Take Me Home -Part 27
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 2,010 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 26
We're entering the home stretch, folks. Two more chapters and an epilogue after this. Are you excited? I'm excited!
*****
When Dean awakens, Castiel is gone. He's not surprised, but he does feel a faint pang of disappointment. He's sort of become used to having the angel around these past few days. The next thing he's aware of is that he feels like utter crap that's been warmed over a few times too many. Awesome. Five minutes outside in the snow and he's sick again, although this time he'll take it, because it's totally worth it to have Sam back. His watch tells him it's two o'clock in the morning, and although he's tempted to just go back to sleep, past experience tells him that he'll hate himself in the morning if he doesn't go to bed. Growing old gracefully isn't something that happens to hunters, obviously. He pushes himself upright, looks around for Sam, finds the dog still asleep on the floor in front of the embers of the fireplace. He gets to his feet, feeling about eighty years old as he tries to get his joints to flex, limps over to Sam, gives him a gentle pat.
“Sammy, wake up. I'm hitting the sack, buddy. You want to come with? You can totally have half the bed. Hell, I'll even give you the pillows. You up to it?”
Sam rouses slowly, but his tail wags, and he makes a valiant attempt to hobble up the stairs behind Dean, who is resolutely not thinking of the vet's admonition to “be realistic” and her recommendation of what the “kindest thing” to do would be. She obviously thought she was being stealthy by talking only to Bobby and Cas, but she had a voice like a foghorn. Sam is going to be just fine, the vet be damned. Except that he almost has to carry Sam up half the stairs, and ends up lifting him onto the bed, feeling every bone in the dog's body as he does it, oddly fragile under the loose skin. He shucks off his clothes, leaves them in a pile on the floor, crawls into the bed beside Sam and slings an arm over him, pulls the blankets on top of them both.
“What does that stupid woman know, anyway? You're gonna be fine, Sammy. It's not her fault she's never dealt with a Winchester before. Doesn't know anything about us.” He gets a half-hearted lick on the nose at that, and chuckles. “See? What'd I tell you? Tomorrow, though, you're going to have to eat. I get that you're tired and not hungry, but you have to eat anyway: can't get better otherwise.”
It's a good thing Sam's a dog, because he'd never be able to get away with this sort of thing if he was human. It's dangerously close to cuddling. It's not, of course, but Sam might think it was, and Dean would never live that down, he thinks sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut. Maybe there are upsides to having Sam like this: it's kind of like having the old Sam back, the kid who used to climb into bed with him after a nightmare, the one who had no compunctions about asking for piggy-back rides, the one who thought Dean was the most awesome thing since sliced bread. Even the kid brother who hated both him and their Dad and was itching to get away to Stanford would be better than the broken-hearted stranger who's been riding shotgun for the past eighteen months, is his last thought before sleep claims him.
A rush of air awakens him, one that he's learned to recognize. He shoves himself up onto one elbow, scrubs at his eyes with his free hand. “Cas, seriously dude, how many times do we have to have that talk about where it is and isn't appropriate to beam in unannounced?” he grumbles. “I'm gonna get you a bell, so help me.” Okay, so the fact that he feels like he might still be running a mild fever and that he has a killer headache might be making him a little crabbier than usual. Automatically he reaches to pull the blanket closer around himself.
“Oh, don't be bashful, Dean. The human body is a beautiful, natural thing.”
Definitely not Cas. Dean bolts upright in bed with a curse, immediately regrets it as pain lances through his skull. He grinds the heel of his hand into his eye socket, wondering if it's actually possible for pain to make his eyes pop out of his head. “Come to gloat?”
“Something like that,” Gabriel agrees, sauntering over to perch on the bed, holds up a hand in a quelling gesture. “Don't get up on my account. Hey, Sammy, how you doing boy?” he reaches out to give Sam a pat, and the traitorous dog pokes his nose out from under the bedclothes and licks the archangel's hand. “You're a lot more tractable as a dog. Isn't he, Dean?”
How can a day be this shitty after only a minute and a half of being awake? “What do you want?”
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I don't want anything. Just checking in on our four-legged friend. Looking kind of the worse for wear, isn't he?” he comments, stroking Sam's ears. Sam lets his head sink back onto the bed with a sigh, closes his eyes.
“Thanks to you, douchebag. What'll it take for you to leave us alone?”
“So you don't want my help.”
Dean squints at him. “Are you offering?” Oh, he is so not cut out for this evasive back-and-forth double-talk crap, especially not with that jackhammer going off in his skull. He glances at the clock, sees that even though there's light coming in the window, it's still damned early.
“That's not how I roll.”
He twitches involuntarily at that. He remembers Castiel saying something oh-so-similar in that future which won't ever happen now, and the echo makes him shiver. “They really fucked you in the head, didn't they?” At Gabriel's raised eyebrow he keeps going. “Your family. Man, and I thought I had it bad. You sound like Cas... not this Cas, the other one.”
