Title: Of Teddy Bears and Hummingbirds
Author: Enkidu07
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me.
Beta: Soncnica - thanks, girl!
A/N: This is a remix of Mad Servers' 'Boogeyman.' See her profile for the original story from Dean's POV. This is her story from Sam's POV. Can be read in either order.

--

They're on their fourth day kicking around Bobby's scrap yard.

Bobby's mumbling about idle hands and devil worship and watching Dean warily. Sam spent the first two days flat on his back but he's steady enough now and is up working out the kinks.

As Sam moves toward the office, he can hear Bobby's gruff bark, "Park it, Dean. Help with this translation." Sam smiles. Bobby's never been very good with Dean's inability to just sit.

Sam can imagine Dean without even peaking in the door: idly flipping through the text, attention skipping around the room, pencil tapping, knee jiggling. Chair squeaking precariously as he tips it back to its limits.

"Here!" Bobby's loud proclamation startles Sam, drawing a gasp from him as he jars his side and he hears Dean's chair legs thump down and the chair give another ominous creak. He cautiously pokes his head around the doorframe.

Dean is looking at Bobby suspiciously, "What?"

Bobby holds up a paper, looking triumphant, "A boogeyman. Out in Lee. Four kids so far. Take you boys two days, there and back." Bobby nods, satisfied.

Dean looks less satisfied and Sam quietly works his way further into the room.

"Sam's not ready for a hunt, Bobby." Dean sounds angry.

"Dean you're climbin' the walls. This is a gimme. In and out. Get you outta my hair for a couple a days before I make you a permanent fixture in the floor."

Dean scoffs, "Fine. We'll go somewhere else, but we're not hunting."

Sam stretches to the side, kicks in, "Dean, you helped dad with a boogeyman when you were 11. I can do it with a couple of bruises."

Dean's head whips around surprised.

"Remember, Dean? He gave you my bear, said you were the perfect bait, snuggled there clutching Teddy." Sam snickers at the memory of his tough older brother forced to cuddle with a teddy bear and John's epic... and repeated... retelling of the tale.

Bobby's face darkens. "Stupid idjit using his kids for bait," he mumbles under his breath.

Dean's head whips back. Seriously, he's going to give himself whiplash. "Shut it, Bobby, it was safe. Dad had it under control. All I had to do was lay there."

Sam nods, point won. "So I can be bait. All I'll have to do is lay there. Come on, Dean. You're going nuts here."

Dean looks like he's been mown over. Anger mixes with longing. He looks from Sam to Bobby and finally sighs and mutters, "Let me see it. What'll we need?"

--

Bobby sees them off. Patting the top of the car happily. "We'll grill some steaks when you get back. Take your time. Sam, stay under the blankets, and, Dean, for God's sake, don't let it touch you."

Just as they are about to pull out, Sam pokes his head out the window, "What if it touches him?"

--

Sam lies still in the bed, ears peeled for any telltale noise from the boogeyman. He can hear Dean shimming into position along the far wall. In the gloomy darkness he can make out the outline of an abnormally large teddy that Dean is using for cover. He smirks and then settles in to wait. He evens his breathing. A few moments later the warmth of the bed coupled with the exhaustion of a long difficult day preparing for the hunt, lulls him, making his mind fuzzy. He shakes himself from the edge of actual sleep, keeping alert. Silence reigns.

Sam's breathing is slowing towards sleep again when there is a sudden explosion of noise and then the bed jolts. He hears Dean's grunt of surprise and then cursing followed by stillness.

He leans over the side of the bed, blood immediately rushing to his head, mattress pushing uncomfortably on the bruises around his middle.

"Dean?" Dean is still and Sam scans the darkness until he makes out a small dark form slowly dissolving into a puddle of slime.

Dean's face is laced in shadows and Sam can't really get a good look, "Dead?" he asks and he feels a rush of relief as Dean nods, though he's still holding his position, not moving to crawl out.

Sam's mind is racing as he watches Dean run a hand over his face. "Did it touch you?"

Dean's silent. Avoids Sam's gaze. Sam slides gracelessly off the bed, shimmies closer, making Dean jump and sputter.

"Dean!" Suddenly sleep is the furthest thing from his mind as he manhandles Dean from under the bed. "Where?"

But Dean is already unsteady, weaving, and blinking rapidly in the dim light. Then he's tipping towards Sam, his compass guiding him in the right direction.

Sam reflexively throws his arms out, grunting under the new weight, but keeps Dean from sliding back to the floor. He's momentarily surprised when Dean clings back instead of pushing away.

Abruptly, Dean returns to his senses and shoves at him, overbalancing himself in the process. Sam grabs on. "Relax Gumby. Just walk with me."

