The Kid, Part 4-- Supernatural, PG

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: The Kid Part 4 (Part one, Part Two, Part Three)
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John,
Rating: PG
Genre: GEN (did you even know I could GEN?)
Word Count: 3368
Summary: Dean is 17, Sam is 13. John is going on 6. Dean's in bad shape, and it looks like it's going to get worse. Sam's not handling it well. Neither is Bobby. Neither is John.


A/Ns & Warnings: Um. This is at least partially varkelton's fault. De-aging fic.




Sam was starting to understand what people meant when they said time was relative. It stretched out around him, people seeming to move in slow motion, their voices weird and muffled.

Bobby tried to feed them once or twice, but food wasn’t what Sam wanted.

Late in the afternoon, John fell asleep, his head in Sam’s lap. Sam stared down at him, at his hand stroking over his head. There was still blood caked around the edges of his fingernails. He was acutely aware of stupid things; the sound the people’s feet made on the floor, the feeling of Bobby’s hand on his back, the way John trembled even while he slept.

Beside him, Bobby lurched to his feet and Sam lifted out of his stupor. The doctor was back. Sam roused John and stood too.

“He lost a lot of blood and there was some significant soft tissue damage. We had to remove a rib, it was shattered beyond repair, and we’re still concerned about his lung.”

“Was he bit?”

“Excuse me?”

Bobby huffed. “The animal. Did it bite him?”

“Yes, although the damage from the claws was much worse.”

The rest of what he said was lost in a haze of white noise. Sam buried his face in Bobby’s side. Dean was bitten. He was hunting a werewolf and he got bitten. He didn’t have to see Bobby’s face to know it was bad. Very bad.

“I want to see him.” Sam said when the voices stopped. He pulled on Bobby’s arm. “I want to see him.”

“Sam, I don’t think—“

The doctor turned to Sam. “Your brother is asleep, Son. He needs his rest.”

“I’m not a child. I want to see him.” Because he was bitten and Bobby was going to put a silver bullet in him eventually. Sam knew he would. Because Dean would turn at the next full moon and become something he didn’t want to be. “I just need to see him.”

“Me too.” John’s hand was in his, squeezing and the doctor nodded.

“Only for a minute.”

Sam nodded, following as the doctor led them through the corridors and past a nurse’s station. Sam could only just see through the window on the door. Dean’s skin was nearly as white as the pillow under his head. There were tubes and machines. Sam watched his chest rise and fall then took a deep breath of his own.

The doctor pushed the door open. Sam heard Bobby asking a few more questions, but that didn’t matter to Sam, all that mattered was Dean on that bed and John’s hand in his. Family.

John was shaking, his face wet with tears. Sam picked him up, even though he was too big for him. They moved closer to the bed. His father wouldn’t cry at a moment like this. He’d just order Dean to wake up. He’d tell him he was sorry.

Sam was too upset to be sorry.

“Is he gonna die?” John asked, his voice tiny next to the sounds of the machines. His small hand touched Dean’s.

“I don’t know, kiddo.” Sam lied. Even if Dean lived, it wouldn’t be for long. They couldn’t let him.

“Doctor says he was bitten on the leg.” Bobby said. Sam felt his eyes and looked up. He shook his head and looked away. “I’m going to take a look. Sam, you keep an eye on the door.”

Sam put John down and went to the door, though his eyes were on Bobby’s hands as they lifted the thin hospital blanket and peeled back bandages. Sam couldn’t read Bobby’s face as he smoothed the bandages back and eased Dean’s leg back under the blanket.

“Well?”

Bobby wouldn’t look at him. “We should let him rest. I need to call Jim. Get him up here to watch over you two.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not a baby.”

Bobby’s eyes glanced at John, then back at Sam. “You’re not old enough to stay alone, Sam. No matter what your daddy might have thought.”

“We aren’t alone. You’re here.” Sam said.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“No!” John jumped and grabbed Sam’s hand again. “We can’t leave him here all alone.”

Sam didn’t want to leave Dean either, but they couldn’t stay. “Johnny, I know you’re scared okay?” Sam turned to squat down next to him. “I know. I’m scared too. But the doctors are taking good care of Dean, and we can come back when he’s better.”

“Promise?”

Sam nodded, then stood, lifting John again. “Say goodbye.” John leaned over and kissed Dean’s cheek.


The ride home was quiet but for John’s quiet crying and the sound Bobby’s hands made as they gripped the steering wheel. It was snowing again, looked like it had snowed all night.