Gabriel actually looks interested at that. “What other one?”
“The one from the future. He was all fucked in the head and high on every drug known to man -and maybe a couple others besides, what do I know? He said shit like that. 'That's how I roll,' stuff like that.”
“From the future? Sounds like my siblings have been playing more interesting mind games with you than I would have given them credit for,” Gabriel smirks, but his expression seems half-hearted to Dean, even forced.
“Never mind. Jesus, dude, you should hear yourself. What did they do to you?” He's not supposed to feel sympathy for this douchebag. God, maybe he's turning into Sam after all this time. That would explain why Sam seems to have turned into a Dark Side version of him. They're switching places. Terrific.
Gabriel snaps his fingers, an irritated look on his face, and Dean half-expects to find himself somewhere else, maybe a really creepy funhouse or something. “Don't you presume to know anything about me, kiddo.”
“Hey, you're the one popping into my bedroom at the ass-crack of dawn and making nice with my do- brother. If anyone's presuming, it's you. If it's any consolation, I understood the metaphor months ago, and I get it: I'm keeping Sam on too tight a leash. I get it, I swear.”
Gabriel smirks. “But does he get it?”
Dean wants to scream in frustration. “I don't know: he's a dog. He can't talk. He just about killed himself trying to get here, though, so I guess maybe he doesn't get it. Doesn't change anything, anyway.”
“You think it doesn't?”
“No.”
“I've known mules less stubborn than the two of you. I don't think you really get it at all.”
“Fine, we don't get it. So why are you here?” Easier to switch topics.
A shrug. “I'm here because Castiel asked me nicely, and I'm a sucker for politeness. Are you sure you want Sam to be human? You gotta admit, he's much happier this way. Tell me that's not what you've been thinking. Tell me you didn't spend half of last night halfway hoping for this.”
He'd kill for a Percocet right now. Or, hell, even Tylenol. He's never hated Gabriel more than at this very moment, for voicing aloud all the traitorous thoughts that have been going through his mind. “It's not right. He's not meant to be like this.”
“How can you know that? I thought you just wanted him to be happy. Well, your wish just came true.”
Dean glances down at the dog's still form, and fondles his ears, can't help but smile as Sam nudges his hand with a tired whine. Then he sighs.“He's not really Sam like this. It's not real.”
“Reality's overrated.”
Dean looks up. “I reject your reality and substitute my own, is that it?”
Gabriel laughs unexpectedly. “I knew I liked you two for a reason!”
“Yeah, well. Look, our reality may suck, but it's ours. Why the hell do you keep messing with us? You already know you're not going to change our minds about saying 'yes.' So what the hell, dude? I don't see what's in this for you. What's your angle?”
There's a pause, during which Gabriel gives him a look that Dean is completely incapable of deciphering, brown eyes glittering dangerously. Before he can react the archangel reaches out with two fingers. He only has time to think well, shit, and everything goes dark.
The first thing he's aware of after that is that Gabriel is gone, and it feels as though someone's turned up the furnace full-blast. Except that that's not Bobby's style -he's all about conserving fuel. It's then that he realizes that he's got his arm over something that's definitely not dog-shaped, which is the source of all the extra heat. He sits up, blinks, isn't quite sure he's not dreaming this. He puts out a hand, feels heat and a too-fast pulse, decides that if he was going to be dreaming Sam back into the world, he definitely wouldn't dream him sick.
“Sam?”
There's no response, no reaction at all to his soft whisper. Sam is out like a light, either unconscious or so deeply asleep he hasn't heard, curled on his side in much the same way he was when he was still a dog. He's so damned thin... Dean swallows hard as his heart threatens to make a getaway through his mouth. There's an angry-looking laceration marring Sam's face, starting just above his eyebrow and traveling down his left cheek to his mouth. Unable to help himself, Dean traces a finger along it gently, feels the tell-tale heat and swelling of infection underneath the skin. Definitely gonna scar. Sam got this as a dog -he remembers seeing the cut on the dog's muzzle the day before, although it didn't seem as bad then.
“Dammit,” he says under his breath. “Fucking douchebag angel could have thrown in some healing for good measure. Sam?” he shakes him by the shoulder. “You can sleep for as long as you like after this, but I need you to wake up for me now. Sam!”
Sam coughs (and damn, but it sounds painful), stirs, rolls away from Dean onto his back, but his eyelashes are fluttering. It takes a moment before his eyes focus, but there's a spark of recognition there. “D-Dean?”
“Welcome back, Sammy,” Dean feels a grin spreading that threatens to split his face in half. Then he all but falls off the bed in his hurry to get the hell out of that room before his brother catches him crying like a girl.
