I'M NEVER HAVING KIDS!!!

[morethananything]

Sam is eleven years old.

The last thing he remembers is (crying) being alone at a motel, Dad across the country and Dean out who-knows-where — new town, new school, new issues, just after a big-ass hunt in Idaho where Dean nearly broke his neck hunting a... well, Sam's not sure, because he's usually made to stay behind as intel back-up. Then he's suddenly in some musty-ass old place (bunker?), laying on the floor, sigils and books all over the place. First thing he's pretty sure of is that John is gonna give him a shiner for not being where he was told to be (a marine's kid needs to follow orders to keep everyone safe, or so his dad liked to blabber). Second thing is that he needs something to hit things with. Just because his family doesn't trust him with a weapon doesn't mean he's about to give up and lay down to die.

Someone took him. Someone must've used a witch spell or something and stole him. 

For what? Is it — the thing Dad always mentioned? About the inhuman thing in him? The blood?

It runs cold in his veins.

He grabs a lamp, waits by the door. 

There are footsteps.

He won't miss.

Comments

[gank]

Dean thinks he knows what tired is when he's stayed up two nights trying to hunt something that just won't take the goddamn hint and die. He thinks he's tired when he does a stake out and is bored to tears waiting for the thing to show up (even when that thing is a person.) He thinks he's tired when they gotta share a bed and Sam's all fucking elbows and legs and kicks him in his sleep so he sleeps like shit.

None of that is as tired as he is after he fails Sammy so badly that he dies. He exhausts himself, pushes and pushes and pushes because he failed he failed he had one fucking job, protect Sam, just protect Sammy and he fucked it up.

So when the chance gets offered and put two inches in front of his face Dean fucking takes it. He's selfish and stupid and then it's Sam, but it's not Sam and Dean wants to cry again, because he's so fucking mad. It's Sam, it's Sam, sure, but it's not his Sam and his Sam is gonna have died knowing that he failed him and that's unacceptable, but protect Sammy overrides everything else so he picks. He chooses, like you can just line up Sams and say this one over the other, but that's what he has to do because angels, as a whole, are dicks.

He goes back to the bunker, wrung out and takes each step like he weighs a thousand pounds. He's not holding out hope; the angel had been sketchy as all fuck ("sooner than you think, Dean, but I cannot tell you where," well fuck you very much, you unhelpful dick) and sure it wasn't a demon deal but it was pretty goddamn close, but protect Sam.

Dean rounds the corner, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and exhales. He needs a drink.

[morethananything]

Sam's heart is pounding in his chest, thumping and filling his ears with cotton. He licks his lips and thinks no, no, this is it, here we go. They're going to see what a mistake they made, thinking he couldn't handle himself. They'll see it right now — that he can break out, and this time he'll fucking run away and never come back for sure, he really will, if he can prove in this instant that he's capable. They tell him he's not, they tell him if he is then he'll turn into something horrible, but what else can he do??

He can hear his father tell him, Sam. That thing inside you? It'll turn into something worse if you fight back. So sit the fuck down and stop stomping your feet like a goddamn baby.

He swings the lamp as hard as he can, but he doesn't expect the guy to be 6'1" or whatever. And Sam is still not hitting puberty, short and long-limbed and scrawny. The amulet around his neck swings wildly as he scrambles to keep swinging.

He's panicking a little.

[gank]

He should be paying better attention, but he's not, and it bites him in the ass (or, you know, balls) when something swings and hits him just above the family jewels but only barely.

Dean lashes out in a heartbeat, grabs for the lamp and tosses it aside after wrenching it out of the other person's grip, and shoves them back against the wall, auto-pilot engaged until he sees who it is, and then -

Well, he drops him like he's burning hot and stands back a moment, staring like he can't believe it. There are circles under red-rimmed eyes, and bruising under the arm of one of his shirts, his tshirt untucked halfway. He looks like shit, he knows, looks like he's been through hell, 'cause he has, but -

"Sammy."

[morethananything]

Sammy? The hell kind of...

He breathes heavily, the fear in his eyes still vibrant and darting to look for another weapon as he stays close to the wall. Okay, so this guy is all muscle. All tall, scary muscle. Crap. Crap. Of course, when he finally stares at him for a moment he kind of sees where the face is familiar — different, weathered, but Dean's always had a pretty obvious look about him. He was fifteen back home, though, and this guy isn't.

He stays tucked up against the wall, but this time he finds a sword on a rack and holds it out unsteadily in his hand. There's no real form to it, no knowledge of how to hold it.

"You're a shapeshifter."

He's not asking. It wouldn't make any sense for this to be Dean. Dean's a kid.

