Chapter Text
The witch hits Dean with a flash of white light. The force of it throws Sam backwards and over the sofa. His vision swims for a minute before he gathers his bearings and begins breathing again. As his head stops spinning and he clambers up, he surveys the room. At first glance, Dean is missing. Instead there is a trembling toddler. Sam would guess that the kid is about three or four. He has the same haircut as Dean, and he’s standing in the pile of adult-dean sized clothes. Dean’s flannel, which was buttoned to his neck before the witch hit him, hung limply on the kid’s shoulders, sleeves pooled on the ground. Yet it still takes Sam a few seconds to comprehend who the kid is, and why he’s there.
In the few seconds it takes Sam to regain his bearings, the Witch is headed straight for him. Her eyes flash black, and Sam feels stupid for not realizing it sooner. The clumsy spell work, and the uncanny abilities that this Witch had, telekinesis and the likes. She’s not a witch who sold herself to a demon, she is the demon. Sam curses himself for not realizing sooner.
The demon cackles. She grabs Dean roughly by the arm, and screeches
“Much easier to kill the Winchesters when you’re young and defenseless!” She looks towards Sam with an outstretched hand, and says, “Now it’s your turn.”
“No!” Sam rounds on her, the newly refurbished Colt in his hand, pointed straight for her heart.
She picks Dean up, and uses his small body to shield her midsection.
“Shoot me and you shoot him too.” She says coldly.
Dean begins to cry with small sniffles and tears running down his face. Sam looks at him, straight into his big green eyes, trying to tell him that it will be okay. Dean’s lower lip wobbles.
Sam tilts the gun upwards, and shoots. The bullet hits the demon square in the forehead. Sam watches as she falls with his little brother in her arms.
Sam runs across the room. Dean’s little body is still clutched in the arms of the demon, her now lifeless body cushioning his fall. Dean scrambles and kicks, dull thuds echoing throughout the room when his heel connects with the demon’s chest. His chest heaves as he tries to escape the maze of limp arms and flannel.
Sam carefully places two hands on Dean's upper arms. He doesn’t want to scare him, but he also wants to get Dean away from the demon as quickly as possible.
Sam’s breath comes in short puffs, white clouds entering his vision with every breath. He’s painfully aware of the cold now that the imminent threat of the witch is gone. He looks at his brother. Big, fearful, green eyes meet his own, and he watches as his upper lip begins to tremble. A few tears leak out of his eyes, and Sam squeezes him to his chest in a protective embrace.
“Hey, shhhh, it’s okay, i’ve got you,” he soothes, awkwardly.
More sobs escape Dean’s mouth, and he holds tightly to the collar of Sam’s jacket in his little fist. Jesus, Sam thinks, not used to his brother accepting comforting words rather than pushing him away. Sam holds him tighter.
“I know that was scary, but I won’t let it happen again. We’ll figure this out together, I just need you to be honest with me, ok? If you are then hopefully we will figure this out.” Sam says while patting Dean’s back and rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
“What do you remember, Dean?” Sam asks. He doesn’t know what this spell could’ve possibly done, whether this was Dean as he was when he was three, or if this was somehow today’s Dean, just… smaller.
“I remember that you’re my brother, my Sammy,” he takes a deep breath before continuing.
“I remember that we were doing something important. We were hunting, i think. And I was big, you were still bigger, but i was big. I remember a lotta being big. A-and growing up too.”
Dean pauses again, unsure.
“But it all feels so far away. Like it happened on the TV. A-and i don’t feel so big no more.”
A few more tears fall from Dean’s eyes, and he looks at Sam, worried and scared written all over his face. Sam puts a hand on the back of his little head, and says,
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Thank you for telling me all that, bud. We’ll figure it out, together. Whaddya say we get out of here, huh?”
Sam sets Dean down and wraps him up in big Dean’s jacket, obviously whatever the witch had hit him with, conveniently, didn’t shrink his clothes when it shrank Dean. Sam sighed. If this spell didn’t wear off soon, he was going to have to pick up a whole new, toddler-sized wardrobe for his brother.
Dean shivered, his hands grabbing onto the inside of his flannel to pull it securely around himself.
“it’s cold, huh?” Sam said, to which Dean nodded.
“Come on back up, i’ll carry you out to the car. Don’t want you to step on anything gross in here.”
Sam picked Dean up, and Dean curled into his chest. Sam marveled at the affection from his brother. Normally, Dean would’ve refused even so much as a hug. Sam pulled Dean in tighter, and whispered
“i’ve got you, buddy, i’ve got you.”
Sam gathered all of their things, weapons, clothes, and shoes, from various corners of the room, and carried them all, and his brother, out to the impala.
