Chapter Text
Sam and Dean were cataloguing cursed objects in the bunker. Sorting the relatively harmless from the dangerous, and the dangerous from the super dangerous.
Sam had taken one of his gloves off to text someone back on his smartphone, and while walking to put it back on the table, accidentally kicked over a cardboard box. “Whoops.” He leaned down and went to pick up the stuffed bird with his ungloved hand, but as soon as his skin made contact with it, everything went black.
“Sammy!” He heard Dean shout, as his vision came back into focus. Dean was kneeled down next to him, looking at him nervously. “What happened?” Sam asked, sitting up. “You just passed out is what friggin’ happened!” Dean replied, looking down at the spilled contents of the cardboard box, then to Sam’s un-gloved hand. He looked up at Sam in horror. “You didn’t.” He pleaded. Sam looked at the bird lying on the ground, and then held up his hand. “I did.”
“Well, we don’t know what it could be. But nothing’s happened yet, so hopefully it’s not bad.” Dean reasoned, as he put back the boxes they had pulled out, leaving the bird on the table. “Just… let me know if anything changes. If you feel weird or whatever.” Dean instructed, sliding his gloves off. Sam nodded at him, fidgeting with his hands.
Sam awoke in the middle of the night with a gasp, the images of the cage burned into the back of his eyelids beginning to fade away as he blinked in the darkness of his room. The PTSD felt extra heavy tonight. He felt like crying. No, he felt like sobbing. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and gripping his blanket. He needed to go splash his face with cold water.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and went to stand up, but there was no floor beneath him. He dropped off the side of the bed and stumbled forward, his clothes tripping him.
What? He looked down at his hands, and they looked small and child-like. Well, fuck.
He walked down the hallway to Dean’s room, his sockless feet cold against the concrete. He twisted the knob and opened the door. Dean was fast asleep on his bed. He shut the door behind him, and approached his brother slowly. “Dean?” He asked timidly, fidgeting with his fingers. No response. “Dean?” He asked again, a bit louder this time. Dean stirred with a groan, “Hm? Whussup, Sam?” He slurred, lifting his head and blinking sleepily.
When he looked at Sam, his eyes widened. “Sammy?” He asked, his mouth falling open slightly. “I woke up from a nightmare, and I was just like this.” Sam answered, shrugging and looking down. “Okay, so clearly that stuffed bird did something.” Dean reasoned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “We just have to do some research on cursed objects that- Why are you crying?” Dean asked concernedly, as Sam wiped tears from his cheeks.
“I just- I- I- wh- my-” Sam choked, wiping away more tears frustratedly. “Hey, hey, hey! Slow down Sammy, it’s okay.” Dean placed his hand on his little brother’s shoulder, rubbing comfortingly. “I-I had a nightmare about the-the cage.” He sobbed, looking down at the floor. “Oh, Sam.” Dean scooped him up and hugged him to his chest. Sam cried heavily into his big brother’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of his shirt tightly. “Shhhhh… It’s okay, Sammy. You’re safe. You’re home.” He shushed, rubbing circles on Sam’s small back. Shit, he couldn’t be any older than five.
“Dee…” He whimpered, grabbing Dean’s shirt harder, and pulling himself closer to his brother. “Shh, Shh, Shh, I know, buddy.” Dean comforted, pulling the blanket over both him and his brother. “It’s just you and me in here, Sammy. Just you and me.” Sam tucked his head under Dean’s chin, his body visibly shaking. Dean breathed in deeply, suppressing that his heart was melting into a pile of goop. He pushed Sam’s hair back from his forehead, resting his chin on his little brother lightly.
“He hu-urts me.” Sam choked, trying to pull his brother impossibly closer. “Still. In my nightmares.” Dean closed his eyes, trying to stem the flow of anger rushing out of him. Lucifer hurt him. Lucifer hurt his brother. His Sammy. “I know, buddy. I know.” Dean comforted, trying his hardest to keep the anger out of his voice. He lifted his chin off of his brother's head.
“But look at me, Sammy.” He instructed, nudging his brother’s face towards him. “I will never let him get anywhere near you ever again.” He swore, leaning down slightly to look Sam in the eyes. “Okay? Never.”
Dean sat there, holding a crying Sam in his arms for about 30 minutes, before he tired himself out and was snoring softly. Dean smiled at his little brother. He hadn’t seen him this small in, what? 30 years? And it felt selfish, but he was definitely enjoying this.
He laid them both on the pillow, and hugged Sam to his chest. They could worry about reversing this in the morning.