*****
Part 28
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 2,010 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 26
We're entering the home stretch, folks. Two more chapters and an epilogue after this. Are you excited? I'm excited!
*****
When Dean awakens, Castiel is gone. He's not surprised, but he does feel a faint pang of disappointment. He's sort of become used to having the angel around these past few days. The next thing he's aware of is that he feels like utter crap that's been warmed over a few times too many. Awesome. Five minutes outside in the snow and he's sick again, although this time he'll take it, because it's totally worth it to have Sam back. His watch tells him it's two o'clock in the morning, and although he's tempted to just go back to sleep, past experience tells him that he'll hate himself in the morning if he doesn't go to bed. Growing old gracefully isn't something that happens to hunters, obviously. He pushes himself upright, looks around for Sam, finds the dog still asleep on the floor in front of the embers of the fireplace. He gets to his feet, feeling about eighty years old as he tries to get his joints to flex, limps over to Sam, gives him a gentle pat.
“Sammy, wake up. I'm hitting the sack, buddy. You want to come with? You can totally have half the bed. Hell, I'll even give you the pillows. You up to it?”
Sam rouses slowly, but his tail wags, and he makes a valiant attempt to hobble up the stairs behind Dean, who is resolutely not thinking of the vet's admonition to “be realistic” and her recommendation of what the “kindest thing” to do would be. She obviously thought she was being stealthy by talking only to Bobby and Cas, but she had a voice like a foghorn. Sam is going to be just fine, the vet be damned. Except that he almost has to carry Sam up half the stairs, and ends up lifting him onto the bed, feeling every bone in the dog's body as he does it, oddly fragile under the loose skin. He shucks off his clothes, leaves them in a pile on the floor, crawls into the bed beside Sam and slings an arm over him, pulls the blankets on top of them both.
“What does that stupid woman know, anyway? You're gonna be fine, Sammy. It's not her fault she's never dealt with a Winchester before. Doesn't know anything about us.” He gets a half-hearted lick on the nose at that, and chuckles. “See? What'd I tell you? Tomorrow, though, you're going to have to eat. I get that you're tired and not hungry, but you have to eat anyway: can't get better otherwise.”
It's a good thing Sam's a dog, because he'd never be able to get away with this sort of thing if he was human. It's dangerously close to cuddling. It's not, of course, but Sam might think it was, and Dean would never live that down, he thinks sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut. Maybe there are upsides to having Sam like this: it's kind of like having the old Sam back, the kid who used to climb into bed with him after a nightmare, the one who had no compunctions about asking for piggy-back rides, the one who thought Dean was the most awesome thing since sliced bread. Even the kid brother who hated both him and their Dad and was itching to get away to Stanford would be better than the broken-hearted stranger who's been riding shotgun for the past eighteen months, is his last thought before sleep claims him.
A rush of air awakens him, one that he's learned to recognize. He shoves himself up onto one elbow, scrubs at his eyes with his free hand. “Cas, seriously dude, how many times do we have to have that talk about where it is and isn't appropriate to beam in unannounced?” he grumbles. “I'm gonna get you a bell, so help me.” Okay, so the fact that he feels like he might still be running a mild fever and that he has a killer headache might be making him a little crabbier than usual. Automatically he reaches to pull the blanket closer around himself.
“Oh, don't be bashful, Dean. The human body is a beautiful, natural thing.”
Definitely not Cas. Dean bolts upright in bed with a curse, immediately regrets it as pain lances through his skull. He grinds the heel of his hand into his eye socket, wondering if it's actually possible for pain to make his eyes pop out of his head. “Come to gloat?”
“Something like that,” Gabriel agrees, sauntering over to perch on the bed, holds up a hand in a quelling gesture. “Don't get up on my account. Hey, Sammy, how you doing boy?” he reaches out to give Sam a pat, and the traitorous dog pokes his nose out from under the bedclothes and licks the archangel's hand. “You're a lot more tractable as a dog. Isn't he, Dean?”
How can a day be this shitty after only a minute and a half of being awake? “What do you want?”
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I don't want anything. Just checking in on our four-legged friend. Looking kind of the worse for wear, isn't he?” he comments, stroking Sam's ears. Sam lets his head sink back onto the bed with a sigh, closes his eyes.
“Thanks to you, douchebag. What'll it take for you to leave us alone?”
“So you don't want my help.”
Dean squints at him. “Are you offering?” Oh, he is so not cut out for this evasive back-and-forth double-talk crap, especially not with that jackhammer going off in his skull. He glances at the clock, sees that even though there's light coming in the window, it's still damned early.
“That's not how I roll.”
He twitches involuntarily at that. He remembers Castiel saying something oh-so-similar in that future which won't ever happen now, and the echo makes him shiver. “They really fucked you in the head, didn't they?” At Gabriel's raised eyebrow he keeps going. “Your family. Man, and I thought I had it bad. You sound like Cas... not this Cas, the other one.”
