Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eventually, everything came to a temporary yet sarcastic end. The tablet fell to the ground and broke into chunks of rocks or whatever, and Metatron buried the condemned angel blade into his big brother's torso from the back. Sam thought he had already experienced loads of devastating miseries, but this one sure took the cake. In fact, when he sat in unbearable silence beside Dean's bed in their bat hole bunker, never did a single tear of his spill. He had already cried himself dehydrated at that rundown area, surrounded by nothing but the dirt, the humming of enormous machines from away, and the air permeated with the tell-tale odor of death.

He had to carry his brother home. He was two million percent determined. He would never forget how he gathered his dorky and never still brother into his arms; a lifeless and motionless heap on his forearms. It was eerily silent, and while Sam was stumbling out of that shit hole, he was devastated. What should he do now? Dean was dead, though his lukewarm blood was still soaking through the fabric. Both brothers were covered in iron smell and caked with dirt, precipitation mixed with dry blood, and they reclined from the site in a familiar way. All was the same, except that Dean didn't make it this time, and Sam was surprised that he even had the heart to think that Dean was already on the first class of Hell Express, surging downward at light speed.

He didn't put the body in the trunk; that simple option made the bile rise in no time, and he was on the verge of retching. Instead, he pulled open the front door of the shotgun, and gingerly placed Dean on the leather material. Had Dean been alive, he would definitely have kicked Sam's ass seven ways from Sunday, because "do not leave bloodstains on baby, bitch!" . Sam usually would back talk, jokingly pointed out that his big brother was the stereotypical image of a cranky grandma. God did he miss his noisy brother. He fastened Dean (he reminded himself, not Dean's body) to the couch, carded Dean's stray damp hair backward, all the while imagining his brother's no chick-flick moments retorts, trying his best to keep the fresh tears at bay.

He stuffed himself into the baby and put his hand on the wheel. The baby smelt like Dean. His leather, his whiskey, and his greasy junk food. The producer of these sat there calmly, head lolled back. Sam fired the engine, the low rumbling extremely distinct without Dean's classic collection. He pursed his lips, steering the car back HOME.

He must bring his brother back. Of all the lame deaths, just not like this.
_________
Sam literally managed to open the heavy steel door with only his right hand. He actually could just put Dean down on the ground, but the idea was almost turned down immediately: the connotation of it didn't sound pleasant at all. His brother was by no means a chick, and over a hundred pounds didn't equal a bottle of water. Dean draped all over him, his head tucked in the warm place of Sam's chest.

Sam desperately noticed, that Dean already became cold.
He put the dirty blond man on the queen. When he finally decided to leave the room, he didn't forget to close the door.

Sam had already set up his mind. He didn't waste a single second. He washed and briefly dressed the wounds, grabbed a pack of beer and hurried to the bunker library. Geez Sammy, Dean would say, you such a geek. Sam breathed long and deep, drew his attention back to the current, and set down to work.

It turned out that solutions were scarce, but it was not entirely difficult to find one. Sam yawned and pressed on, though he reluctantly had to admit that this was also the only practical way. Remember that Winchesters' scale of practical actually was boundless. Like here, which could be translated as "Invite the Emperor of Hell, and all shall be settled". Hey, but what a coincidence, Sam betted that Crowley wouldn't mind to be summoned and locked up in a demon circle again. Sam scraped the chair backward on the tile and stood up. He marched toward Dean's room, heart clenched. The door gave under his gentle push, and murky darkness enveloped him. He cleared his sandpaper throat, only then did he realize how harsh his voice was.

"Dean," he croaked, "don't worry, I'll bring you back. You just...sleep tight."
______
All weird ingredients prepared, Sam lighted a match as the old book with crispy leaves required. He mumbled several lines of Latin and threw the match into the bowl. The effect was instant. With a poof, Crowley appeared from nowhere and sat on the prepared chair. He didn't look surprised in the least.

"Moose," he greeted, "A goddamned time to summon the King of Hell, you think?"

"Well, it's already in the morning."

"Pff. Do you know there's something called jet lag?"

"Listen, Crowley. Trust me the last thing I want to do is to summon you. But my brother, he needs help. Badly. And only you can help him now, according to the research."

"Ah, what does he get himself into this time?" Crowley quirked up one of his amusing smile.

Sam clenched his jaw and scowled, "he's dead."

Crowley's smile faltered, yet he calmed down quite quickly. "Now that's a piece of news," he singsonged, "how come I didn't know. And, why would I care?"

