Fic: Bobby's Boys
Oct. 23rd, 2014 02:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
majestic_duxkTitle: Bobby’s Boys
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
joajohns17
Rating: G
Word Count: ~2800
Warnings: de-aged fic, fluff
Author's Notes: This is a gift fic as part of the spn_summergen exchange. Thankyou to my betas,sylvia_locust, who did a fabulous job, and were fabulously fast! and also my sister. Thank you also to the mods, for running a wonderful event. Can be found on AO3 here.
Summary: From the prompt: De-aged fic. Sam or Dean or both and Bobby has to deal with them.
It wasn’t the first time two little boys turned up on Bobby’s doorstep. He hadn’t expected it thirty odd years ago. And honestly? He hadn’t expected it to happen again (although maybe he wouldn’t have been completely surprised at the arrival of Dean Winchester complete with mini Dean Winchester.)
But here he was, staring open mouthed at little Dean Winchester and little Sam Winchester.
The originals.
“What have you two idjits got yourselves into this time?”
Dean gave him a blank look, while Sam looked scared. Knowing he wasn’t going to get anything much out of the boys, Bobby glanced at the angel behind them.
“It was a witch. The witch is no more. I believe ganked is the appropriate term. However, the spell must now run its full course.”
Bobby blanched. Who knew how long that would be?
“Three days.”
Scowling at the angel, Bobby shortly informed him that important information should be disclosed at the start of a conversation, before someone had a heart attack. Castiel simply tilted his head in that infuriating way.
“You were in no danger of a heart attack, Bobby. And should such an event have occurred I would have taken care of it.”
That didn’t make him feel much better. And nor did that flippin’ angel disappearing, leaving him with two little boys. Who were still staring at him.
“You don’t have to look after us.”
Bobby stared right back into defiant green eyes. Dean looked to be about five, all freckles and eyes. Bobby’s eyes flicked to Sam, before shifting back to Dean, mentally upgrading him to seven. He felt his heart clench: he’d first met these two when Dean was four and Sammy just six months. Dean had looked little and lost then. He still did. Although now he had an edge that was uncomfortable, if not surprising.
Silence reigned. Bobby sighed internally. He’d never once won a staring contest, and he was a damn fool to try with the most stubborn kids ever born. “Of course I gotta. I’m your uncle.” Right. That was sorted. But it beggared another question. “What exactly do I do with you two?”
--
The first few hours were hard, very hard. Bobby barely remembered what he’d done with them last time, and his adult memories of the boys overlaid everything. So, with no better plan, he sat them at the kitchen table. Well, gestured towards it. Dean had sat and Sam climbed into his lap. Bobby wondered where their minds were at. That could make things easier, or harder.
“What d’you two normally do?”
It was an unfair question: Bobby knew they were little. Big Dean wouldn’t have just glared at him. Big Sam would have said something by now. But Bobby didn’t know how to keep two little kids occupied, so Bobby hoped... Then again, these were John Winchester’s boys. He doubted they’d ever relied on their daddy to keep them occupied. Right?
“Where’s daddy?”
Ah. Well, that confirmed they were little.
“He’s away for a bit. Got a…”
“He’s working Sammy, but he’ll be back.”
It was amazing. Dean’s glare hadn’t changed at all. Not more than a baby himself, Dean’s arms were protectively wrapped around his smaller bother. Much to Bobby’s surprise, his heart melted, just a bit.
“Yeah. Workin’. So you boys’ll be stayin’ with me for a few days.”
That seemed to satisfy Sam, although Dean kept staring at him suspiciously.
“You two go play in the living room, and I’ll get lunch ready.”
Not that there was anything to do in there, but it was better than being glared at.
Surprisingly, Dean obediently hopped up, making sure Sam was safe the whole time. He really was an excellent big brother, Bobby thought, watching the two make their way into the other room. Opening the fridge, Bobby wondered what he could feed two little boys.
--
“No Dean!”
Bobby came running into the room. They’d only been in there ten minutes. Did he need to keep an eye on them all the time?
