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Twenty-two
"So," Sam asked for what seemed like the thousandth time, "are you sure about this?"
"Am I sure about what?" John's temper had already been stretched to the breaking point by Sam's endless questioning of his plan. If he hadn't been absolutely sure that he couldn't handle this alone, he would have pulled the truck over and tossed the kid out on his sceptical ass.
"Are you sure that going after this thing this way is what we should be doing? Are you sure that going after this thing at all is what we should be doing? I thought nothing mattered but the demon."
John gave his son a level stare. "The demon does matter. A lot. But we've got no idea where it is right now. Until we find it, we're at a standstill. We do know that there's something bad right here in these woods and people are disappearing. Should we just ride on out and leave them to it?"
Sam's lip twisted, and he shook his head. John decided to take that as his youngest agreeing with him, though it could just as easily have been Sam expressing his displeasure with this whole setup.
"Okay," Sam sighed. "So...it's a fairy."
"Yeah, Sam. It's a fairy. And right now I'm pretty sure there's only one of them. There's no reason for it to even know we're here, never mind expect us to go after it. If we wait, a dozen of the damned nuisances could show up and then we'd have to call in a lot more back up to take them out."
"Well, if you hadn't left Dean back at the hotel, we'd have more help now." The look Sam shot his father was venomous.
"Your brother's hurt, Sam. There's no way I was bringing him."
"He wanted to come."
"And I should have let him go after this thing with a sprained ankle?"
"I've seen you drag him along on a hunt with worse. I think the pain meds you gave him might have been a little overkill, too. I can't remember the last time you knocked one of us totally out for something so minor."
"It was necessary," John said repressively.
Sam snorted out a contemptuous breath. "Yeah, right."
"Damn it, Sam!" John seethed, counting to ten in his head, "You know he would have followed us if I hadn't put him out. Stop acting like you're two years old!"
Sam was just as livid as his father. "What I'm acting like is an adult with a mind of my own. If I was acting like a two year old, I'd just agree with everything you said!"
John stared at him incredulously. "When you were two," he informed his son through clenched teeth; silently counting to twenty not having accomplished a thing, "you were just as pig headed and contrary as you are now. You know why I had to leave your brother out of this. This thing would be targeting him specifically and I'm not taking any chances."
"Not with Dean," Sam muttered, and his father resisted the urge to smack him.
"Not with you either. For the last time, since you're not the oldest, it's not after you. You don't interest it. I'm not going to lose you forever if it gets away." John sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. Sam was arguing now just for the sake of arguing. He knew the risks and didn't want Dean in harm's way any more than his father did. And this was the one creature that John was sure wasn't after his youngest. "It's not after you," he repeated more softly.
"Yeah, well, we'll see." Sam responded darkly, as he loaded his pistol with iron rounds.
The forest glade was sun-dappled, with a tiny stream trilling through the middle. Butterflies filled the clearing, flitting on jewel-like wings around a gently glowing form seated by the water.
"Oh, come on," Sam muttered. "Could this get any more clichéd?"
The fairy floated to its feet as John and Sam paused just inside the clearing and stared at them suspiciously. "It could," it replied, responding to Sam's question. "You should hope that it doesn't." Its gaze flashed back and forth between them. "Usually your kind is more surprised to see me."
John shrugged. "I heard what was going on in town and figured I might find one of your kind here. I'm sort of representing some of the other fathers in town. You know. The ones who are missing a son."
The fairy studied John carefully, then switched its scrutiny to Sam. "You are this one's father?" it asked.
"I am."
"He is not your only son." The certainty in the being's musical voice made John's eyes narrow.
"He's the only one that's coming." The menace in his father's tone sent a tremor through Sam.
"You brought the wrong one," the fairy hissed, teeth bared in sharp displeasure as it glared over John's shoulder at Sam.
"Like I'd let my eldest go anywhere near one of Oberon's goons." John gave the golden haired figure an unfriendly smile.
"This one will not do."
"No shit." John would have loved to tell Sam that he'd told him so, but he didn't dare take his attention away from the fairy long enough to do it.
