other person that threat may have seemed laughable, but Dean was capable and could be frightening no matter what.
“He doesn't recognize you,” came the rough voice of the second man. He wasn’t physically as large as his companion, and his voice had a very calming tone, but he was… intense. Even in a rumpled suit and a trench coat he radiated power.
“I can see that Cas,” the first man muttered, blowing long strands of hair out of his face before turning toward Dean with his hands up, palms forward, in front of him. “Dean, calm down. Let me explain.”
“How the hell do you know my name?” Dean yelled again, backing up even further. The clearing they were in was surrounded on three sides by trees and a cabin on the fourth. He began backing toward the cabin, figuring that if these perverts had taken Sammy, he was probably inside.
“Dean, I need you to calm down. I know you don’t recognize me, but it’s me. I’m Sammy.” The man winced a little at the name, as if it was painful to say.
“Bullshit! I don’t know what freak show you’re putting on, but I’m not interested, and if you’ve laid a hand on my brother I’ll cut your dick off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll choke on it!”
“This is ineffective,” the man in the trench coat said, before he disappeared.
“Where the fuck did he—“ Dean didn’t get the rest of the words out because he suddenly felt a rush of air and a touch to his head before the world went black.
***
This time when Dean became aware of his surroundings, he couldn’t reach for his knife. First, because he could tell immediately that his knife was no longer there. In fact, his sheath was gone, along with his shoes. Second, because he was bound to a bed. At least he was still dressed. Refusing to let panic set in, he tried to regulate his breathing, to do what his dad had taught him: evaluate the situation and figure out how to escape. Which he couldn’t do until he found Sammy. His stomach twisted at the thought of Sammy tied to a bed. He’d be scared, Dean knew, and the weight of familiar shame washed over him as he realized that he had failed in yet another way to protect his brother. He clenched his jaw, resolutely vowing to torture anyone who had frightened or hurt Sammy.
“He's awake,” the rough voice said, and Dean opened his eyes. If they knew he was aware he wasn’t going to risk missing an opportunity.
The giant man, the man who claimed to be Sammy, was standing a good 6 feet away from the foot of the bed in what appeared to be a cheap motel room, like any of the hundreds Dean had seen and stayed at in his life. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up over massive forearms, but Dean could tell that he was trying to stand in a non-threatening position, his hands at his sides, palms facing out.
“Dean, I want to untie you now. Can I do that without you trying to run off?” Not-Sammy was speaking quietly and was standing very still. When Dean didn’t respond, Not-Sammy looked toward the man standing next to him.
“Where the fuck is Sammy?” Dean all but growled, low in his throat. “Let me see him first.”
“Dean.”
There was little inflection in the rough voice but somehow Dean felt compelled to look at him. The man stared very intently at Dean, with almost inhumanly blue eyes under mussed dark hair, and Dean felt a shudder go up his spine. “We have not taken your brother. We only want to help you. I promise that no harm will come to you and that we will help you to understand the situation.”
Dean swallowed roughly. He didn’t know why he believed the man. But he did. He felt himself nod in response.
Not-Sammy made a motion forward and Dean’s body tensed involuntarily. The dark haired man put a hand out. Not-Sammy stopped. The dark haired man slowly approached Dean’s feet before reaching out to untie his legs. Dean briefly entertained the thought of kicking him as his feet came free. The man looked at him with a slight frown, as if he could tell what Dean was thinking and was about to admonish him for it. The man’s touch was gentle but clinical, not lingering in the way that Dean had learned to recognize over the years. When his legs were untied, the man moved forward, reaching for Dean’s arms. The cloth wasn’t tight and the knots didn’t hurt, but as soon as his wrists were free Dean rubbed at them and pushed himself upright against the headboard.
The dark haired man stared at Dean for a few moments, not saying anything, just looking at him as if he were trying to read Dean’s mind. Dean shivered a little with the thought that maybe he could, then brushed away the fanciful thoughts.
