Yes, yes, I know what you're all thinking. Not another de-aged Sam fic! But honestly, I haven't read too many of these. I'm finding more de-aged Dean, so if anyone knows of any good ones, please let me know. My first Supernatural fic! :) Hope everyone enjoys! This idea sprung up while I was watching 'Something Wicked'- Season 1.
Dean Winchester gripped the steering wheel of his 1967 Impala tightly, his knuckles growing white from the intense pressure. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his already drenched forehead, but he made no move to wipe it away; his eyes were focused on the road ahead. 50 more miles until the last exit out of Fitchburg, the damnedest town in Wisconsin, and all he could think about were those kids, feeble and sick from that son of a bitch shtriga, poor Michael and the condition of his little brother, and of course, Sammy..
He narrowed his eyes, trying to drain his thoughts away from what that God-awful creature could be performing on his little brother right now. He knew Sammy was capable of defending himself, but it was not consoling to know the bastard had knocked him out-cold beforehand. Their plan of luring It in using Michael as bait had not been a successful one, but it had sounded fool-proof when Dean had gone over it in his head the first few times. He always had a strategy prepared, that, and he excelled in the art of "winging" it.
It never occurred to him that the shtriga would gain the upper hand just by a simple incantation that could knock any enemies backwards. If he had just kept a better hold on his gun, it wouldn't have slipped away, and the son of a bitch wouldn't have escaped with Sam captive.
Why would it take Sammy?
Dean could feel the heat rising in his stomach, blood boiling with anger as he had failed yet again at protecting his brother. His father's disappointment slowly seeping it's way into his thoughts, haunting him as it had 16 years ago. Determination overruled anger as he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, the engine roaring to life as the car raced down the deserted highway, it's wheels screeching along the pavement. The only good thought running through his mind and keeping him going was the fact that they had managed to save Micheal from the creature's wrath, unscathed. He had promised the little boy he would kill the shtriga, praying that Sammy and Asher would survive until then.
He was still amiss at how fast and stealthy it had been, and the way it targeted Sam, almost as if it recognized him. It couldn't be possible that it wanted to finish what it had started back in 1989. The thought was just absurd. Terrifying, but absurd.
20 more miles now.
I'll kill the damn thing if I find it hurts Sammy, Dean thought, hell, I'm gonna kill it anyways!
He had figured the creature was taking his brother back to the original place where it first tried to feed off of him.
Fortbragg, Wisconsin- Wayward Motel.
Sam could hear the sounds of glass scraping against tile in the distance as he struggled to regain consciousness. What is that..? he wondered, opening his eyes a crack, trying to see through the interminable darkness. A wave of pain instantly shot through him, sending white-hot electric currents riveting toward his head. A tiny moan escaped from deep within his throat, and he ceased at once knowing his efforts were in vain. ...hurts so bad...what h-happened?
"Sammy, get down!"
Images of Dean whipping out a .45 and barking orders at the both of them flashed quickly through his mind, but nothing of importance was registering at the moment. He tried moving his hands, but realized with hopelessness that they were bounded by something jagged -possibly rope- that was quickly cutting off his circulation. Groaning, he attempted to move his legs next, but found they were bound up as well. Shit.
This shtriga didn't piss around.
Head pounding, Sam busied himself with trying to open his eyes again, but not too fast. He blinked carefully, and the darkness slowly melted into a faint light. He felt warm liquid that could only be blood dripping down his forehead as the light seemed to grow brighter. After a few moments, he could just make out the outline of a window in front of him. "Where- " Another loud screech met his ears, and his stomach gave a nasty jolt forward.
He might've suffered a nasty blow to the head, but he never forgot the sound of his own voice. Panic flooded through him, and he was on immediate alert. What's going on?! Where is Dean...and what's that noise? His eyes traveled over to the dirty, unkempt glass beyond him, and he gawked at the slightly distorted image staring back at him. Nooo..