"Bring the other," the creature breathed, the magic in its words so pronounced they almost shimmered in the air.
"No." John replied mildly, raising his gun.
"No is not a word we fair folk will hear from mere mortals."
"Well, that's too bad," John drawled. "Because it's a word we mere mortals like to use when dealing with full of themselves fair folk. Let's try it again. No. Did you have any trouble hearing that?"
Thin, pale lips curled up humourlessly. "It was very clear. I can see how fond you are of speaking that word. Now, let me ask you: how fond are you of hearing it?"
The air around the fairy swirled with light and John could feel the power in its next words.
To me you dare to speak that word
Because I thin the human herd.
To you he'll speak one thousand "nos"
Before your boy to manhood grows..
John snorted and raised his gun. "My boys are already grown Twinkles. You should have come up with better poetry for your last words."
"Were already grown, mortal," the fairy cackled, grinning unpleasantly. "Kill me before the spell is reversed and a child he will stay."
A moment later, John was staring at the empty air where the fairy had been. Then he looked down and to his left, where a pile of denim and flannel swallowed up a wailing toddler.
John walked through the hotel room door, cradling Sam against his chest. Dean lay on the bed, just where his father had left him; drool running from the corner of his mouth, but he stirred groggily at the twin sounds of slamming door and whining child.
"Down, Da!" a tiny voice piped, rattling through Dean's brain. "Wan' Dean."
"Dean's sleeping right now, Sammy. How about you just stay with me?"
"No!"
The shrill scream forced Dean to crack his reluctant eyelids open and stare blearily at the sight in front of him. His father was holding a struggling kid who was wearing a diaper that had been fashioned from one of Sam's uglier t-shirts. Sam himself was nowhere in sight and Dean hitched himself up onto his elbows. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but stilled immediately as nausea threatened to overwhelm him.
"What happened?" he asked between clenched teeth. "Who's the kid?"
His father stared at him for a moment. "It's Sam," he said, like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world.
Dean couldn't quite wrap his spinning head around John's words. "Sam's bigger than that," he protested, waving one hand vaguely toward the ceiling. He squinted, like that would make the scene in front of him make sense. "And he's got more hair."
"The fairy cursed him." John's tone dared Dean to make an issue of it, but his son was too buzzed to care.
"You went after the fairy?"
John nodded, tightening his grip on the wiggling toddler.
"Without me?"
"Obviously."
"And now Sam's..." Dean flopped his head back onto the pillow. "Forever?"
"No. Not forever."
"Oh," Dean sighed, relieved. "What is it, one of those twenty-four hour things? A week? Does a beautiful princess have to kiss him? What?"
"He has to say "no"."
"No?"
"No."
"Well, this is Sam we're talking about here. He should be Sasquatch sized again already."
"He has to say it a thousand times." This time the tone in John's voice sounded slightly panic-stricken. Dean couldn't say he blamed him.
Two
Dean stared bemusedly at the tiny child peeping at him over the arm of the couch. The kid certainly seemed to know him, though he had no clue how that worked. The Dean this Sammy knew should be about two feet shorter and a hell of a lot less buff. He could see bits of his brother in the tilt of the head; the wide hazel eyes. The mouth, alternating between sweet smiles and petulant twists was also very familiar. It could be Sam. His father said that it was, and he'd remember what Sam looked like at two way better than Dean would.
"Hey, squirt," he said with a grin. It was kind of nice to be looking down at his brother again. He winced as he dragged the small figure up onto his chest. His ankle, wrapped in an ace bandage and freezing under a bag of ice, was still pretty sore, but at least now he had the chance to rest it. Until Sam was de-miniaturized, they weren't going anywhere. "You ready for a nap?"
"No!" Sam shrieked, bouncing on his brother's stomach. "No nap."