Sam was standing there, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Dean looked… well, like he always did. Defensive and defiant and like the world was out to get him. Bobby tried to think of what life had been like for the seven year old Dean: always on the road. Not enough food. Constantly looking over his shoulder. Looking after Sammy. John Winchester’s parenting…
“Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Sam looked at Bobby and then held out his arms. Bobby looked at Dean, who rolled his eyes in a particularly exasperated manner.
“He wants you to pick him up.”
Of course Bobby understood the universal signal for ‘pick me up’, he just never expected to see it. Holding back a sigh, Bobby hunkered down onto one knee, and held his arms out, mimicking Sam. Sam threw himself at Bobby. Wow. Only three but he packed a powerful punch, knocking Bobby straight on his ass.
It hurt, but Bobby found he didn’t mind, as Dean’s stern little face crinkled into a small smile.
Although Bobby wanted to tease him (‘think that’s funny, boy?’), he couldn’t. Dean would take the words at face value, retreating back into his silence and suspicion.
“So, anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”
Dean looked at Sam then sighed. ‘Anyone' obviously meant Dean.
“We’ve done this before. Someone takes us in, likes the cute kid, but doesn’t want two. It’s too hard, and younger kids are much easier. So I was telling Sammy that you seem ok, and here would be good for him.”
Four sentences can tell someone an awful lot. Bobby didn’t realise that they’d had run-ins with the system this young. John, despite his many faults, had actually wanted his boys with him, and fought tooth and nail (and lied, and cheated, and stole) to keep them. Privately, Bobby had wondered whether being put in a stable home would have been better, but a look at Dean’s tense face convinced him otherwise. Being on the road with John – together – was better than being in safe, stable, separate homes.
And Dean! Although Bobby knew that big Dean hated himself, he hadn’t known that little Dean considered himself so unlovable, so unworthy of saving. He thought that particular personality trait had developed later.
Bobby heaved a sigh. “Neither of you are going anywhere. Least ways, not if I can help it.” He couldn’t help the crankiness that entered his voice. “What do I look like? A ditchable prom date?”
Sammy was too busy nuzzling into his shoulder to reply, and Dean was desperately trying to figure out the right answer to a question he didn’t understand. Bobby manfully kept the smile off his lips, and kept talking. “The right answer is ‘no’, boy. Think that angel of yours woulda left you here if I was just going to kick you out again? If you can’t trust me, at least trust him.”
Bobby finally said something right. Sammy snuggled deeper into his arms and Dean relaxed fractionally.
“So I guess its lunch time. You two coming?”
--
Lunch went better than Bobby expected. Dean even relaxed slightly and allowed himself to have fun. If fun could be defined as ‘look like he won’t run at any moment’ and ‘occasionally crack a smile’.
The next question was then what to do with them? Bobby had never had kids. Even when John had dropped by in the past, the kids had been sent straight to bed. He had no toys, and games, or whatever it was kids needed. He did, however, have an old junker he was working on. Maybe…?
“You boys know anything about cars?”
Dean brightened slightly, but it was little Sammy who answered.
“Dee know everything!” He looked at his brother with obvious worship in his eyes. “Dee best!”
Bobby stifled a laugh. “Well, if Dean’s the best, you two better come and help me.”
Dean (as usual) looked suspicious. Bobby rolled his eyes. “Can do with some little hands. The car’s junk, so it don’t matter what you do. Be mighty impressed if you fix anything.”
Sam looked at him with a hard light in his eye. “Dee best. Will work.”
Dean blushed and shushed his brother. “You don’t say stuff like that, Sammy! ‘M not so good.”
But Sam could always out stubborn anyone. “No! Dee best!”
Bobby didn’t bother hiding his laugh.
“Come on, Dean the Best and Sammy the Cheerleader. Let’s see what y’can do.”
--
Dean actually was very good. For the first hour he went through the engine systematically, cleaning and sanding and scrubbing as he went. Every five minutes he would pop his head up, checking that Sam was ok. Sam was staring at him, hero worship in his eyes. Dean gradually allowed himself longer and longer under the hood.
Dean was, Bobby admitted to himself, adorable. The kid practically climbed in, so he could reach anything. He knew what everything was, and he found tiny bits of rust that Bobby never would have seen. And Dean looked happy – jumping about. Of course the method wouldn’t work once the engine got hot, but there was a surprising amount Dean could do before Bobby tried turning on the ignition.