Panicked, Sam looked down at his arms to make sure they were his, and terror struck through him like a knife at what he saw. His arms were smaller and scrawnier, and had lost their muscle. No, my vision just isn't working right...this...this is just a hallucination...I'm just remembering the last time... ,he trailed off. "Oh God NO!"
"This is just a dream," he told himself, albeit unsure. "a scary, scary dream." The blood had dried by now, and after reminding himself over and over again that the image he was seeing in the window was not his own but some sort of trick, he tried to think of how to get out of the situation. He blanched at the sound of his voice; it was squeaky and childish, just like it had been when he was 4 years old.
"This is so wrong...but...where is-?" As if the monster had been reading his mind, another screech greeted his small ears, closer this time.
Nervousness settled into his stomach, and something akin to fear crept into his emotions at the thought of being alone with the shtriga and it's powers. ..So, it somehow managed to turn me into a kid again...Definitely a 10 on the weird scale.. ,he pondered, ..if it only targets kids. It must have only enough strength to drain the life out of children...but still, He glanced around the room again, taking in the musty smell of carpet and old linen. The younger Winchester swallowed his anxiety. Why didn't it finish me off earlier? ...what is it waiting for? He felt the adult slowly draining out of him, and quickly being replaced with the childish fear of being left alone in the dark, forever. Please, please hurry Dean.
"Why do the fugly looking creeps always go for the abandoned hideouts?"
Dean gave the run-down, shabby little motel a once over, and slipped the shotgun loaded with iron bullets into his jacket. He was determined to blow the creature's brains out after the safe return of his little brother, and of course to put an end to the nasty outbreak of illness it had spread to all of the children in the area. He wouldn't let Micheal and Asher down, not again at least.
He quietly slipped inside, careful not to step on any broken glass so as not to surprise the creepy bastard, and kept his hand toward the pocket of his gun, just in case something decided to surprise him. "Sammy, you in here?" he whispered, inching along the dust-covered wall with the slyness of a fox. These were the moments when he didn't resent the training their dad had had them endure as children; it did come in handy.
Dean rounded the corner, and quickly sprung into action, weapon in tact. He swore he had heard something rustle in the distance, but no lingering threat presented itself; he must've been zoning out. No, that wasn't right. He was always focused on a hunt, or in this case a rescue.
Damn't Dean, you've rescued the Sasquatch millions of times before. Why is this any different? , he wondered. "Alright, if I was an ugly son of a bitch that sucked the lives out of innocent children, where would I hide?" Women's restroom...possibly..or-
Before he could finish his thought, an ear-shattering screech cut him off, and he felt himself crashing to the floor from the strength of an unseen force. Weapon spiraling across the worn-out floor boards, Dean tried to free himself of the vice-like hold. During that time, said ugly son of a bitch decided to make it's presence known, and locked onto the man's throat with decaying bony fingers that felt like the icy grip of death itself.
"I'm going to enjoy offing you now, dude! Get the hell off me!" he griped, channeling all his fury into killing the creature. He landed a good hard left hook, but found punches were useless against the newest specimen of shit the demons had conjured up. Damn shtriga. But the fight wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. And until Sam was rescued..
The creature underestimated Dean Winchester, which was a very big uh-oh on it's behalf.
Dean struggled to reach down into his pants pocket, and let out a huff of excitement once the tips of his fingers touched the glossy surface of his .30 caliber. He had come prepared this time with more than one weapon handy, and he was going to blast the creature to bits. He pulled the gun out around to his left, and unloaded the contents of it right into the shtriga's open mouth. At once, a beam of white light erupted from the creature as it was shot backwards, wailing, onto an old bed where it landed with a dull thunk. Panting heavily, Dean wiped some of it's blood off his forehead, and glanced around the room expectantly.
Ugly son of a bitch was dead, but where was Sammy?
"Sam, Sammy!" he called.
When there was no reply, he began a frantic search for his little brother, tearing apart the small room. "Come on, bro! Where are you?" he tried again, flipping over old dusty couch cushions that had been blocking his path. Sammy had to be somewhere among the mess! He would scour the whole building before he was forced to assume the worst.
And then he heard it.