He tries not to look afraid.

"Don't fuck around with me — you know my family's some of the best hunters around. You better let me out of here right now. John doesn't like when you mess with his luggage."

[perkynipples]

Dean doesn't move an inch forward, even though he wants to. Needs to, really is what it boils down to but Sam's so fucking close and he doesn't have a chance of touching him any time soon, not even to reassure himself he's still there.

"You wanna do the test?" Dean's voice sounds a helluva lot more even than he thought it would have, scratchy and a little hoarse, but even.

He holds out his left hand and watches Sam just as warily as the kid watches him, knowing that this can't be easy for him. Hell, it's worse when he hears that, and flinches visibly. Dad didn't - wouldn't -

"You aren't his luggage, Sammy. C'mon, what'd they teach you. What're the tests."

[morethananything]

"See, you're crap at playing Dean. 'Sammy'? Seriously?"

But he's looking Dean up and down, keeping a distance. It is ridiculous to think the shifter would be that stupid, to make himself... older? But what else could this be? At least Dean's got that tired look about him — that part he got right. His hand trembles a little around the blade.

What did they teach him?

For real?

"If — if you're Dean, you have a knife on you for testing. Use it on your arm. Show me." He makes a motion with the sword, a defensive jab, a warning to keep back.

[perkynipples]

He flinches like he's been struck, but doesn't argue it. Maybe that Dean's just shitty at being Dean. Ain't that the whole problem.

It's not like any of them got it real right, him least of all. For all that the Dean he'd stolen Sam from was a piece of shit, at least he hadn't failed this hard.

"There, yeah, exactly." Don't fucking patronize the kid, Dean, Jesus. He pulls the knife out and slides it against his forearm, doing the rest of the tests just so he knows he's human, through and through.

"Good?"

[morethananything]

No. Not good. None of these is good. He backs up more into the corner, looking like an animal backed up into a corner. He glances around the place again like he expects it to change, and then he's watching his apparent brother with red-blotched cheeks. "You're not Dean. You can't be him. You're — not. Tell me things about me only Dean'd know, if you're really him."

Since he's not a shifter.

Not that Sam is very aware of how demons work. He knows there's something evil and gross in his blood, but his father didn't exactly specify. Just that the thing that killed Mary was festering under his skin.

[perkynipples]

"Like what?"

There's a ton that he could tell him, but he doesn't want to do anything timeline or time specific. Who knows what changed. Evidently he'd fucked up bad in this, 'cause Sam's staring at him like some kind of caged in animal and that makes his stomach twist into knots.

His eyes catch the glint of the necklace, and Christ, it's like being punched all over again. Dean drags a hand over his face, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it.

"You got that necklace from Bobby. You're gonna give it to dad for Christmas."

Were gonna. He's not even sure if that's true anymore. Dean glances away from it, hates that it draws his eyes.

"I know what happened to mom. To the house."

[morethananything]

He glowers angrily. He's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This guy knows Bobby, knows he gave him the necklace, but — but that's not right at all. He takes a step forward, face a little flushed. "This is mine. Bobby gave it to me — I'd never give it to John. And don't you fucking talk about my mom!!"

He grabs a book and throws it hard, the fear replaced with blind rage. He's not allowed to hit Dean, certainly not allowed to hit John, but this isn't either of them — can't be, just can't be. He grabs anything he can get his hands on and flings it at his head, and then he makes a mad dash for the door. If he can get out, get away, he can run.

(And find John and Dean

No, he should run away, he could do it if he wanted to

But they're all that stops him from being evil

He hates them so much he could die.)

[perkynipples]

Hell, he'd call Bobby at this point, but surprise surprise, Dean'd fucked that up too and now there's no Bobby, no Sam, god knows fucking what's up with Cas, and now this. Fantastic. Dean ducks the book, moves to the side to let him run, 'cause the bunker door is locked and he has keys anywhere else.

There's a whole lot he can get into but it's Sam that young - there's not as much damage he can do.

Dean blows out a breath and follows him, hands up.

"How'd I pass the tests, huh? Or know about Bobby?"

[morethananything]

This place is huge; oh christ, this place is huge. He stops in the middle of the room and looks at Dean anxiously from the safety of a table. He's panting and pale and his nerves are clearly shot already. "You're just — something John never hunted before. And a lot of people knew Bobby. He's special like that. Where's he at, if you know him so well, huh? Where's John? What'd you do with them?"

The panic flutters in his gut, and he's all fight n' flight.

"Where am I? Let me go — I, I won't even tell them. You don't want to have someone like me around, you got it? I'm bad news. You'll be dead by the end of the week." He's rambling now, something of a plead in his tone. Like he's a kidnapped person trying to bargain his life. Pretty much what he sees here.