Dean glanced over to where his father was making two more marks on a sheet of paper that was still distressingly bare. No was one of the first words any kid learns and Sam had been no exception. It was also one of the only words he was comfortable with at this point and though they'd gotten almost one hundred since this whole nightmare had begun, they still had a hell of a lot of negatives to go. Asking Sammy if he wanted a nap was a good way to get one, as was informing him that he was getting peas for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Eventually he'd get tired of answering yes or no questions, pout, and refuse to say anything. Telling him to say no got them exactly nowhere. He'd stare at his brother or father blankly, and not speak for hours. John seemed to think that was the curse at work, but Dean wasn't so sure. Telling Sam to do anything was a sure-fire way to get him to do just the opposite. Why should he be any different just because he was two again?
Dean vaguely remembered his brother being happiest when he was kept on a schedule, so he tried to space the questions out accordingly. His plan to have the next yes or no question wait for half an hour or so was derailed, however, by a ripping explosion from Sam's diapered backside.
"Sammy, did you just take a sh.. poop?"
"No," his brother replied with a winsome grin, the disgustingly foul odor wafting through the air giving the lie to his statement.
"Ungh," Dean groaned, lifting Sam up and holding him over the edge of the couch. "Dad, do you think you could take him?"
John looked up and sighed, wrinkling his nose as the aroma of Sammy's diaper reached him. "I didn't think I'd have ever have to do this again after he got potty trained." He grabbed a fresh Pamper from the box and a stained towel from the top of the television before plucking Sam from his brother's grasp.
"No, Da!" Sam's chubby little legs lashed out as he tried to escape. "Don' wanna!" he wailed. "No, no!"
John gave Dean a wry grin as he tried to pin his youngest down long enough to remove the dirty diaper. "We had a conversation in the car right before this happened and your brother seemed to think he had been a very reasonable and agreeable two year old."
Dean stared at Sam, whose beet red face was screwed up as he screamed "no", like a broken record. "You're sure he'll turn back after one thousand? 'Cause this is just..."
"NO!" Sam interrupted him and a shimmer shivered through the room. John and Dean both stared at the child lying on the towel, who was now roughly twice the size he had been moments before. "Ewwww!" Sam bellowed, as he twisted out of his stunned father's grasp and ran to the bathroom. "I got poop on me!"
John grabbed his tally sheet from the table. "How many do you think that was? Ten? Twelve?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"That's a hundred. A hundred and he aged. Two years, maybe? He looks about four now."
"So he's not going to stay two the whole time?" Dean sighed with relief. "Thank God."
John quirked a lip at the half full box of diapers and the small pile of toddler clothes folded beside it, before giving Dean an appraising look. "That ankle up for a shopping trip? Can't exactly take him with me this time." That he wasn't going anywhere without Sam went without saying. Sam could say no fifty times while his father was at Goodwill and John wasn't going to risk missing even one of them.
"Sure thing," Dean replied, trying not to grimace as he got to his feet. The ankle really did feel better. Another day and he'd be, well, still really sore, but he'd get by. "What size do four year olds wear?"
"Damned if I remember," his father shrugged. "Ask someone when you get there. And Dean?" he added as his son limped out the door. "Get some stuff for a six year old too."
"Daddy?" John turned and stared at Sam who had the bathroom door cracked just wide enough to stick his head out. "I can have a bath, now?"
Four
Since the "no" didn't have to be spoken in anger as long as it was spoken in John's hearing, Dean figured that turning this into a learning experience that didn't involve arguing wouldn't hurt anyone. His little brother was freakin' adorable and the last thing Dean wanted to do was fight with him. Sam at four was just as hazy to him as Sam at two had been, and this curse, while it sucked big time, wasn't all bad. He was getting to relive Sam's childhood with none of the crap he'd had to deal with the first time around. Sam was actually a pretty fun kid, and Dean was determined that all three of them were going to enjoy that for as long as it lasted.
A hotel room was no place for an active pre-schooler and while eight year old Dean had to just stay there and deal with it, twenty-seven year old Dean was more than old enough to take Sam to the park. Getting Sam out into the fresh air and sunshine of a beautiful spring day was a fantastic way to chase the crankiness out of him. And getting a "no" out of him in a fun way instead of a fight? Priceless.