Bobby pulled in behind the Impala. The new snow covered the blood, made everything look like nothing had happened.

Sam took John’s hand and led him into their bedroom. “Get your pajamas on and I’ll get you some cookies and milk.”

“Not hungry.” John said, though he moved to the dresser. “Not tired.” He pulled his shirt off while Sam sat on his bed watching.

“I know, me too.” Sam should be tired. He hadn’t slept. Not really. It wasn’t quite bedtime, but he knew he should be exhausted. “Want me to read you a story?”

John shook his head as he crawled up into his bed. “Sammy? What happens to me if Dean dies?”

Sam came to sit beside him. “I don’t know, Johnny. I guess we’d both end up with Bobby or Jim or someone.”

John made a face. “Is Bobby staying?”

“For now.” Sam pulled the blanket up and settled it over him. “Why? Don’t you like Bobby?” He handed John Mr. Turtle.

“Not ‘specially.” John made that face again. “He’s old.”

Sam hadn’t really thought about that. To a five year old Bobby would seem old.

“Like my Dad.”

Sam frowned a little, thinking at first he meant Dean.

“Like my first Dad.” John’s voice was quiet, filled with fear. “Big, and the beard. My dad had a beard.”

Dean had told Sam he thought their grandfather might have hurt John. Sam didn’t remember the old man at all. He’d died when Sam was still a toddler.

“Bobby wouldn’t ever hurt you.” Sam said. “He looks out for us, has since I was your age.” John didn’t look convinced. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll go back and see Dean.”

He kissed John’s forehead just like Dean did every night and tucked him in before heading out to find Bobby.

“Don’t you leave me here with these kids, Jim. Not this time. I can’t.”

Sam froze. This was obviously not conversation he was meant to hear. He flattened himself against the wall in the hallway, glancing around the corner to see Bobby pacing.

“Someone—fuck, the boy went and got himself bit. I gotta deal with that. No, I’m not sure. Fucking goddamn werewolves.”

Bobby’s hat was on the table. He scratched at his head and glanced Sam’s way. Sam ducked back so he wouldn’t be seen.

“Don’t psycho babble me. I can’t. Not again. You get here and you handle the kid. I’ll handle Dean.”

Sam pushed off the wall and stalked into the room, picking up the revolver Dean had given him from the kitchen table. “If anyone has to handle Dean, I will.” Sam said forcefully, looking up at Bobby.

“Shit. Jim, just get here.”

Bobby hung up the phone. “Sam, put the gun down.”

“I mean it Bobby.”

“No you don’t Son.”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t ‘Son’ me. I’m not your son. I’m not his son.” He pointed the gun in the general direction of the bedroom. “I’m no one’s son.”

‘Sam—“

“No. No!” Bobby reached for him, but Sam pushed him away, leveling the gun at him. “No. Dean’s all I have left. He’s mine. You can’t take him. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“No one wants to take Dean—“

“Stop. Just stop!” His head hurt and he was shaking. He stared at the gun. What was he doing? “Fuck. This is so fucked up. I want my father back. I want him Bobby. I want him right now. He should be here. He should be…and Dean. I want them both back.” He hated that he was crying. Dean wouldn’t cry. Dean would be strong.

“I know Sam. Just…put the gun down and let me help.”

Sam’s hands shook as Bobby’s hands closed around them, taking the gun from him and putting it back on the table. Sam crumbled into his arms, sobbing into his shirt while Bobby’s hands made soothing circles on his back. He was talking, but nothing he said mattered or made sense. The sound made his chest rumble though and somehow Sam found that soothing.

Eventually Bobby got them moved into the living room, onto the couch. Sam dozed off with his head in Bobby’s lap, unconsciously mirroring John’s position at the hospital.

He was vaguely aware of the television, but not enough to wake up. Not until Bobby yelled and jumped off the couch. Sam jumped, rolled and landed on his ass on the floor.

He couldn’t make out what Bobby said, but he was obviously happy about something and pointing at the television. Sam turned and squinted at it.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Bobby said finally, picking Sam up off the floor. “Dean—not a werewolf.”

“What?” Sam shook his head, trying to make the words into something that made sense.

“It hit again. Took two horses and injured a guy in the next town.”

“For the fourth night in a row, a wild animal has preyed on the fears of the people of rural West Virginia. These images, captured by the farmer as the beast killed his prized stallion, give us our first glimpse of the creature.”