[perkynipples]

He feels like some kind of jacked up villain from a horror movie, stalking him slow like this. No sense in running, but Christ, it feels shitty.

"Sam, I'm me. The hell kind of monster would impersonate your brother but like, twice his age?"

Seriously, though. That's not a monster, that doesn't even make sense. Sam's the one with the brains, even as a kid, Dean knows that has to make some kind of sense. He's sure as hell not addressing the dad and Bobby thing, though, Christ. That's the last thing he needs. Everyone's dead, 'cept you and me pal, sorry.

It's another punch to the gut, one after another, every time Sam opens his mouth. "That ain't on you, Sam."

[morethananything]

Not on him?

What a moron.

"I don't know. I don't know, but you don't sound right. What'm I supposed to think? Dean wouldn't knock me out and put me in some freaky place covered in sigils. Maybe he'd lock me in a bathroom or a closet for taking off — and, and there's no reason he'd be older. Movies are only movies for a reason."

But he's not running, at least. He's safer from a distance. And he wants to know... why.

"... Where am I?"

[perkynipples]

Yeah, he doesn't sound right 'cause his balls dropped. Amazing how that works.

Dean bites back the sarcasm and stares at him, frustrated and not knowing how to convince him what's going on.

"I'm not him."

God, he's not sure if that's worse or better at this point. He only had a glimpse at what was going on there, but it was enough to turn his stomach, and he couldn't believe - him and dad'd never do that. The idea that somewhere things were that bad is something he can't understand.

"Bunker. It's - that's a long story, too. I'm not gonna hurt you or kill you or try and hold you captive, okay, that's - that's dumb. Trust me, if I thought that where you came from was any kind've good and I had a way to get you back, you'd be there."

[morethananything]

He deflates a little. But just a little.

"... You sound as dumb as Dean does sometimes. I guess."

Well, not to Sam in particular. Dean doesn't much talk to Sam, prefers to just go through the motions of brotherhood. Feeds him if he has to. Gives him awkward car rides to school. He supposes he couldn't blame his brother entirely; John painted a pretty obvious picture of the little brother who caused their mother to burn alive.

He bows his face, looking at the map along the light-up table, and then he slowly sits down in a chair. Mostly, he just looks lost. "I don't understand."

[perkynipples]

"Dumber, sometimes."

Not like Sam's around to point it out anymore. Dean closes his eyes a moment, shoves back the grief. He can do something, here. He can't fix what happened earlier, but he can fix this, that's a start.

Dean takes a spot on the furthest end of the table, and sinks against it like his body's too heavy for him. It feels like it, sometimes.

"Trust me. I try and explain what happened and you're gonna think I'm nuts instead."

[morethananything]

Sam isn't sure what to make of the stranger. Dean? He's not sure.

He squirms uncomfortably at the thought of having to face his family again, though. The man is probably luring him into a false sense of comfort or security, that's all. But the alternative of getting back to John and Dean isn't alluring.

"... John... Says plenty of stuff that's nuts. We're hunters, so..."

It can't be that crazy, right?

[perkynipples]

"Not this kinda nuts."

Though, maybe he does, Hell. He's not sure what's going on there, not really. Whatever happened, whatever he did see, he knows that it ain't right, that's for sure.

"Different worlds kind of weird."

And he braces for it - Sam calling him on his shit, snotty eleven year old kid who just got yanked out of what's a shit situation, sure, but it's not like he's much better.

[morethananything]

He stares at Dean for a moment like he has three heads.

"That's - dumb."

Yeah, you're pretty much on the dot, Dean.

"That's stupid. There's just this world. And... that's all there is to it. Why would I be here anyway? You wouldn't..." He trails off, glancing away. He looks like he's not completely sure that he believes Dean's lying here. It's ridiculous, but it's also not the craziest world we live in. "Are you gonna give me to hunters?"

[perkynipples]

"Told you."

Dean's lips twitch up, all lopsided and wry. He knew it was gonna go like that, could a called it from a mile away.

"Dunno how you explain two of me, then. One's bad enough." Apparently, more than one, and more than one of him are really, really fucked up. Dean leans against the table, thumbing over a mark, a water ring from a beer.

"No. No, why the hell would I get you out of there and then toss you off to some hunters?"

[morethananything]

He looks unsure.

"No offense, but you - probably would. Anything to make your daddy proud, or whatever." He itches his arm, not able to keep his eyes on Dean's while he says it, because he's being way too fucking brave right now. But usually Dean doesn't retaliate, just ignores him or leaves, so. "Why're you older? Like, why would you even bring me here if you don't got a reason? I don't get it..."