Sam told him to cut the crap, for Dean was the man with the Mark, and above all for he would make Crowley's life hell if the king refused. Crowley thanked for his friendly advice, pointing out that hell was great. Sam punched him and left the dungeon, slamming the door shut as he exited.

Either Crowley didn't want Dean to die or he thought Sam had some tricks to stand against him with others, Crowley shouted to call him back. He explained that the dungeon was too confining, which might deteriorate his claustrophobia. Anyway, he acceded to Sam's demands.

"Lead the way, will you?" Crowley wriggled his wrists, wincing as the muscles gained freedom.

"Don't even think about that," Sam looked at his fingers pointedly, " or you'll regret."

Crowley shrugged and followed.

Sam pushed open the door and switched on the light. Dean still lied in the bed, too motionless; his face now turned even paler than the white bedsheets. Sam didn't dare to go near his brother with his adrenaline receded; the truth was scorching. Crowley ignored Sam's eyes turning red-rimmed, slowly approached Dean.

"Dean, Dean, what have you done? I should have noticed," he touched Dean's neck, chuckled lowly, "when did all this nonsense start? You were restless, and I let that go; it was not until you refused the cheeseburger that I noticed how bad this went. Shit hit the fan, and all is too late." His brows knitted as he turned to Sam.

"I can bring your brother back," he stated.

" I hear a 'but', Crowley," Sam asked warily.

"Straight things straight. Dean will come back, only he will have demon gene in himself and will be regressed to a baby, for I only can use demon ways to retrieve his life, gene planted, the course of growing up is required."

Sam asked tentatively, "baby...as in physically? He will become a demon?" Please don't, Sam prayed.

"Nah, as in mentally. He will retain his adult vessel. As for your second question, that depends. The gene may not develop; even if it does, hopefully you will become the first in the world to train a polite and good-natured demon." Crowley winced at the imagined image of a meek demon.

Sam stood there, totally at a loss of what to say. He really wanted his brother back. There was no friends to ask him "does Dean want to be like this" or other questions alike. Fuck the morality. Dean could get back, and he might still stay human after "growing up" as Crowley stated. It was a one-way, and Sam had been already on board. He needed Dean back. Call him selfish, he found out that he didn't even care.

"You in or not, Moose? Clock ticks." Crowley whistled.

Sam nodded. He didn't miss Crowley's meaningful eyes. He dumbly watched Crowley's right hand came to rest on Dean's forehead, and the King of Hell mumbled slowly. For a while nothing happened, and Sam went beside Dean, watching eagerly with his heart pounding fiercely. Dean's eyelids moved; Sam's throat tightened again: this was really happening. Under two pairs of watchful eyes, Dean opened his eyes, coal black, yet they fell closed several seconds later. Sam couldn't stop calling his big brother's name，feeling Dean's hand become warmer and warmer. Several minutes passed, Dean opened his eyes again: they were lake-green, yet disoriented. Sam couldn't help smiling. "Dean," he called enthusiastically, "it's me! Dean!"

Dean didn't pay him any attention. He pouted, tears coming out of his eyes. He frantically searched here and there, eyes full of raw fear. Not long after, he was on full force wailing, nearly crying his eyes out. Sam stared at his big brother, then at Crowley; Crowley only gave an "I told you so" shrug.

Chapter Text

Sam's brain shut down for a while after Dean broke his first wails of sorrow and fear, unable to process what the fuck had happened in the past ten minutes. Crowley, being his old self, held his sarcastic manner and stood where he was, merrily took the chaotic scene in. Sam stared blankly at his big brother for like a century; with his adrenaline receding, he was just beginning to wonder what kind of almighty shit he had agreed to. What should he do now? A nightmare would be better than this.This? This is ridiculous.

Finally it was another bloody wail which could pull the dead from underground that rescued Sam from this ceaseless trance. He didn't know what the fuck to do! What was he supposed to do with a *wailing* big brother? Dean had never cried this desperately; he did sob silently though, letting a treacherous tear rolling down his cheek with shame. Sam reverted his eyes to glare at Crowley; the King of Hell seemed to decide to retort, but he somehow refrained from doing so.