Four nights. Werewolves only struck on the three nights of the full moon. Dean wasn’t going to turn. They wouldn’t have to kill him. Sam sank onto the couch. He was going to be okay.

“If it wasn’t a werewolf, what was it?” Sam asked.

“Don’t know. Looked big though. When Jim gets here I’ll pick up its trail.” Bobby ran a hand over his face and looked at Sam. “You should get to bed.”

“When is Pastor Jim coming?”

“Maybe tomorrow.” Bobby said, though he seemed distracted now. “He’ll take care of things.”

“Why don’t you like Johnny?” Sam asked suddenly. He got why John was scared of Bobby, but not why Bobby was seemingly afraid of a nearly six year old kid.

“What?”

“You hardly look at him, won’t stay in the same room with him. Why? I thought you and Dad were friends.”

Bobby huffed and walked to the television, turning it off. “I don’t dislike him, Sam. It’s more complicated.”

“It freaks you out.” Sam figured it had to be something like that. “It freaks me out too sometimes. When I remember that he’s my Dad. But if I just think of him as a kid who needs us? I’m okay.”

Bobby shook his head. “It’s not that. I just….he reminds me of someone.”

“Someone bad?”

“Sort of.” Bobby sat in the chair and looked at him. “A few years back there was a boy. Looked a lot like that kid in there. He got bit by a werewolf.”

“You had to shoot him.” Sam said.

Bobby nodded. “His name was John too. Good kid. Smart, funny. He was six years old. And I killed him.”

Sam moved closer, hugging Bobby. “No werewolves. Just us Winchesters.”

Bobby hugged him, then swatted him on the butt. “To bed, Winchester.”

“Yes, sir.”



Sam felt eyes watching him. He rolled over to find John and Mr. Turtle. “Hey.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Sam nodded. John hadn’t slept much since the demon dog thing. It had been almost a week. Sam pulled back his blanket and John crawled into bed with him, pushing his butt into Sam’s stomach.

He squirmed around until he was comfortable.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah, squirt?”

“Are we going to see Dean?”

“Yeah, later.”

“Is he really better?”

Sam sighed and curled an arm around John. “Yeah. I told you. He’s awake and everything.” Sam got to see him a little more, since he was older. Dean wasn’t himself yet, but he was bitching about the food and hitting on the nurses, so Sam took that as a good sign.

There were flowers in his room from Mr. & Mrs. Afferly and cards from his coworkers. Pastor Jim was living with them, fixing their meals and driving them to school. But this was Saturday. Today they were all going up to see Dean.

“I miss him.”

“Me too.”

“I miss my mom.”

John hadn’t spoken about his mother in a while. It kind of felt sick in Sam’s stomach when he did. “I know.” Sam said softly. Then he realized why John sounded homesick. “Hey, happy birthday.” He hugged John as much as he could with the awkward position. “I got you something.”

Sam rolled over and pulled the bag out from under the bed. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like they had money. He’d just had to have a talk with a certain Toby Haus. John sat up and took the bag, grinning.

“My hat!”

Sam smiled. “I figured it was time you got it back.”

“Thank you Sammy!” John hugged him, knocking them both backwards.

“What’s all the noise?” Jim asked from the doorway.

Sam tickled John until he squealed and rolled away to escape him. “It’s his birthday.”

“He got me my hat!” John jumped up, bouncing on the bed while Jim laughed.

“Well, I have breakfast ready. You like waffles, right?”

“WAFFLES!” John jumped off the bed and went running past Jim.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sam said, sitting up.

“I guess.” Jim agreed. He crossed his arms and leaned on the door. “So, you okay?”

Sam nodded. “Dean said they might let him come home.”

“Bobby called, he’s got a bead on the thing.” He looked over his shoulder. “I better go make sure he isn’t making too much of a mess.”

“It’s his birthday, let him make a mess.” Sam said chuckling. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He stood, stretching and padding to the pile of clothes, rummaging through them for a pair of sweats. Everything else was starting to be high waters on him.

They had a week left of school, then they’d be hitting the road. Jim had found them a house not far from him. He was going to make sure that this year they got a Christmas tree.

Sam laughed at the sight of John’s beaming face when he got to the kitchen. He was covered in syrup and powdered sugar and even whipped cream, his hat tipped back, his pajamas a mess. “I made some for you.” John said proudly, pointing to a plate at Sam’s usual place. It was piled with waffles and butter and sugar and syrup and whipped cream.