Gabriel actually looks interested at that. “What other one?”
“The one from the future. He was all fucked in the head and high on every drug known to man -and maybe a couple others besides, what do I know? He said shit like that. 'That's how I roll,' stuff like that.”
“From the future? Sounds like my siblings have been playing more interesting mind games with you than I would have given them credit for,” Gabriel smirks, but his expression seems half-hearted to Dean, even forced.
“Never mind. Jesus, dude, you should hear yourself. What did they do to you?” He's not supposed to feel sympathy for this douchebag. God, maybe he's turning into Sam after all this time. That would explain why Sam seems to have turned into a Dark Side version of him. They're switching places. Terrific.
Gabriel snaps his fingers, an irritated look on his face, and Dean half-expects to find himself somewhere else, maybe a really creepy funhouse or something. “Don't you presume to know anything about me, kiddo.”
“Hey, you're the one popping into my bedroom at the ass-crack of dawn and making nice with my do- brother. If anyone's presuming, it's you. If it's any consolation, I understood the metaphor months ago, and I get it: I'm keeping Sam on too tight a leash. I get it, I swear.”
Gabriel smirks. “But does he get it?”
Dean wants to scream in frustration. “I don't know: he's a dog. He can't talk. He just about killed himself trying to get here, though, so I guess maybe he doesn't get it. Doesn't change anything, anyway.”
“You think it doesn't?”
“No.”
“I've known mules less stubborn than the two of you. I don't think you really get it at all.”
“Fine, we don't get it. So why are you here?” Easier to switch topics.
A shrug. “I'm here because Castiel asked me nicely, and I'm a sucker for politeness. Are you sure you want Sam to be human? You gotta admit, he's much happier this way. Tell me that's not what you've been thinking. Tell me you didn't spend half of last night halfway hoping for this.”
He'd kill for a Percocet right now. Or, hell, even Tylenol. He's never hated Gabriel more than at this very moment, for voicing aloud all the traitorous thoughts that have been going through his mind. “It's not right. He's not meant to be like this.”
“How can you know that? I thought you just wanted him to be happy. Well, your wish just came true.”
Dean glances down at the dog's still form, and fondles his ears, can't help but smile as Sam nudges his hand with a tired whine. Then he sighs.“He's not really Sam like this. It's not real.”
“Reality's overrated.”
Dean looks up. “I reject your reality and substitute my own, is that it?”
Gabriel laughs unexpectedly. “I knew I liked you two for a reason!”
“Yeah, well. Look, our reality may suck, but it's ours. Why the hell do you keep messing with us? You already know you're not going to change our minds about saying 'yes.' So what the hell, dude? I don't see what's in this for you. What's your angle?”
There's a pause, during which Gabriel gives him a look that Dean is completely incapable of deciphering, brown eyes glittering dangerously. Before he can react the archangel reaches out with two fingers. He only has time to think well, shit, and everything goes dark.
The first thing he's aware of after that is that Gabriel is gone, and it feels as though someone's turned up the furnace full-blast. Except that that's not Bobby's style -he's all about conserving fuel. It's then that he realizes that he's got his arm over something that's definitely not dog-shaped, which is the source of all the extra heat. He sits up, blinks, isn't quite sure he's not dreaming this. He puts out a hand, feels heat and a too-fast pulse, decides that if he was going to be dreaming Sam back into the world, he definitely wouldn't dream him sick.
“Sam?”
There's no response, no reaction at all to his soft whisper. Sam is out like a light, either unconscious or so deeply asleep he hasn't heard, curled on his side in much the same way he was when he was still a dog. He's so damned thin... Dean swallows hard as his heart threatens to make a getaway through his mouth. There's an angry-looking laceration marring Sam's face, starting just above his eyebrow and traveling down his left cheek to his mouth. Unable to help himself, Dean traces a finger along it gently, feels the tell-tale heat and swelling of infection underneath the skin. Definitely gonna scar. Sam got this as a dog -he remembers seeing the cut on the dog's muzzle the day before, although it didn't seem as bad then.
“Dammit,” he says under his breath. “Fucking douchebag angel could have thrown in some healing for good measure. Sam?” he shakes him by the shoulder. “You can sleep for as long as you like after this, but I need you to wake up for me now. Sam!”
Sam coughs (and damn, but it sounds painful), stirs, rolls away from Dean onto his back, but his eyelashes are fluttering. It takes a moment before his eyes focus, but there's a spark of recognition there. “D-Dean?”
“Welcome back, Sammy,” Dean feels a grin spreading that threatens to split his face in half. Then he all but falls off the bed in his hurry to get the hell out of that room before his brother catches him crying like a girl.
*****
Part 28