“I'm Castiel,” the man said, gently. “Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
Dean didn’t really know why he felt like answering. He was untied. He should be trying to get free. But the man in front of him radiated peace right now, and for some reason Dean didn’t feel afraid. He scrunched up his face a bit, trying to think. “I… I’m not sure. Everything seems… far away. Kind of fuzzy.” His glance flicked over to Not-Sammy. “I remember putting Sammy to bed. I must have fallen asleep.” Dean paused, trying to swallow down the lump that caught in his throat. “Where’s Sammy, man? I’ve gotta find him. He’ll be scared.”
The dark haired man, Castiel, glanced back at Not-Sammy before turning grave eyes back to Dean. “Before I answer that, I have just one more question. How old are you, Dean?”
“Twelve.”
***
Not-Sammy had a look of surprise on his face, but Castiel just nodded. “Your brother is safe, Dean. He has not been hurt or injured. But you have. You were hunting a coven of witches and a spell was placed on you.”
Dean shook his head. “Nuh-uh, man, I don’t hunt yet. My job’s to take care of Sammy.”
Not-Sammy took two steps forward. “That was your job, Dean. When you were twelve. You’re right. But now you and, uh, Sammy, hunt.”
Contrary to how Sammy teases him, Dean is not slow, stupid, or dumb. He can talk properly when he needs to, and he’s a whiz with anything mechanical. Not to mention he can con or charm just about anyone he meets. So he picked up on Not-Sammy’s words right away.
“Whadda ya mean, ‘when I was twelve’? What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean’s tone was getting more and more aggressive, but he couldn’t seem to help the anger or frustration or something, whatever it was, from welling up within him whenever he looked over at the man who claimed to be his brother.
Castiel interrupted by placing his hand on Dean’s arm. “Dean, we are as we were. It's you who has changed. Until two hours ago, you were a grown man. This,” and at that, he gestured to Not-Sammy, “is your brother, Sam.”
Okay, so maybe, just maybe, Dean can be forgiven for freaking out a little.
***
Sam blocked the door just in time and pulled Dean up into a bear hug of sorts. Dean was kicking and elbowing and he was doing a damn fine job of it. But Sam was a lot bigger than him and he’d spent enough years fighting with Dean to know how to block him.
“Dean, please don’t do this. We’re going to fix this, but you’ve got to calm down.” Sam spoke as calmly as he could, his voice punctuated with only an occasional grunt as one of Dean’s limbs connected to some part of his body. God, it hurt to see Dean so scared. He looked to Cas pleadingly, and Cas, bless him, was already walking toward them.
Castiel reached out and took Dean’s face gently in his hands. Dean wasn’t sure why he stopped struggling, but the man’s touch was so soothing that the urge to fight left him. Suddenly images flashed in his mind, like a movie being projected directly into his brain. He could see the cabin from the woods and a group of people inside with what he recognized as hex bags on an altar. The images changed. Now he was watching Not-Sammy-who-might-be-Sammy fighting off one of the witches. The next image was of one of the witches reaching out, chanting something under her breath, and the scene changed to show a man, who looked vaguely familiar and wearing the same kind of clothes that Dean was wearing now, jump in front of Not-Sammy-who-is-probably-Sammy. The man dropped to the ground and began shaking. And shrinking. When the shaking and shrinking stopped, Dean could see himself lying in the place of the man, in clothes that appeared to have shrunk with him.
As suddenly as the images began, they stopped, and Castiel was standing in front of him, hands still touching his face, but looking intently into his eyes. Dean had stopped struggling.
“Now do you understand?” Castiel asked softly. Dean nodded, still hesitant to accept what he’d seen but feeling an urge in him to believe Castiel, to trust what he was saying.
“Sammy?” Dean asked quietly, without looking away from Castiel’s eyes.
“Yeah, Dean?”
“I can’t believe you got so fucking big.”