“Wow.”

John licked his fingers and picked up his waffle, getting whipped cream on his nose. Sam was reminded of a birthday when he was eight and Dean made cupcakes. They’d tasted like shit, but the frosting was good, and they’d all three ended up with frosting all over when the food fight was over. The only thing missing was Dean.

“We should take some to Dean.” John said, licking his fingers again. It was hopeless, there was more syrup on his body than his plate.

“I somehow don’t think the hospital would like that much.” Jim said.

“When he comes home.” Sam said. “We’ll cook for him, you and me.”

“We’re going to have to hose you off, young man.” Jim said, wiping his face on a napkin. “I’ll go start a bath.”

Two hours later they walked into Dean’s room at the hospital. He smiled broadly when he saw John and John let go of Sam’s hand to race to the bed. “Careful.” Sam said as John climbed up from the chair beside the bed to hug him.

Dean’s face registered the pain, but he shook his head at Sam when he reached to pull John off. “Hey Kiddo. Happy Birthday.”

John put both hands on Dean’s face and looked him over. “Don’t move.”

Dean smirked, but obeyed. “Watcha doing?”

“Making sure.” John said.

“Of what?”

“That you’re still you.” John said very seriously.

Dean flicked his eyes at Sam, but Sam shrugged. He didn’t know what the kid meant either. Apparently whatever he saw satisfied him though and John nodded before settling in to sit on Dean’s uninjured side.

“We’re good?” Dean asked.

John nodded. “Good.”

“I see you got your hat back.”

John grinned at Sam. “Sammy got it for me.”

“I just had a little conversation with Toby.” Sam said, sinking into the chair. “Told him to stop messing with the kid.”

“Mr. Turtle misses you.” John said. “But Pastor Jim said he had to stay home.”

“I’ll see Mr. Turtle soon.” Dean said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Are we really moving away?”

“Well, Pastor Jim says he knows this great house, where you can have a room all your own, and a big yard.”

“Do we have to go to church?”

Dean frowned at him. “No. Why?”

“I went once, with my grandma. I didn’t like it. Too much yelling. And the music sucks.”

“Well, we just won’t tell Pastor Jim that. He likes the music.” Dean made a face and John echoed it, then giggled. “How’s school?”

“Mrs. Martin is having a baby. She keeps it in her belly.” John looked up at Dean. “Seems like a strange place to keep a baby, doesn’t it?”

Sam laughed. He’d never really thought of it like that. “Must be something in the air, my teacher’s pregnant too.”

“In the air?” John looked at him. “Mandy said it was in the water. Don’t drink the water.”

Sam snorted as Dean ruffled John’s hair. “I don’t think it’s in the water or the air, kiddo. That’s just…a way to say that it’s happening a lot.”

“So if she didn’t swallow the baby in the water, how did it get into her belly?”

Sam laughed, holding his sides as Dean’s mouth gaped open, trying to figure out how to answer that question. “I—um. Well. How about we talk about that later?”

Fortunately for Dean, John was easily distracted and a few minutes later he was on the floor with a coloring book and crayons. Dean’s face was still red.

“Never want to have that conversation.” Dean muttered.

“You did with me.” Sam said.

“You were older.”

“Not by much.” Sam sighed. It was the first time he’d been more or less alone with his brother since the attack. “You really scared me.”

Dean nodded. “I know, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “No, you don’t. You weren’t there. I was alone and you were…I thought you were dead, Dean.”

Dean’s hand covered his. “Sam, I really am sorry. The thing caught me by surprise. I didn’t realize how bad it was—“

He stopped when he realized Sam was crying. Again. Damn tears. “Hey, Sammy. Look, I’m going to be fine.”

“I lost Dad, Dean. He’s gone. He’s really gone. What if you had died?” Sam looked up at him. “What would we have done?” They both looked to where John was busily coloring a teddy bear. “I would have lost him too.”

Dean obviously didn’t have anything to say to that. Sam drew in a deep breath. “We need you. I’m not you. I tried, but I don’t know how to do what you did for Dad.”

“You did real good, Sam. I’m alive because you did so good. And, I promise it won’t happen again.”

Sam looked up, wanting to believe him. Dean squeezed his hand and met his eyes. “You mean that?”

Dean nodded. “Never again, Sam.”

“Good.” Sam liked the real world so much better than the one where werewolves could take his brother away from him. So much better.