"Will you not cry, Dean, please?" Sam spoke to Dean tenderly, hand touching his tear-streaked cheek, "here, your eyes must be puffy already." He didn't notice there was a Kleenex box on the bedside table before; surely it was one of Crowley's more favorable tricks, and he couldn't bring himself to care. He stretched another hand to grab a piece of baby-soft tissue, using it gently to absorb the tears. However, Dean didn't seem to be willing to accept the appeasement. He awkwardly turned his face aside, and continued his task: crying and crying. All the while his limbs began to flail, his left hand hit Sam in the face. It looked like he had entered into a state of full force tantrum.

"All right, all right Dean, tell me what you want," Sam stood up and leaned over Dean, desperately finding a way out, "you just can't be like this, I just can't understand you!" He helplessly stared at Crowley, "now, Crowley, what the fuck should I do?" He ground his teeth, "on a second thought, I'd better inform you that question is not a request."

"Ah, Winchesters. Always sacrificial and bad tempered. Why, I thought you must have been with a baby before," Crowley replied, "the only difference here is that your brother is confined in his adult meatsuit."

"My BIG brother is not a damn child!" Sam indignantly roared.

"Sure. Infant may be a more appropriate diction," Crowley said calmly, "however, this whole unfriendliness is pointless. With the process completed, your brother can't turn back. Well, I bet you don't want him to return to Hell either. So I am feeling generous today, why don't you move your ass to the store and buy your BIG brother some supplies?" As if for some sort of consensus, Dean chose to resume his vocalization of frustration at this very point.

Sam sighed, carding his stray hair backward and gritted out, "okay, I'll do this. But I'm going to sort this out. And Crowley, you'll definitely pay later, but now I need to buy some stuff. I'm going to call Castiel and let him babys...look after Dean for a while. You'd better leave now." He was shocked. What was that word he was going to spell out? Ew, no.

"Hey, I am offended," Crowley muttered, "but I'd like to babysit. You know, Castiel must be busying his ass off. Heaven and the morons." Well, he did have some points.

"Don't you fucking say that word!"

"I'll take that as a yes then."

Sam left the bunker and slammed close the door.

Crowley smirked, softly patting Dean's hair, "sweetie, your brother, I dare say, will be in love with that."

------
Sam killed the engine and got out of the baby. When he entered the supermarket selling baby stuffs, he was totally at lost. What should he do now? Surely he had to buy something, but they were just...you know, of the wrong size.

He sighed, and approached a saleswoman. The lady asked professionally what he had in mind, and was ready to provide with recommendations. When Sam told her in an extremely subtle way that the baby was "oversized", she was bright enough to get it rather quick. Sam for a moment tensed for the hatred, disgust or other unpleasant things, but it turned out that she was sweet. The lady, whose name on the plate wrote Evelyn, showed her sincere concerns and wishes. She explained that since the supermarket was quite big, it sold these things, and asked if Sam would come with her. Sam thanked and followed.

They arrived at the section of diapers first. Honestly speaking, Sam had never ever seen so many diapers of different sizes, functions and brands. They were stocked neatly from floor to the ceiling on both sides of the aisle. Evelyn went to the bottom of a shelf and crouched down, searching. Sam still felt a little bit uncomfortable when he took all the diapers in and remembered that he had to use these things on Dean. Evelyn's voice disrupted his wandering thoughts: "Ah, here. We have four types of adult diapers, but I will recommend you this one," she held up a huge plastic box, "30 pieces per box, and that should cover all nights in a month. This actually is our bestseller, with zero complaints." Sam nodded, told Evelyn that he would take one this time for a test run (truth is he still held the hope that Dean would recover in a matter of days). He took the box from the petite girl, and put it in an enormous cart.

"Well, night time settled, now what about days?" Evelyn proceeded her search, "That one is specially designed for babies who cannot keep still in their sleep. Uses material thicker than average. Now we don't want our babies to feel confined do we? Ah, this one will do. See, skin soft, and lighter material. If you can change him regularly during the day, then no worries at all." Since Sam literally knew nothing, he just took two for another "test run" and put them in.

After that they arrived at the section selling things catering for babies' meal time. Together they (reads "Evelyn") chose several bottles of proper sizes, some bibs (they even needed fucking bibs), and plastic bowls, spoons and so on. Evelyn stressed that the plastic ones wouldn't be broken, and they were made of safe materials. They featured different patterns; Sam initially flat out refused to choose one, but under her persuasion he finally picked Winnie the Pooh set, since unfortunately they didn't have Batman. On every flat surface draws different pictures of the bear with or without his buddies. What was the point really?