The stairs are a problem.

Dean seems to have lost control of his legs. Keeps pitching forward as his upper body moves, leaving his legs behind. Sam barely keeps them from both crashing headlong into the banister, the extra weight tugging painfully at his midsection. But he tucks Dean in a little tighter and hauls him slowly and clumsily down the stairs.

Dean takes it in bad grace, mumbling and pushing and Sam's winded and irritated by the time they reach the ground floor.

The bathroom's just off the hallway so Sam steers them there. He settles Dean on the edge of the tub, one foot in and one foot out, bracing him against the wall, hovers his hands over him until he is sure he's balanced. "Stay!" He commands.

Dean half nods, eyes already slipping out of focus, neck bowing until his chin is practically resting on his chest. Sam slips out and grabs a glass from the kitchen. Sliding back into the bathroom, he fills it, pushes it into Dean's hand, wrapping his own fingers around Dean's unsteady ones.

"Drink," he orders as he guides the glass to Dean's lips. Dean swallows reflexively and gets about half of the liquid ingested before it starts dribbling down his shirt.

Sam gives Dean a chance to breathe and then pushes the glass on him again, not letting up until it is empty and then turns to refill it.

After the third glass, Dean starts to come back into focus, sort of. His gaze sharpens and focuses on Sam. As Sam pushes glass four on him, he grips it himself and downs it, pushing Sam's helping hands away. While Sam refills the glass, Dean stares at him with a furrowed brow and his lips quirk up as if he knows a joke. Sam doesn't ask, just pushes the glass at him again.

After number six, Dean's cognizant enough to start to complain. Sam takes it as a good sign and humors him while keeping up the pressure. "Come on, Dean. Bobby said more."

Dean stalls on glass seven and starts to look a little green.

Sam searches his memory for how much a person can realistically ingest at one time without being sick and starts to search for something to aid Dean's stomach.

Dean keeps staring at him with a wondrous expression on his face. Sam snaps his fingers in front of Dean's face and watches Dean's orienting response. "Stay with me, man."

Always oppositional, Dean starts to list and Sam grabs him, resuming his position on the tub and guiding the water to Dean's lips. "Come on, Dean. A little more." Sam gets a hand on Dean's face to keep him from turning away. Palms his forehead and then wraps fingers around the back of his neck, tipping his head back a little and coaxing him to take the water.

--

By the time they get enough of the water into Dean to neutralize the poison, they're both wet and shaky.

Dean keeps fumbling against him, bleary from the poison, pleading for reprieve, causing regret to curl in Sam's stomach. He gags over the tub, barely keeping managing to keep the water down, and Sam rubs a soothing hand over his stomach.

Sam slides off the edge of the tub into the bathroom floor and pulls Dean with him. Dean pushes against his hands weakly, but Sam keeps his grip tight, pulling Dean against him. "Relax, dude. Just relax for a second."

Dean curls to the side, arms protective over his stomach, giving in and resting his head against Sam's shoulder, breathing shallowly and Sam lets out a long slow breath.

"You okay?"

He feels Dean's head nod against his shoulder.

"Ready to go?"

Dean's head negates moving.

Sam waits.

After the water has had a few minutes to settle, Sam starts his inspection.

A hand ghosting Dean's forehead, no fever. Gentle fingers along his scalp find a small cut, blood already drying, tender enough to have Dean pulling away from the probe. Two fingers pressed to the pulse point at Dean's neck, then a reassuring squeeze on Dean's tight shoulder.

Worried that movement might cause Dean to lose the fluids, and just about done in himself, Sam tilts his head against the hard tile wall and closes his eyes.

Finally Dean puts a hand against Sam's chest and pushes to his feet, Dean looks sick and unsteady and lurches lazily to the side. Sam scrambles up in time to get an arm under his bicep and waits to see if Dean is going to lose it.

The fluorescent lighting illuminates the red, raw mark on Dean's neck. Sam uses the moment to inspect it closer, then splashes some water on it to cleanse any residue. Dean wobbles away, "Enough with the water."

--

He settles Dean into the passenger seat. He is still shaky enough that he doesn't even put up a token demand to drive, though he is mumbling something about hummingbirds and pink porcupines and Sam doesn't even want to know.

Sam finds them a room. He's wet and weary and raises a few eyebrows, but finally they're settled in. He gets Dean dry and warm and tucked away before stopping.

His eye catches on a small pile of toys in the corner of the room, presumably left by previous guests. A floppy teddy bear has him grinning and he flashes on a preteen Dean struggling to look grown up while being forced to cling to a child's toy.

Before heading to shower, Sam tucks the bear gently into Dean's chest and bites back a laugh as Dean curls around it.

--

end.