Dean had just popped up, spanner in hand and grease marks on his face, when there was a loud cry. Dean was out of the car before Bobby could react, running towards the cry. Sam had… Jesus Christ! What had the kid done? Sam was covered in grease and there was something running down his face… blood, sweat, snot or tears, Bobby couldn’t tell at this point.
“Sammy! Sammy where does it hurt?” Dean’s desperate little voice filled the air, his hands gently running over his brother trying to find what hurt.
Sam just kept crying
“Oh, balls!” Bobby muttered under his breath.
--
Sam had finally fallen asleep, curled up on Dean. Dean looked haunted.
“It wasn’t your fault. Dean.”
It was the first sound to break the silence since Sam’s hiccoughing sobs had stopped. Dean sent Bobby an incredulous glare.
“Not my fault? Of course it was my fault! It’s my job! I only have one job, Bobby!”
“Uncle Bobby,” Bobby corrected automatically. Then regretted it as the side issue it was.
“Uncle Bobby.” It was amazing how much venom a little boy could put into one word. “One job!” Dean continued, although this time the venom was directed at himself. “To keep Sammy safe. And I couldn’t even do it.”
Tears threatened to spill over, although Dean kept his face as angry as he could.
Bobby sighed. “Hell, kid, you do a great job of looking after Sammy.”
“He got hurt!”
“Yeah. He did. And he’s going to get hurt. He’s a kid, Dean. And a Winchester! You folks couldn’t keep out of trouble if you were given a map! All you can do is help him up when he falls and let him make his own choices. You’re a good brother Dean – the best – but you can’t save Sam from everything.” Even as Bobby spoke the words, he thought of the demon blood, and the apocalypse, and all the questionable decisions both boys had made. He was talking as much to Big Dean as Little Dean.
Little Dean wasn’t listening though. His expression was hard, his small body tense. The kid was obviously beating himself up. At that moment, his little brother stirred in his lap. Dean looked down, bracing himself for recriminations. Sam looked up, blinking sleepily. As Dean’s face swam into focus, Sammy smiled big and dimply, pudgy fingers reaching up to his brother.
“Wove Dee most!”
Bobby cleared his throat (stupid dust, he’d have to get round to cleaning the house at some stage) and turned his face away at the look of incredulity on Dean’s face. He hoped Dean would remember that when they were big.
Sam too, for that matter.
--
For the next few hours, Dean wouldn’t let Sam out of his sight. It was a long-fought (and loud) battle for Sam to get out of Dean’s arms. And then he hovered. Sammy wasn’t having any of it.
“No Dean! Me’s big!”
Dean just crossed his arms. “Do big boys get hurt?”
Poor little Sam really had no come back to that. He turned wide, tear-filled eyes on Bobby, who luckily remembered a few stories from Dean’s youth.
“Really, Dean? Big boys don’t get hurt? So it wasn’t you that fell off the third…”
Dean hurriedly shushed him. He didn’t know how Bobby knew so much, but Sammy didn’t need to know anything. “Ok, ok, ok. So sometimes big boys get hurt too, but Sammy,” he turned to look at his brother. “My job is to look out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt. Ever.”
Bobby cleared his throat (yeah, really needed to get the vacuum cleaner out), and dabbed at his eyes. It sure was dusty out here.
“I’m thinking it’s dinner time. Who wants to eat?”
The cheers in reply were the most enthusiastic response he’d had yet.
--
Bobby counted it a personal success when Dean didn’t pack everything he and Sam had into the duffle, in case they had to flee in the night.
--
When Dean had finally relaxed his hyper-vigilance, Sam had decided to take full advantage, and run wild. Dean was currently chasing a very naked Sam through the car yard.
“Sammy! Get back here!”
Dean tackled the giggling three year old, protecting him as the pair fell to the ground.
“More! Chase more, Dee!”
“Not until you’re dressed,” Dean scolded his little brother.
“Nooo Dee! No clothes!” he moaned, flailing wildly to keep the offending items away.
Dean attempted firmness. “Yes, Sammy. Yes clothes. You don’t want to look like me, d’ya?” Dean gestured at his freckles.