"Yes or no, Sammy," Dean would call out, painfully hobbling after the darting four year old. "Is that a swingset?" He'd point to the slide, the teeter totter, the sandbox and get three gleeful nos from the giggling child. Dandelions weren't kittens or dinosaurs or ice cream cones. Trees weren't houses or airplanes or trains. It was almost too easy and Dean was going to work it for as long as he could.
John spent most of his time on a bench with a notebook and a sheaf of papers, surreptitiously watching Sam and Dean have the time of their lives: his youngest was never out of his father's earshot these days. Every once in a while he'd join in the fun, scooping Sammy up for a piggy back ride, or pushing him high into the air on the swings, but mostly he was content to let his kids play.
"Ready to go, boys?" he'd call from time to time and Dean would always stop and ask Sam for his opinion on the matter.
"Well, I'm not ready," Dean would whisper. "Are you?" Sam never was ready to go back to the tiny room and it was his job to tell their father that.
"No, Daddy," he'd call over to John. "We don't wanna go yet."
Eventually, hunger and exhaustion trumped fun and they'd head back to the car, Sam drooping in Dean's arms. John hung back a little, watching Dean with his little brother and his throat tightened with the memory of himself doing this exact thing with four year old Dean. Dean turned in time to catch his father's expression and his own face went from happy to worried in a flash.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," John replied slowly. "It's just…you'd make a hell of a father."
"Me?" Dean huffed out a startled laugh, cutting his eyes away. There was no way he'd ever bring a child into this life, but the unexpectedly sad look on his dad's face stilled his tongue before he could let those words out. "Nah," he said ruffling Sam's hair. "I'm okay with just being a big brother right now."
Six
The flashcards were Dean's idea and, if he did say so himself, they were kind of brilliant. Sam at six had clamoured to be read to and had avidly followed his brother's finger as it underlined each word. Even that young, Sammy had been a pretty smart cookie, and Dean figured that a few simple words wouldn't be beyond him now.
He wrote each one out in red magic marker; painstakingly printing them on the backs of three by five index cards. Up, down, no, dog, cat, Dad, no, Dean, Sam, yes, no. After a minute's thought, he added salt. It was an extremely useful word to know in their profession, even if Sammy had no idea what their profession even was yet.
By mid-afternoon of the first day, Sam had all those cards memorized and Dean was forced to make more. "Should have known that would be too easy," he said with a proud grin. "You're way too much of a brainiac for those to keep you satisfied."
Sam rocketed around the room chanting, "I'm reading. I'm reading," as Dean filled out the new cards.
Car, road, sun, moon, top, ball, no, no, no and a slew of others joined the first set of words and Dean shuffled them like he was about to deal a hand of poker. Sam watched raptly, his small hands mimicking Dean's motions.
"Let me try," he demanded, reaching to grab the cards.
"I think you're a little too small for this, kiddo," Dean replied, fanning the cards and holding them out of his brother's reach, "but if you promise to work on these words until dinner, I'll teach you how to shuffle a regular deck of cards. Okay?"
"Okay, Dean."
Dean ignored his father's annoyed look and shuffled the cards some more. If a question wasn't something Sam was going to answer "no" to, John felt that it was a question that could wait until he was twenty-two again.
"No." Sam stared at the first card Dean had flipped with a look that almost matched his father's. "Don't do that one, Dean. We already had it all the time."
"What one, Sammy?"
"That one." Sam pointed and Dean turned the card over and stared at it.
"I just made this one. How could we have had it 'all the time'?"
"We just did."
"All right, but if you don't work on all the cards like you promised I don't have to teach you how to shuffle after we eat."
Sam's lip poked out and he reluctantly nodded as he puffed out a sigh. "N O spells no."
Eight
Eight was a good age, Dean decided. Young enough for Sam to still be fun, but old enough for Dean to get things across to him. Plus, he could read. A little. Enough.