So softly, he had to strain his ears to hear it. Barely above a whisper, a small pleading voice cried out from the darkness.
Dean held his gun out in front of him, unsure, as he followed the broken voice to it's source. His gut feeling told him to draw onwards, and years of experience taught him not to ignore this. Any sign or indication that his brother was still alive, no matter how minuscule, was good enough for him to go out on. "Sammy?" He stopped when he reached the doorway of a room that he once called home, and cautiously peeked around the frame. The room smelled dank and foul, and most of the furniture, aside from a small bed, was wrecked and torn beyond repair. He could hardly make out anything around him since the little light provided by the cracked and dusty window was really no help. Broken glass, torn pages from old newspapers, and even a small toy soldier, he saw squinting, littered the floor, crunching beneath his feet. But no trace of his brother.
As he stepped further into the room, he noticed a small lump sprawled haphazardly across the tiny bed. He thought nothing of it at first, but then it started to dawn on him that maybe Sam wasn't the only victim in this situation. If that witch from hell decided to stop for seconds...It's a good thing it's already dead. A feeling of dread swept over him as he saw the familiar mop of brown hair sticking out from the covers, and he instantly paled. No way in hell..
"Sam?" He sank down onto the bed, ignoring the awful creak of rusted hinges against his weight. "Wake up sleeping beauty," he prodded.
The little bundle started to stir, hazily brown eyes peeking up at him, and the elder's worst fears were confirmed.
"D-dean? ..'ead feels like...on fire.." Sam slurred, moaning. "..hurts." He clutched a tiny hand to his forehead, swaying a little, but relaxed once he felt gentle hands carding through his hair, and murmurs reassuring him that it would soon go away. His eyelids began to droop as he struggled to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and he finally succumbed to exhaustion. Dean sighed, running a hand over the child's body checking for any sustained injuries or broken limbs. Other than the fact that his brother was a toddler and contained a small gash mere inches above his temple, he was fine.
Thank God. He gathered the unconscious bundle into his arms, and set off for the Impala.
Shtrigas officially sucked.
Ok, first objective: Find form-fitting clothes for the rugrat, Dean rehearsed after making a mental check list in his head. They were cruising down the highway leaving Fitchburg out of sight without a sparing glance from the back windshield. Sam was tucked comfortably in the backseat, covered with a few old blankets that had been sitting in the trunk for a few weeks, still unaware of his condition; he hoped to broach that subject later. The kids affected by the shtriga were making miraculous recoveries, Michael had informed him, and Asher was tip-top as well. He was grateful for the bit of good news after his previous phone call with Bobby. The old hunter couldn't provide a solution, but had promised to research it more in depth until they arrived at Singer Salvage. The trip from Wisconsin to South Dakota would take a couple of days, but Dean planned to snag a motel along the way to give them both a break. Maybe Bobby'll have a big ol' brain storm by then. And maybe if Sam sleeps the whole way, this won't be so bad.
Sighing, Dean glanced into the backseat and smiled at the tiny mop of brown curls. His brother was snuggled against the warm, soft blankets, letting out contented murmurs, in a seemingly pain-free sleep for once. He took in a breath, the familiar scent of vinyl and newly refurbished upholstery greeting his nostrils, and he knew in an instant that he was safe; he smiled, unaware that his brother was watching. Well, at least there's a silver lining to this shit-filled cloud. The next 30 miles were spent in a comfortable silence, with the exception of the soft, rhythmic hum of the motor, but all was calm. After traveling a couple more miles up the road, the sun started to sink down under the horizon, and the bright neon lights flashing on the billboard up head was a sign to stop and rest for the night.
After easing his beauty into the small parking lot of Super 8 Motel And Gift Shop, he proceeded to gather his brother from the backseat. Tacky name for a tacky place. Guess it fits, he thought, eyeing the small lobby carefully, Sam's little head slumped against his shoulder, covering the cut on the side of his face. After paying for the room and even visiting the gift shop to buy his brother clothing, Dean got rid of the old blankets and fit the kid into the brightly-colored pajamas. He would worry about bathing him later because sleep was calling his name, and it had been a long, confusing day. After Sam was all tucked in, salt lines were laid down, and knife was in tact, Dean felt it safe for himself to drift off to dreamland, and that he did. "Night Sammy," he whispered, no longer able to evade sleep. Both brothers slept on peacefully through the night.