On the drive back to the motel, Dean refused to let go of Sam. He sat stubbornly curled into Sam’s side as he drove, he wouldn’t even move when Sam accidentally bumped Dean’s head with his elbow while turning.
…
Sam carried Dean into the motel room and sat him on the bed. Then, he took off his shoes and sighed.
Sam glanced over at Dean, who was sitting quietly, his little feet dangling off the end of the bed.
“Hey, Dean, I gotta call Bobby for a minute.”
Dean smiled, and kicked his feet a little.
“Can i talk to Bobby too?” he said.
Sam smiled at him. It was nice to see his brother relaxed, and letting down the walls that he had so carefully constructed to keep all emotions caged up. Sam supposed that being a toddler would do that to a guy.
“Sure, dude, after i’m done talking to him.”
Sam pulled out his phone and called Bobby. It only rang once before he picked up.
“It’s Midnight, this better be good,” Bobby’s gruff voice sounded through the phone
“Sorry Bobby, I didn’t realize the time. Uh, Dean and I have a bit of a problem.” Sam looked sideways at the little boy, who perked up at the mention of his name.
“What’s up, Sam?” Bobby’s tone became more even, less angry, and he sounded more awake.
“Well, uh, Dean, he got hit by some spell or something. We were hunting this witch and got cornered- anyway, the spell seems to have, uhm, de-aged Dean, I guess,” Sam explained.
“Well, Shit,” Bobby said. “How old is he?”
“Uhhh.” Sam realized that he never asked, specifically, how old Dean is.
“Dean, bud, Bobby wants to know how old you are.”
Dean holds up four fingers in response.
“He says he’s four.”
On the other end of the line, Bobby just chucked.
“You’re way outta your depth, aren’t you, kiddo?”
Sam sighed, “Big time, Bobby. I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell you what, you can bring him up here. I’ll do some research, and we’ll all figure it out together.” Bobby’s words reassured Sam.
“Does he remember anything? Does he know what’s going on?” Bobby asked, concerned.
“He said he remembered, but it was like it happened on TV. He seems to vaguely know what’s going on, but he’s obviously processing with a toddler’s brain. I can tell his isn’t running on all cylinders.”
“Okay. To be honest here, kid, I’m not sure what we’re working with here. But just take care of him, and keep him alive till you can get here.” Bobby sighs, and continues, “It can’t be easy, processing with a four year old brain when he remembers everything, especially all the scary bits. Try to keep him happy, ok?”
“Yeah, Bobby, I’ll try. I have no idea what i’m doing though, Bobby, Dean’s always been the one who’s good with kids,” Sam said the last part somewhat sadly. Deep down, he knows the reason for this. And he doesn’t exactly like it.
“Well maybe now’s your chance to take care of him for once,” Bobby says, obviously catching onto what Sam was thinking.
Dean tugged on Sam’s sleeve, and mumbled something that Sam didn’t quite catch.
“What was that, bud?”
“Wanna talk to Bobby,” Dean half whined.
Sam put the phone on speaker, and said, “Bobby, you’re on speaker, Dean wants to talk to you.”
“Hi Dean,” Bobby’s apprehensive voice crackled through the phone.
“Bobby!”
“How’s it going, kiddo? Is Sam being nice to you?” Bobby asked
“Yeah, Sammy’s nice,” Dean yawned. “He’s big and warm. It’s cold.”
Sam and Bobby laughed a little at that. Dean giggled, and Sam ruffled his hair.
“The heating in our motel room isn’t exactly working. And it’s been below freezing all day today,” Sam explains.
Dean audibly yawned, and leaned his head against Sam’s bicep.
“Dean, we gotta go to bed, buddy,” Sam says.
Bobby responds, “Yeah, it’s my bedtime too, Goodnight kids.”
Sam knew very well that Bobby would, most likely, not be headed back to bed, but he still appreciated Bobby pretending, for Dean’s sake.
After they hung up, Sam wondered how they were going to do this. All Dean had was an oversized flannel that acted more like a blanket. He didn’t even have underwear, or, god help him, a pull up or diaper. Is Dean potty-trained? Most four year olds are, right? Sam thought.
Eventually, after about a minute of thinking, Sam gave up, and decided that he and Dean would just do some clothes shopping in the morning, if the spell didn’t wear off before then.
“Ok, Dean, let’s get you in bed,” Sam said while standing up to change his clothes.
Dean crawled up to the head of the bed that they were sitting on, and crawled under the covers. He was out like a light, snoring softly before Sam even turned out the lights.
“Goodnight, Dee,” Sam whispered, and got in the other bed.