He wasn't going to read "no" off of a flashcard any more though, he'd made that pretty damned clear the first time Dean had tried to go back to them. Big kids read books and Sam was a big kid, not a baby. Well, Dean didn't have any books, but what he did have was a lifetime's worth of experience that he could turn into really cool stories. Sam would love them. He could even be the hero and what kid could resist that? The kid in question was currently staring perplexedly at a loose leaf notebook, silently reading "Sam Winchester and the Apple Orchard", which Dean considered to be one of his finest creations.
"Come on, Sammy," Dean urged. "You're supposed to read it out loud."
"I want to see what happens first," Sam muttered distractedly.
"Well, I want to know what happens too. I'm dying from the suspense, here! Read it to me."
"You wrote this, Dean." Sam gave his brother an exasperated glance. "You already know what happens."
"Read it to Dad, then. I bet he'd love to hear all about your adventures in the haunted orchard."
Sam eyed his father doubtfully, then sighed. "Okay."
'No,' Sam said stubbornly. 'No, no, no, no, no. Dean, I want to go help Dad.' 'But Sammy,' Dean said. 'Dad wants us to go find some people who got lost.' "I don't care what Dad said "Of course we do, Sam," Dean said. 'He gave us an order and we have to follow it.' 'No we don't.' Sam got out of the car and grabbed his backpack. 'And I'm not going to.' 'Dean got out of the car too
"My car, kiddo."
"Oh." Sam thought about that for a moment. "Cool."
"'Sam walked off down the road, and Dean drove away.'" Sam looked up at his brother with hurt eyes. "You left me?"
"It's just a story, Sammy. One where you didn't want to go with me and I didn't want to go with you. We kind of left each other."
Sam turned his attention back to the book, but he didn't seem any happier. "How come I don't want to help the lost people?"
Dean looked at his father helplessly.
"You do, Sammy," John came in with the save. "But maybe whatever I'm doing is so important to you that you have to make a hard decision. It wouldn't be easy for you to just leave people if they were lost, right?"
"No," Sam replied, chewing on his lip. "I must want to help you really bad."
"Why don't you keep on reading, Sammy," John prodded. "I want to know how this all comes out."
'On the way to find his father, Sam ran into a girl named Meg, who pretended to be his friend, but was really an evil...' Sam paused again. "Dean, you spelled witch wrong."
"Let me see that." Dean took the notebook from Sam. "Wow, yeah, I did." A few quick strokes of the pen later, he handed the book back. "Sorry, kiddo. Try it now."
'...but was really an evil witch. Sam and Meg went to the bus station, but there was no bus. The next bus to where Sam's dad was didn't leave until the next day. Sam called Dean to see what was happening, but Dean had found no trace of the lost people yet. He asked questions in town to see if anyone had seen the lost people. "No," everyone told him. "No, we have not seen them." Dean told Sam that he had found a creepy scarecrow in an apple orchard by the town and he thought it might have something to do with the lost people.' 'The people in town were bad people and they took Dean to their orchard, but they knew he was too awesome to stay lost there so they tied him to a tree
'The next day Sam called Dean and called him, but there was no answer. Meg tried to get Sam to go on the bus with her, but Sam told her no. "No," Sam said. "Dean is not answering the phone and I think he is in trouble. There is no way he wouldn't answer unless he was tied to a tree or something. I'm going back to help him.' 'Meg was very mad, but Sam still told her no and then he
"What was my plan, Dean?" Sam asked.
"To untie me and run," Dean replied.
"What was your plan?"
"Well," Dean demurred, "I was still working on it."
"I saved you?"
Dean ruffled his brother's hair. "You sure did, squirt. "
Sam grinned happily and flipped back through the pages.
"Well?" Dean asked his father. "What did you think?"
"I'm thinking you might have left a few things out," John laughed. "And I wouldn't plan on a career writing children's books if I were you,"
"Aw, come on," Dean protested, "it was great! What do you want to read next, Sammy?" he asked with a grin. "Sam Winchester versus the Hookman or Sam Winchester and the Haunted Painting? I'm betting they're both going to turn out to be classics."
Ten
"This is as far as we're going?" Sam stared out of the Impala's window in confusion. "We barely even left town."