[perkynipples]

"Y'know anyone who starts something with uh, no offense usually means some kinda offense." He's not biting, he's not biting, he's not biting on that jab about his dad, okay, he knows, there's a reason he dragged Sam out of there, but he can't wrap his mind around John doing that, so he shuts the fuck up for once in his life and grits his teeth instead.

He's a fucking kid.

"'cause I got older. 's a thing people do. Older, wiser, that whole thing," Dean shrugs and glances over at him. "And like I said. Real story is crazy. Ask me again in a few days when you're sure I'm not cuckoo for cocoa puffs or something."

[morethananything]

The boy goes quiet, looking none-too-pleased. He's not sure what the balance here is supposed to be. His fingers curl unconsciously on the amulet, and he fidgets it between and around his fingers.

"... I need a smoke."

Yeah, that's really the accumulation of his reply right now.

He glances at the table, eyes catching — laptop. Not that he knows what the hell it is. He mostly just squints. Sue him if he focuses on all the wrong things; his life is crappy, so why not indulge in asking some weirdo a lot of questions? "What's that?"

[perkynipples]

"What."

No, really, that's it. That's the extent of anything he can force out of his mouth right now because he'd snuck cigarettes a few times when he was a kid, but he'd never let Sam around them and he'd sure as hell never imagine that he'd ask for them.

What.

He barely registers the comment about the laptop, he's too caught on the smoking, staring him down.

"Like Hell dad'd let you smoke."

[morethananything]

He squares his jaw defensively, though he sort of shrinks a little, face reddening. "S'long as he never knew. It's not like either of you are around enough. Do you have one or not?"

He's getting really stressed, goddammit.

It's been a really stressful day. Life. Whatever.

[perkynipples]

The fuck is his life anymore. He doesn't know; Sam was his anchor, the only goddamn thing that kept him tethered to this clusterfuck and now he had his baby brother here and he was offering him smokes and asking about laptops and -

Jesus.

"We're doin' it outside," Dean mutters, because like hell is he letting Sammy smoke at all, but he's sure as hell not doing anything in here where the smell's gonna linger.

[morethananything]

Squint.

It's around now that Sam realizes this guy, Dean or not, genuinely is just trying to... Sam's not sure. But it's nothing Sam thought he'd be like. He pats himself down and is relieved to find a mildly crushed, mostly empty box of cigarettes in his back pocket.

"... Fine."

Maybe he might run for it, or something.

"Took these off you anyway. You sneak around a little more than John knows."

Not 'Dad'. Always John. Always. It's a rule.

"Why's this place look so old?"

[perkynipples]

Yeah, he's banking on Sam making a run for it, but he's also pretty goddamn sure he's got legs as tall as the kid, so whatever. Dean purses his lips a moment and decides against saying anything else, walking them up the steps that creak under their feet.

"'cause it was built forever ago. The guys who built it were called the Men of Letters."

Which doesn't really answer anything at all, but Dean isn't too worried about it as he swings the door open and holds his hand out for the pack. Christ, Sam smoking at all is kind of terrifying, but Sam smoking at this age is worse.

"Who even sold you smokes?"

[morethananything]

He sidesteps Dean and pulls a cigarette gracelessly from his pack. It only started a year ago - him wanting to do what seemed rebellious, maybe, he's not sure - but now it's becoming a pack a day issue. Turns out, he's a stressful kid.

"You just ask the right people in the right neighborhoods. S'not rocket science." He doesn't much have a mouth filter around Dean - John is a given, but Dean had always just preferred to tell him to shut it, or to ignore him mostly.

He sees the open road, and his fingers twitch. He could run. Say this guy is Dean - so what? What does Sam care? He's tired of trying to win Dean's affections. He was done trying years ago. He keeps a distance from Dean and starts patting for a lighter, glancing at his brother. "Can I use your lighter?"

[perkynipples]

Christ, he shouldn't look like he knows how to do this. Dean furrows his brows further and tries not to look like a sour asshole but god, he's feeling pretty sour and assholeish right now.

"That's how you get mugged," Dean says wryly, and pats down himself for his own lighter, holding it up so Sam can't reach just yet. "Gimme one."

[morethananything]

"They can't really mug me if I don't have anything in my pockets," he counters. Sure, he's had a close call or two, but what John and Dean doesn't know won't hurt them; even if they knew, it'd hurt Sam more than it'd bother them in the long run. It's hard enough when he's mostly confined to a motel room.