Sam gave him his best thoughtful face, even as Dean popped a t-shirt over his head. With a big grin and a hug, Sam kissed the freckle on the end of Dean’s nose.
“Yes!”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes?”
Sam nodded seriously. “Yes. Dee best! Be like Dee!”
It stunned Dean enough that Sam wriggled free. With a squeal of joy the semi naked Sam tore across the caryard, leaving only laughter in his wake.
“Better be careful in the sun, Dean.” Bobby couldn’t help but tease the boy. “Your freckles are showing.”
Dean’s power glare was somewhat nullified by the blush gracing his face. He stalked off, after his brother – Sammy was going to be dressed whether he liked it or not.
Bobby smiled, shaking his head. Stubborn idjit, he thought, before turning back to the car he was working on.
--
He couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed. What had seemed like a life sentence was now at an end. Sam had been a delight – not quite a toddler, not quite a little kid. He was interested in everything, pointing and giggling, and constantly checking back with Dean, making sure he was ok, that he was there. Dean, while not a bundle of joy, was still a great kid. Smart, and loyal. A regular comedian when he relaxed. Bobby was staring into the bedroom, watching the two boys sleep, when he heard a flutter of wings and Castiel appeared beside him.
“I see the curse is broken.”
They both stood at door, looking at the two big boys now asleep in the bed. His boys, Bobby thought with a fierce flare of pride. Family wasn’t just blood. These were his boys.
Bobby sighed.
“You… are unhappy that the curse is gone?”
“Jesus, no! No, it’s tiring looking after two little boys. Even two that pretty much look after themselves. I’m not as young as I used to be,” Bobby finished with a low grumble.
Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “That is true.”
Bobby couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Flippin’ literal angel. “No it was just… I’m glad I got this again.”
Castiel turned blue eyes on him. “Got what?”
“The chance to spend time with my boys.”
Confusion was writ large across the angels face. “They are the children of John and Mary Winchester.”
Bobby glared at him. “Family ain’t just blood. I adopted two boys and they grew up great. They grew up heroes!”
Castiel appeared mildly taken aback. But then nodded. “Yes. They did.”
Recipient:
joajohns17Rating: G
Word Count: ~2800
Warnings: de-aged fic, fluff
Author's Notes: This is a gift fic as part of the spn_summergen exchange. Thankyou to my betas,
sylvia_locust, who did a fabulous job, and were fabulously fast! and also my sister. Thank you also to the mods, for running a wonderful event. Can be found on AO3 here.Summary: From the prompt: De-aged fic. Sam or Dean or both and Bobby has to deal with them.
It wasn’t the first time two little boys turned up on Bobby’s doorstep. He hadn’t expected it thirty odd years ago. And honestly? He hadn’t expected it to happen again (although maybe he wouldn’t have been completely surprised at the arrival of Dean Winchester complete with mini Dean Winchester.)
But here he was, staring open mouthed at little Dean Winchester and little Sam Winchester.
The originals.
“What have you two idjits got yourselves into this time?”
Dean gave him a blank look, while Sam looked scared. Knowing he wasn’t going to get anything much out of the boys, Bobby glanced at the angel behind them.
“It was a witch. The witch is no more. I believe ganked is the appropriate term. However, the spell must now run its full course.”
Bobby blanched. Who knew how long that would be?
“Three days.”
Scowling at the angel, Bobby shortly informed him that important information should be disclosed at the start of a conversation, before someone had a heart attack. Castiel simply tilted his head in that infuriating way.
“You were in no danger of a heart attack, Bobby. And should such an event have occurred I would have taken care of it.”
That didn’t make him feel much better. And nor did that flippin’ angel disappearing, leaving him with two little boys. Who were still staring at him.
“You don’t have to look after us.”
Bobby stared right back into defiant green eyes. Dean looked to be about five, all freckles and eyes. Bobby’s eyes flicked to Sam, before shifting back to Dean, mentally upgrading him to seven. He felt his heart clench: he’d first met these two when Dean was four and Sammy just six months. Dean had looked little and lost then. He still did. Although now he had an edge that was uncomfortable, if not surprising.