"Well, we're not done here yet Sammy," Dean shrugged, "and that other place was a disgusting bug pit."
"They're all disgusting bug pits, Dean. Dad's never moved us out of one before just because it was gross."
"He hasn't?"
"No. So how come we're doing it now?"
Dean gave his father a glance and shrugged. Because no matter how skeevy these places are, somebody's going to notice all these different little boys going in and out of our room and it's unlikely but possible that they might actually do something about it, isn't really an answer they can give. No matter how true it is. They move every time Sam ages; motel rooms and run-down apartments in this town aren't hard to come by.
"This place is closer to the job," John answered in his repressive, stop asking questions voice.
"What job?" Sam had never paid as much attention to that voice as Dean had.
"We're hunting a fairy," Dean said. Maybe the truth would get through to Sam this time and he'd get past ten in a hurry.
"Really?" Sam asked, awed. "What did it do?"
"It stole some people and it won't give them back," John replied. "Also, it cursed you into being a little boy again."
Sam turned to look out the window; tuning out as usual whenever the curse was mentioned. A couple of kids were kicking a soccer ball around the parking lot and Sam's eyes brightened. "Can I go play, Dad?"
Dean groaned; so much for getting Sam to twelve quickly.
"Maybe later," John grabbed the bags from the trunk and herded Sam toward their room. "We've got work to do first."
"What kind of work?" Sam asked as the door swung shut behind him.
"We're going to set up a shooting range and get some practice in. You miss the targets more often than you hit them and we're going to work on that today."
"I don't want to shoot," Sam frowned and changed the subject. "Besides, I've got homework to do. My history report is due next Wednesday and if I don't have it in on time, I'll get an F."
"Don't worry, Sam," John said, "by the time next Wednesday rolls around, I'm sure your history report isn't going to be a problem."
"Why not?" Sam looked pissed. "Are we leaving before then? No. No way. School's almost done for the year, Dad! Why can't we just stay?"
"Easy there, tiger." Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Dad didn't mean that we were leaving. He just meant he's sure you can get your report done with no problem. Besides, won't your teacher give the smartest kid in class an extension if he needs one?"
"No." Sam pulled out of Dean's grip and settled on the bed. "She told me the last time we had to "go out of town", that I couldn't keep turning my work in late; that it wasn't fair to the other kids."
"Okay," Dean shrugged, "how about we take you to the library after target practice. That work for you?"
"No," Sam said defiantly, "but it would work for me if we went to the library first."
Dean met his father's angry gaze squarely. "Still got the whole day ahead of us, Dad. How about we hit the library and all of us can get some research done. I'm sure there are lots of things you should be checking up on."
John nodded reluctantly. Up to this point he hadn't gotten any new intel on the fairy. If any more young men had disappeared, they hadn't been reported to the police. He also needed to make sure the demon hadn't popped up again, though if it had he couldn't really go after it with a kid of whatever age Sam would be when he found it. Whatever its plans for his son were, there was no way John was risking it getting its filthy hands on him when he was just a child. It was never going to get the chance to get near Sam if he had his way. "Library it is," he agreed. "But we are training afterwards." His glare speared Sam. "Are you going to try and get out of it?"
"No, sir," Sam replied. "Just let me get the information for my report and then I'll shoot at tin cans for as long as you want."
John stared at Sam for a long moment. "You think you're too big to go over my knee, son?"
From the look on his face it was obvious that Sam wanted to say yes, but he thought better of it. "No, sir," he repeated.
"That's a good answer. Now get your butt in the car."
Sam sighed as they walked through the parking lot, his eyes tracking the boys with the soccer ball. Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him close, ignoring his attempt to squirm away.
"Don't worry about that report, kiddo. You'll do fine. And I think there'll be time for you to play some soccer too, if you want."
"There will?" Sam's face lit up as he wrapped Dean in a hug.
"Sure," Dean shrugged. As far as he was concerned, little Sam could go through his cursed time without training at all. When he was himself again it wouldn't matter what he'd done with his second childhood. "Why not?"
TBC