Morning light filtered through the room, signaling the start of a new day.
"Rise and shine, Sammy-boy!"
It was barely 9 A.M. and already the older hunter was fired up and ready to go. He teetered on the edge of his younger brother's bed, smirking. When the little one still remained dormant, he began to nudge the lump in the sheets and grinned triumphantly upon hearing the exasperated groan. "Too early, dude, go back to sleep," he grumbled in response, and it must've been since his voice had not yet adjusted to the morning, or so he thought. The grueling smile and bright hazel-green eyes appeared so suddenly, he let out a squeak of surprise.
"Didn't mean to scare you, shorty." Dean apologized, eyes full of mirth. He shuffled the rest of the way onto the single bed, careful not to crush the small body nestled tightly in the heap of blankets, and sat cross-legged next to the smaller boy. "Now get your puny butt up!"
"Shorty?" Sam repeated, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He knew something was amiss when his brother held up a bag in response, and wouldn't stop grinning like a mad man. "I figured this would last you until we hit the road again, ya know, since Bobby's place is a couple of days away." Sam cast the covers aside, cringing at how close his brother was to him, and since when had he grown a few inches taller than him? He pulled an item from the bag and frowned.
"Alright, what the hell, Dean?" he asked, holding up the green striped t-shirt with Super 8 logo stitched onto it. He coughed, trying and failing to rid the squeakiness from his tone. "What's going on!!" he demanded, shoving the items back at his brother, who had thrown his head back in a fit of laughter at the 4 year old's outburst. It wasn't his fault that Sam looked adorable when he was angry. It was just priceless.
"Dean! Shut the hell up!" Sam snapped, sending a glare his way. "What did you do to me?!"
"Whoa, easy there, tiger. I'm not at fault here, and just relax. I already called Bobby, and he's getting the dirt on this new monster mojo crap so don't go bitin' my head off just yet." he informed the tot.
Sam eased up, just the slightest, and looked for any trace that his brother was joking around, but found none. He looked thoughtful for a moment before sliding off the big bed, and running into the bathroom to check the damage himself. Dean shook his head, and followed suit, knowing the kid wouldn't be able to reach the mirror. And sure enough, he was right. Sam was trying to climb onto the rim of the sink, and Dean grabbed him right before he lost his balance and had started to tumble. "Watch it, Sam! You're going to hurt yourself doing that!" he scolded.
"Put me down, now!" Sam ordered, squirming in his older brother's grasp. He froze momentarily once he saw the reflection of a small brown-eyed child with curly brown locks blinking back at him. "Holy shit," he breathed, horrified. "I am a shorty!"
"Sammy?" Dean asked after the fidgeting stopped so abruptly. He gazed down at the younger Winchester, frowning at the look of despair that crossed his features. He pat the top of the boy's head, sighing. "You look a wreck, kiddo. Maybe you should take a bath now?" It wasn't an order, more of a suggestion and Sam nodded absentmindedly.
"I could use a shower now that you mention it," he agreed, settling back into Dean's arms.
"Aww, that's cute, Sammy. You actually think I'm gonna let you take a shower," Dean chuckled at the look of reproach he received from the toddler as he started to turn the water on in the bathtub. He had given it a lot of thought, and a bath seemed the safest way of getting clean for his brother, judging by how small he was, and how easy it was for him to slip and fall. Sam was about to give his 2 cents, but Dean held up a hand to silence him. "No arguments, runt. I'll let you take a bath alone, and no one gets hurt."
And if looks could kill, Dean would've been 10 feet under at that moment. It was going to be a long morning for them both.
TBC. I would love to know what you all thought! :) If anyone does read it, that is. Review, please and thank you!