Silence reigned. Bobby sighed internally. He’d never once won a staring contest, and he was a damn fool to try with the most stubborn kids ever born. “Of course I gotta. I’m your uncle.” Right. That was sorted. But it beggared another question. “What exactly do I do with you two?”
--
The first few hours were hard, very hard. Bobby barely remembered what he’d done with them last time, and his adult memories of the boys overlaid everything. So, with no better plan, he sat them at the kitchen table. Well, gestured towards it. Dean had sat and Sam climbed into his lap. Bobby wondered where their minds were at. That could make things easier, or harder.
“What d’you two normally do?”
It was an unfair question: Bobby knew they were little. Big Dean wouldn’t have just glared at him. Big Sam would have said something by now. But Bobby didn’t know how to keep two little kids occupied, so Bobby hoped... Then again, these were John Winchester’s boys. He doubted they’d ever relied on their daddy to keep them occupied. Right?
“Where’s daddy?”
Ah. Well, that confirmed they were little.
“He’s away for a bit. Got a…”
“He’s working Sammy, but he’ll be back.”
It was amazing. Dean’s glare hadn’t changed at all. Not more than a baby himself, Dean’s arms were protectively wrapped around his smaller bother. Much to Bobby’s surprise, his heart melted, just a bit.
“Yeah. Workin’. So you boys’ll be stayin’ with me for a few days.”
That seemed to satisfy Sam, although Dean kept staring at him suspiciously.
“You two go play in the living room, and I’ll get lunch ready.”
Not that there was anything to do in there, but it was better than being glared at.
Surprisingly, Dean obediently hopped up, making sure Sam was safe the whole time. He really was an excellent big brother, Bobby thought, watching the two make their way into the other room. Opening the fridge, Bobby wondered what he could feed two little boys.
--
“No Dean!”
Bobby came running into the room. They’d only been in there ten minutes. Did he need to keep an eye on them all the time?
Sam was standing there, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Dean looked… well, like he always did. Defensive and defiant and like the world was out to get him. Bobby tried to think of what life had been like for the seven year old Dean: always on the road. Not enough food. Constantly looking over his shoulder. Looking after Sammy. John Winchester’s parenting…
“Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Sam looked at Bobby and then held out his arms. Bobby looked at Dean, who rolled his eyes in a particularly exasperated manner.
“He wants you to pick him up.”
Of course Bobby understood the universal signal for ‘pick me up’, he just never expected to see it. Holding back a sigh, Bobby hunkered down onto one knee, and held his arms out, mimicking Sam. Sam threw himself at Bobby. Wow. Only three but he packed a powerful punch, knocking Bobby straight on his ass.
It hurt, but Bobby found he didn’t mind, as Dean’s stern little face crinkled into a small smile.
Although Bobby wanted to tease him (‘think that’s funny, boy?’), he couldn’t. Dean would take the words at face value, retreating back into his silence and suspicion.
“So, anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”
Dean looked at Sam then sighed. ‘Anyone' obviously meant Dean.
“We’ve done this before. Someone takes us in, likes the cute kid, but doesn’t want two. It’s too hard, and younger kids are much easier. So I was telling Sammy that you seem ok, and here would be good for him.”
Four sentences can tell someone an awful lot. Bobby didn’t realise that they’d had run-ins with the system this young. John, despite his many faults, had actually wanted his boys with him, and fought tooth and nail (and lied, and cheated, and stole) to keep them. Privately, Bobby had wondered whether being put in a stable home would have been better, but a look at Dean’s tense face convinced him otherwise. Being on the road with John – together – was better than being in safe, stable, separate homes.
And Dean! Although Bobby knew that big Dean hated himself, he hadn’t known that little Dean considered himself so unlovable, so unworthy of saving. He thought that particular personality trait had developed later.
Bobby heaved a sigh. “Neither of you are going anywhere. Least ways, not if I can help it.” He couldn’t help the crankiness that entered his voice. “What do I look like? A ditchable prom date?”
Sammy was too busy nuzzling into his shoulder to reply, and Dean was desperately trying to figure out the right answer to a question he didn’t understand. Bobby manfully kept the smile off his lips, and kept talking. “The right answer is ‘no’, boy. Think that angel of yours woulda left you here if I was just going to kick you out again? If you can’t trust me, at least trust him.”