Sam refused to buy a crib though Evelyn went great lengths to persuade him to do so. His brother was an adult, thank you very much. Buying a baby blue pacifer for him was his bottom line. However, when he looked at the heap of baby stuff in the cart, he felt a little unsure. He assured the girl that these things would do for days; and if any problems or needs arose, he would come to her immediately. Evelyn led him to the cashier, and even helped him pack up. Sam thanked her again, stuffed the ridiculous things in the baby and drove home.

------
Sam had been away for more than an hour, and the bunker had literally turned hell. Crowley scooped Dean up from his adult bed and noticed quite unsurprisingly that the tough guy had wetted himself. "Gross, Deano! Now I guess that's why you keep crying," Crowley muttered to himself, snapped his fingers and Dean was completely clean. Now don't ask why Crowley, being shorter than the former hunter, could lift him up as if he weighed nothing. Demonic powers sometimes were really handy. In Dean's blood now ran the demon gene, and Crowley thought that might be the exact reason for this unexplainable affection. Well, don't judge him, baby Deanmon could be darn cute. Crowley gently put him back on the clean bed, and pinched his nose affectionately. That brought Dean out of his cryland, and he seemed bewildered for a moment, then broke out soft giggles.

"Ah, now you are a happy boy, buddy," Crowley cooed, and gave the little half-demon a smile. He touched Dean's soft hair, and kissed the boy's temple. Dean stretched out his arm clumsily, trying to catch his sleeve. Crowley let him catch, all the while looked at him closely: Crowley was sure that the demonic characteristics would show after about four months; that was the common development stage for all demons. Dean's eyes, though they were still the same as had been when he had been an adult, Crowley had a feeling that they became softer and more watery, void of all desperation and helplessness, shining full bright with innocence and curiosity. Newborn demons, before they could flash their eyes coal black, were as harmless as human infants could be; Crowley could already envision a mad Sam with Deanmon the little shit in the future. Must be hilarious, he mused.

The low noise of the thick steel door to the bunker drew Crowley's and Dean's attention at the same time. Dean seemed startled; and not knowing what had happened, his lower lip protruded and trembled, indicating that he was ready for another round of wailing competition. "Hey, what's the matter sugar, it's just Sammy, See!" Crowley patted Dean's back and said. He snickered at Sam, who was awkwardly moving into the hall with loads of stuff. Sam sent him a deadly glare and went back to the Impala to carry in the rest. That was becoming even more interesting.

Sam sighed and threw himself into a couch they had set up earlier in the living room. Being a caretaker really sucked. Now he didn't even have the energy to wonder what the hell he had got them in. But he also didn't have the time for that: he heard Dean's sniffles. It sounded like the whine of a cornered and hurt animal, with a pungent smell of fear. Sam sprung up and headed towards Dean's bed and discovered that his big brother was trying to curl himself into a little ball, his hands fisted and covered the eyes. "What's up, buddy? Sammy is here!" he tried to pry Dean's hands away, but Dean screamed. Sam spent nearly five minutes trying to gather Dean in his strong arms and place the little heap of tears on his laps. He hugged Dean snugly and rocked for a while, but Dean wouldn't stop.

"How lovely. Makes me want to cry," Crowley commented.

"No shit and tell me why he won't stop crying!" Sam asked hastily.

"Maybe wet, maybe hungry. I don't know. You should figure it out yourself," Crowley paused, "ah, to make it up for you, here." Crowley snapped his fingers and touched Sam's bicep before he could dodge. Sam shouted :"What the hell, Crowley?" and strained his eyes to see what had happened to that particular part of his body.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Calm down, okay? I feel offended!" he shrugged, "now try to carry Deano around."

Sam stared at him for a while then complied. He stood up, expecting the strain in his arms, but that never happened. It was as if Dean had been a bag of cotton, lighter than a kitten.

"That would never expire, at least not when Dean is still Deano," Crowley correctly deciphered Sam's questioning eyes, added helpfully.

Sam nodded as a silent acknowledgement and "thank you".

Crowley nonchalantly shrugged, turning to gaze at Dean, "You be good, baby boy. Don't go too hard on your brother." With that he vanished before Sam could get to the sentence.

Sam sighed and looked at his brother in his arms. "Now, Dean, are you hungry? Do you want a bottle?"