But... Weird. It's really damn weird, how he's talking to him. That he's even talking to him. If it's really Dean, anyway. He bites his lip and holds out the pack for Dean to take one. His posture is one of nervousness, like a zookeeper giving a lion meat. He's not sure what this guy's game is, but this? This is all freaky. He could run away. He could flee, and he's pretty fast, and...

And this isn't like Dean. As he holds out the pack, he says slowly:

"Why - do you want me here?"

[perkynipples]

"Or kidnapped, or eaten, whatever."

There's no stopping the list of potential shitty things that could happen to him, okay, and he's not going to let any of that happen. He'd fucked up once - twice, technically, judging by that other world.

Dean plucks the pack right out of his hands, and pockets them, zipping his jacket up to hide them. That's a habit that's gonna stop right freaking there, that's for goddamn sure.

"'cause you're my little brother."

[morethananything]

He looks completely insulted for a moment, face blotching red with anger, before he launches at Dean's jacket. There's no real grace to it, no instinct, because he hasn't been taught any useful hand-to-hand combat; it's pretty much on par with a street punk who thinks swinging blindly is the way to go. Though interestingly, he's not throwing any punches, nothing that would actually hurt Dean. "Give them back!! Give 'em back! You asshole! You never wanted to be my brother, you liar! Stop screwing with me!!"

He breathes heavy, doesn't stop wrestling against him, cursing how puny he is for his age.

"You don't like me 'cus mom's dead 'cus of me! Stop pretending you care because you're older!"

[perkynipples]

Truthfully, it's kind of nice having Sam pint sized since he can just grab him, wrap an arm around him and heft him up, settling him down away from anything that he might trip or fall onto. He's not forceful, just firm when he does it and then sets Sam down, frowning down at him until that last bit.

It's like being punched in the gut all over again, and he drops back, takes three steps away quick as can be.

"Is that what he said?"

[morethananything]

Sam is all out of breath and shaky, folding his arms over his chest like it's some sort of small defense, that things'll bounce off them this way. He dips his chin and his gaze flitters around. "Of course it is. John says it all the time. He knows I'm not - right. He knows it's why mom burned. Why would you like me when D-... John made you watch the person who killed your mom?"

His jaw juts a little, and he wipes at one eye with the back of his head, not quite able to look at Dean. He doesn't like when he gets emotional; it's not like he wanted mom to die. He wanted a mom. Hell, he used to pray that whatever's out there would just bring her back. Then maybe his mother would maybe forgive him, and if she forgave him, maybe John and Dean would, too. And they would love him for praying their mother back into their lives.

It was a stupid idea.

[perkynipples]

He doesn't regret it - he would do this a thousand times over, save Sam from the fucking mess that was his life back there a thousand times if it meant he didn't have to go back but at the same time, Christ. John - he wouldn't say that. He'd said some fucked up stuff, and so did Dean, but not that. Never fucking that.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to say here, either, that's part of the problem. Too like his dad, not knowing what to say. It was easier when he was a kid and could just scoop Sam over, shove some froot loops at him, watch some cartoons.

"He's lying."

Dean's voice is a little fucked, a little uneven, but sure.

"Mom burned 'cause there was a demon out for us, and she - it wasn't on you. That's not on you, Sammy. D'you hear me?"

[morethananything]

"You're lying," he all but whispers, his own voice crackly. He wants to turn away and run, but he's scared, because - they always said if he ran, the hunters would get him; this is the less of two evils, isn't it? He looks at the ground and fidgets anxiously with his necklace, small and more confused than he's ever been in his life, because these are all things Dean would never have told him. "You can't mean that."

His heart thumps in his chest and he looks up at Dean. In the end, even if Dean didn't love him back, he couldn't help but hang to his every word. His eyes widen a little and he feels his chest ache. "... There was a demon? Like, like - from the bible? Is that what's wrong with me??"

[perkynipples]

Dean looks away for a split second, willing himself to not fuck this up further. Shit like this is why he wants Sam to take the back seat, why he wants to shove him back and keep him from getting too into things. He's just a kid, here, so it's even more valid but just in general, Christ.

"It wasn't you." Maybe if he says it enough, Sam'll start to get it. Dean glances down, pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache. "D'you get that? It was some assholes upstairs and downstairs and you - it's not you. It's not, Sammy."

[morethananything]

Sam looks a little lost.

"... Okay... Okay," he starts, and is clearly trying to process the last thirty minutes of his life. He very calmly picks up the one cigarette that he'd dropped trying to get back the other ones, sliding it into his pocket and staring at the ground in what could very well be shock, now that everything's suddenly peaceful. The birds are outside chirping, the trees are rustling softly, and a cool wind passes through.

He slides his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Where'm I? Where's — John and other-you? Will I ever go back?"