Bobby finally said something right. Sammy snuggled deeper into his arms and Dean relaxed fractionally.
“So I guess its lunch time. You two coming?”
--
Lunch went better than Bobby expected. Dean even relaxed slightly and allowed himself to have fun. If fun could be defined as ‘look like he won’t run at any moment’ and ‘occasionally crack a smile’.
The next question was then what to do with them? Bobby had never had kids. Even when John had dropped by in the past, the kids had been sent straight to bed. He had no toys, and games, or whatever it was kids needed. He did, however, have an old junker he was working on. Maybe…?
“You boys know anything about cars?”
Dean brightened slightly, but it was little Sammy who answered.
“Dee know everything!” He looked at his brother with obvious worship in his eyes. “Dee best!”
Bobby stifled a laugh. “Well, if Dean’s the best, you two better come and help me.”
Dean (as usual) looked suspicious. Bobby rolled his eyes. “Can do with some little hands. The car’s junk, so it don’t matter what you do. Be mighty impressed if you fix anything.”
Sam looked at him with a hard light in his eye. “Dee best. Will work.”
Dean blushed and shushed his brother. “You don’t say stuff like that, Sammy! ‘M not so good.”
But Sam could always out stubborn anyone. “No! Dee best!”
Bobby didn’t bother hiding his laugh.
“Come on, Dean the Best and Sammy the Cheerleader. Let’s see what y’can do.”
--
Dean actually was very good. For the first hour he went through the engine systematically, cleaning and sanding and scrubbing as he went. Every five minutes he would pop his head up, checking that Sam was ok. Sam was staring at him, hero worship in his eyes. Dean gradually allowed himself longer and longer under the hood.
Dean was, Bobby admitted to himself, adorable. The kid practically climbed in, so he could reach anything. He knew what everything was, and he found tiny bits of rust that Bobby never would have seen. And Dean looked happy – jumping about. Of course the method wouldn’t work once the engine got hot, but there was a surprising amount Dean could do before Bobby tried turning on the ignition.
Dean had just popped up, spanner in hand and grease marks on his face, when there was a loud cry. Dean was out of the car before Bobby could react, running towards the cry. Sam had… Jesus Christ! What had the kid done? Sam was covered in grease and there was something running down his face… blood, sweat, snot or tears, Bobby couldn’t tell at this point.
“Sammy! Sammy where does it hurt?” Dean’s desperate little voice filled the air, his hands gently running over his brother trying to find what hurt.
Sam just kept crying
“Oh, balls!” Bobby muttered under his breath.
--
Sam had finally fallen asleep, curled up on Dean. Dean looked haunted.
“It wasn’t your fault. Dean.”
It was the first sound to break the silence since Sam’s hiccoughing sobs had stopped. Dean sent Bobby an incredulous glare.
“Not my fault? Of course it was my fault! It’s my job! I only have one job, Bobby!”
“Uncle Bobby,” Bobby corrected automatically. Then regretted it as the side issue it was.
“Uncle Bobby.” It was amazing how much venom a little boy could put into one word. “One job!” Dean continued, although this time the venom was directed at himself. “To keep Sammy safe. And I couldn’t even do it.”
Tears threatened to spill over, although Dean kept his face as angry as he could.
Bobby sighed. “Hell, kid, you do a great job of looking after Sammy.”
“He got hurt!”
“Yeah. He did. And he’s going to get hurt. He’s a kid, Dean. And a Winchester! You folks couldn’t keep out of trouble if you were given a map! All you can do is help him up when he falls and let him make his own choices. You’re a good brother Dean – the best – but you can’t save Sam from everything.” Even as Bobby spoke the words, he thought of the demon blood, and the apocalypse, and all the questionable decisions both boys had made. He was talking as much to Big Dean as Little Dean.
Little Dean wasn’t listening though. His expression was hard, his small body tense. The kid was obviously beating himself up. At that moment, his little brother stirred in his lap. Dean looked down, bracing himself for recriminations. Sam looked up, blinking sleepily. As Dean’s face swam into focus, Sammy smiled big and dimply, pudgy fingers reaching up to his brother.
“Wove Dee most!”