…
Sam could feel a pressure on his chest, and an uncomfortable wet patch soaking the front of his shirt, along his right shoulder and collar bone. As he groggily came to, he could hear quiet sniffles and choked off sobs. Immediately he tried to sit up, but he stopped as he became aware of his big- or well, currently little brother- curled up on his chest.
“Dean, hey, shhh, what’s wrong?” Sam asks.
Dean’s sobs pick up more, and he grabs onto the front of Sam’s shirt with his little hands.
“Sammy”
“Yeah, Dee, I’m here buddy.”
“Bad dream” Dean says.
“Oh Dean, I’m sorry. Sammy’s got you now. I’ll protect you, bud, it was only a dream.”
Dean begins to quiet down, and Sam runs his fingers soothingly along the back of his head, through the short hair at the crown of his head down to the nape of his neck.
“I’m sorry you got scared. Are you ready to go back to sleep?” Sam asks.
“mhm” Dean says, evidently already drifting off again, his sobs diminishing into quiet sniffs and shaky little breaths.
“Wake me up if you need anything, buddy” Sam adds, before snuggling Dean in and closing his eyes.
…
In the morning, Dean woke Sam up. They ate some crappy granola bars and Sam wrapped Dean up in his flannel again, and they went out in search of some more appropriately sized clothing.
Again, Dean refused to sit in the backseat of the Impala, and instead opted to cuddle up to Sam. Sam just hoped that there wouldn’t be any cops around. This one would be hard to explain.
When they pulled up to the big department store, Sam picked Dean up (since they still didn’t have shoes for him) and they proceeded to the kids section.
For the most part, Sam let Dean choose his own clothes. They also got a car seat, despite Dean’s protests, and a pack of sippy cups. Sam knew that big Dean would have an aneurism if apple juice got spilled on the seat.
Damn, kids are expensive, Sam thought to himself. Luckily, he had one of Dean’s credit cards to put it on.
When they got back out to the car, Sam helped Dean get dressed. Obviously traces of Dean’s normal style persisted. He chose a pair of gray jeans, a red shirt with an electric guitar on it, and a black hoodie. He also had a pair of black and white vans (complete with velcro, Sam was thankful that Dean didn’t make him get lace up shoes).
“Okay Dean, I need to put your car seat in. Stay here while I do that, mkay?”
Sam left Dean sitting in the front seat with the radio playing while he struggled with the car seat.
“Remind me to never have kids if this is what their car seats are like,” Sam swore. “God I need more hands!”
Eventually, Sam got Dean’s car seat in and securely fastened in the backseat of the Impala. It’s so weird to see a kid’s seat back there, he thought to himself. Then again, Dean’s probably used to it, since he remembers when I was still in diapers.
“Ok, Dean, hop in so we can hit the road.”
“No.” Dean said stubbornly.
“Dean, bud, cmon,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Look, Dee,” Sam knelt down by the passenger seat. Dean looked at him. “The sooner you get in your car seat, the sooner we can get to Bobby’s and you can get out,” Sam reasoned, despite knowing that they would not make it to Bobby’s before they would need to stop and get a motel.
“Fine.”
Sam sighed in relief. He thanked his lucky stars that Dean seemed to be semi-reasonable and levelheaded, for a toddler.
He lifted Dean up and put him in his car seat, and tried to buckle him in, but Dean was adamant that he could do it.
“I do it!”
“Okay, Dee, you do it,” Sam replied, somewhat exasperated. Even four year old Dean could be a hardheaded and stubborn guy who refused others help or affection, Sam thought to himself.
Dean got the top buckle done just fine, but he struggled with the bottom buckle. Sam let him mess with it for a little while, but at some point he could see Dean beginning to get frustrated, and he had to intervene.
“Want help, buddy?”
Dean sighed, loud, and exasperated. But, he took his hands off the buckle, and reluctantly let Sam help him.
Sam drove them to a grocery store to pick up some road snacks. It was going to be a long drive to Bobby’s, and Sam knew that Dean, normally, got grumpy and irritable when he didn’t eat enough. He assumes that a four year old Dean would be even worse.
When they finally hit the road for good, Dean happily drinking apple juice from his red sippy cup (with race cars on it), and Sam tuning the radio, they both seemed to fall into a rhythm. Sam would tilt the rear view mirror to look at Dean, who usually was drinking his juice (or chewing on the nozzle), or he would be playing with his cars. Sam had found him a 70s mustang and a newer corvette. Dean voiced his disappointment about the lack of Impalas in the mix, but Sam just couldn’t find one. Not for lack of trying, though.
…
Sam and Dean drove for hours. Or, well, Sam drove, and Dean whined, ate crackers, played, and napped.