Bobby cleared his throat (stupid dust, he’d have to get round to cleaning the house at some stage) and turned his face away at the look of incredulity on Dean’s face. He hoped Dean would remember that when they were big.
Sam too, for that matter.
--
For the next few hours, Dean wouldn’t let Sam out of his sight. It was a long-fought (and loud) battle for Sam to get out of Dean’s arms. And then he hovered. Sammy wasn’t having any of it.
“No Dean! Me’s big!”
Dean just crossed his arms. “Do big boys get hurt?”
Poor little Sam really had no come back to that. He turned wide, tear-filled eyes on Bobby, who luckily remembered a few stories from Dean’s youth.
“Really, Dean? Big boys don’t get hurt? So it wasn’t you that fell off the third…”
Dean hurriedly shushed him. He didn’t know how Bobby knew so much, but Sammy didn’t need to know anything. “Ok, ok, ok. So sometimes big boys get hurt too, but Sammy,” he turned to look at his brother. “My job is to look out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt. Ever.”
Bobby cleared his throat (yeah, really needed to get the vacuum cleaner out), and dabbed at his eyes. It sure was dusty out here.
“I’m thinking it’s dinner time. Who wants to eat?”
The cheers in reply were the most enthusiastic response he’d had yet.
--
Bobby counted it a personal success when Dean didn’t pack everything he and Sam had into the duffle, in case they had to flee in the night.
--
When Dean had finally relaxed his hyper-vigilance, Sam had decided to take full advantage, and run wild. Dean was currently chasing a very naked Sam through the car yard.
“Sammy! Get back here!”
Dean tackled the giggling three year old, protecting him as the pair fell to the ground.
“More! Chase more, Dee!”
“Not until you’re dressed,” Dean scolded his little brother.
“Nooo Dee! No clothes!” he moaned, flailing wildly to keep the offending items away.
Dean attempted firmness. “Yes, Sammy. Yes clothes. You don’t want to look like me, d’ya?” Dean gestured at his freckles.
Sam gave him his best thoughtful face, even as Dean popped a t-shirt over his head. With a big grin and a hug, Sam kissed the freckle on the end of Dean’s nose.
“Yes!”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes?”
Sam nodded seriously. “Yes. Dee best! Be like Dee!”
It stunned Dean enough that Sam wriggled free. With a squeal of joy the semi naked Sam tore across the caryard, leaving only laughter in his wake.
“Better be careful in the sun, Dean.” Bobby couldn’t help but tease the boy. “Your freckles are showing.”
Dean’s power glare was somewhat nullified by the blush gracing his face. He stalked off, after his brother – Sammy was going to be dressed whether he liked it or not.
Bobby smiled, shaking his head. Stubborn idjit, he thought, before turning back to the car he was working on.
--
He couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed. What had seemed like a life sentence was now at an end. Sam had been a delight – not quite a toddler, not quite a little kid. He was interested in everything, pointing and giggling, and constantly checking back with Dean, making sure he was ok, that he was there. Dean, while not a bundle of joy, was still a great kid. Smart, and loyal. A regular comedian when he relaxed. Bobby was staring into the bedroom, watching the two boys sleep, when he heard a flutter of wings and Castiel appeared beside him.
“I see the curse is broken.”
They both stood at door, looking at the two big boys now asleep in the bed. His boys, Bobby thought with a fierce flare of pride. Family wasn’t just blood. These were his boys.
Bobby sighed.
“You… are unhappy that the curse is gone?”
“Jesus, no! No, it’s tiring looking after two little boys. Even two that pretty much look after themselves. I’m not as young as I used to be,” Bobby finished with a low grumble.
Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “That is true.”
Bobby couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Flippin’ literal angel. “No it was just… I’m glad I got this again.”
Castiel turned blue eyes on him. “Got what?”
“The chance to spend time with my boys.”
Confusion was writ large across the angels face. “They are the children of John and Mary Winchester.”
Bobby glared at him. “Family ain’t just blood. I adopted two boys and they grew up great. They grew up heroes!”
Castiel appeared mildly taken aback. But then nodded. “Yes. They did.”
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Date: 2014-10-24 12:30 am (UTC)I had so much fun writing that naked Sammy section!