Every time Sam would tilt the rear view mirror and check on Dean, however, his heart swelled. His brother, his Dean, was letting down his walls. Even though his face was much younger, without all the years of stress, Sam could still pick out Dean’s features, his Dean. And this was more relaxed than he’d seen his Dean, ever. From the time that they were kids, Dean had been burdened with a parental responsibility at an unreasonably young age. It made him grow up too fast. Sam was just glad to be able to return the favor. He could let his brother relax, and Sam would take care of him for once.
Sam grinned at Dean in the rearview and in response, Dean stuck his tongue out. Sam chuckled. Still his Dean, all right, still his Dean.
…
“hey Sammy!”
“Yeah bud?” Sam replied, not taking his eyes off the road.
“I forgot,” Dean said with a dramatic groan.
“Okay… you good? Need another potty break? Water?”
“nope!”
…
“Hey, Dee, we should stop for the night, huh?”
Sam looked in the rearview mirror to see Dean, his head lolling to the side, eyes open, but unfocused, staring at the seat in front of him. His mustang sat languidly in his hand, halfway to joining the corvette on the seat below.
Dean said something unintelligible in response, but he pulled his head up, and began to drive his car along the edge of his car seat. Sam turned off the highway and towards a motel.
Sam drove for about twenty minutes before finding a place. He got out of the car and stretched, joints popping. Sam groaned. He missed having another driver,scratch that, he missed Dean driving, excessive speeding and music too.
“Okay, we’re here,” Sam said as he walked around the car, towards Dean.
The sun had just barely set, but Sam was still anxious to get them inside. They were in a fairly seedy part of town, and Sam didn’t want to come across any form of trouble, or god forbid something supernatural, while Dean was in his, well, compromised state.
Sam unbuckled Dean from his seat and took him in to the lobby to get a room. Then he went back to the impala and grabbed Dean’s bag of clothes, as well as his own with one hand, and grabbed Dean’s hand with the other. Together they walked into the Motel room.
“Here we are, buddy. Which bed do you want?” Sam said, looking down at Dean, who looked back at him and said,
“That one!” He pointed at the bed on the left, closer to the bathroom, and further from the window. He added, “The windows scary, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t blame him, he didn’t know how much Dean remembered, day to day, but he knew that it couldn’t be easy to be four years old with all those memories, thoughts, and instincts about all their years of hunting.
“It’s okay, Dee, i’m here to protect you. I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed Dean’s hand and moved to set their stuff down.
They went for dinner at a place down the street. It was technically a breakfast place, but they did breakfast for dinner, too, apparently. Dean got a stack of pancakes. Sam made him eat some fruit at least, before he could eat his bear shaped pancake.
…
Sam got them both changed, Dean, into a matching set of green and black pajamas, and himself into a plain, faded, shirt and a loose pair of cotton shorts. Then, he turned out all the lights except for the lamp by the bed. Dean sat on one bed, watching as Sam moved about the room.
“Need to go potty, Dean?” Sam knew he’d gone less than an hour ago, but he desperately didn’t want to deal with an accident.
“No” Dean said simply.
“Okay. If you need to get up in the night, there’s a small night light in the bathroom. And you can turn this lamp on.” Sam gestured to the lamp between their beds, “the switch is right here, you can probably reach it from the bed, okay?”
Sam had only spent one night with small Dean, and he found himself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep, preoccupied with listening for any sounds of distress from Dean. What if he gets scared, what if he needs me? What if something happens and he can’t wake me? Sam turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Parenting has to suck. Sam isn’t even Dean’s dad, but now he understands all those parents who won’t let their kids out of their sight. There’s so much that could happen to them, so young and vulnerable. So little.
Sam takes a deep breath and turns over to look at Dean. He looks so peaceful.
…
In the morning, Sam wakes up before Dean, the little boy still sleeping soundly, curled under the blankets with just a little mop of hair sticking out. After getting dressed, Sam forgoes a visit to a coffee shop or bakery until Dean is awake and can come with him. Instead, Sam makes a pot of coffee in their motel room, and manages a few sips, grimacing at the taste.
A few short minutes later, Dean begins to stir. Sam hears a few quiet grumbles and a small voice saying “Sammy.”
Sam walks over to the edge of Dean’s bed and perches himself carefully. He places a gentle hand on the back of Dean’s head and softly cards his fingers through the short hair there.
“Are you ready to get up, buddy?” Sam asks, careful to keep his voice soft.
“No!” Dean grumbles, but shifts to look at Sam anyway.
Sam chuckled. No matter how old his brother may be at the moment, he would never be a morning person. But dammit if Sam couldn’t let him relax, finally, and enjoy a morning in bed, with no responsibilities other than eating his yucky vegetables and playing with his cars. For as long as this lasted, he was going to make sure that Dean got the care that he never got as a kid.
…