Chapter Text

Initially Sam had wanted to carry Dean to the kitchen and settled him down on one of the chairs, but once he awkwardly let Dean’s padded bottom sit in the ordinary chair, he realized that this was by no means a good idea. Sam forgot that Dean had been mentally regressed to acting like a baby, and he felt practically boneless as though his limbs were not his at all. Sam announced to Dean that he was going to let go and asked Dean if he could sit alone in the chair when he prepared their lunch. Obviously he received no reply other than the small soft noises that Dean subconsciously made. Sam lost his grip from under Dean’s armpits gingerly to see how it would go, but Dean began to fall sideways instantly. Sam felt a wave of worry he hadn’t felt before, and before he knew it he again had Dean securely in his strong arms.

Realizing desperately that putting Dean in the kitchen wouldn’t work, Sam decided to let Dean have a nap when he made lunch; he was one hundred percent sure that he had seen Dean’s eyelids droop just minutes ago. He carried Dean back to the bedroom and started putting him down on the soft bed.

“Why don’t you have a nap now, Dean, Sammy’s gonna make us lunch,” Sam told Dean in a gentle voice, all the while trying to figure out Dean’s reaction.

Dean lifted his gaze, all huge and innocent green eyes; he stared at Sam, and Sam felt really bad for his brother’s terrible fate, and the vulnerability which was just too offending. Dean began to make those little noises again, which Sam could not decipher at all.

“What do you want, Dean? You are hungry, I know, I know. Just please try to sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll have a great lunch.” Sam smiled a little despite himself, and planted a kiss a Dean’s forehead.

Thankfully Dean only whimpered for seconds, and didn’t put up much fight when Sam was leaving the bedroom. Sam took that as a good sign, and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him.

Once he returned to the kitchen he found himself totally at lost again. He opened the cupboard and took out the newly-bought bottle and the formula and began to read the instruction closely. The instruction had made it quite easy to follow for the new parents, and Sam set out to make Dean the bottle soon after he finished the instructions. He fetched the kettle and got some water from the sink, then switched it on to boil the water. He opened the pack and took out the complimentary plastic spoon, and followed the instructions religiously to put several spoons of the powder into the bottle. His mind started to wander and he painfully realized that he hadn’t done anything like this before; he had literally zero experience with kids, let alone the more difficult small ones. Dean had ensured that he got whatever he needed throughout childhood; and this big-brother-protectiveness also managed to persist after so many years. It was his fate and also his unquestionable responsibility, Sam decided, to look after Dean now.

The water began boiling and Sam fetched the kettle and poured some water into the container. He recapped the lid with the nipple then shook the bottle for several minutes. Another several minutes passed then and Sam decided that the formula had come down to a bearable temperature, then he walked to the bedroom with bottle in hand.

Dean was exactly where he had left him, and was fast asleep with mouth slightly open. His big brother just looked so young and defenseless and a surge of protectiveness startled him.

“Wake up, little pumpkin,” Sam said at Dean’s ear in a low voice, “I made you a bottle.”

Dean smacked his lips but didn’t open his eyes. Sam chuckled. He put both hands under Dean’s armpits, and despite Dean’s whining protests he gently rearranged the bundle of noises into his laps. Dean reluctantly and slowly lifted his eyelids and scowled at Sam, tears already at bay. Sam had one of his arms securely behind Dean’s head.

“Are you hungry, Dean? Oh don’t cry, Sammy made you some milk,” he nudged the nipple against Dean’s lips, “come on, suck on it.”

Dean seemed disoriented for a moment, but out of instinct he slowly opened his mouth and latched on the plastic and began to suck.

Sam only managed to smile for a second before his face fell, realizing that something was not right, not at all: after Dean gave the bottle a tentative suck, he immediately spitted the formula out and started wailing, tears flooding out from his big eyes.

Sam’s stomach dropped. He tried to calm his brother down, but it seems that Dean was in great discomfort. “What’s wrong buddy, why are you crying,” Sam impatiently pressed, “come on please tell me, I don’t know what’s wrong.” Of course Dean could not provide him with the answer. Sam felt that he was going to cry too. He put Dean back on the bed, and scrutinized the bottle closely. Nothing wrong. He uncapped the bottle and took a big gulp of formula himself.

Oh shit. Shit. Sam cursed under his breath, all the while trying to swallow the formula instead of letting them out despite the terrible temperature. The liquid was hot, scorching; His tongue was numb as if had been pinched by thousands of needles. How could he be so careless? How could he forget that the temperature he felt by hand was not accurate at all? Only one day into caregiver mode and he had already managed to fuck everything up.

He recollected a crying Dean back into his arms and spoke to him a chain of apologies. He patted Dean’s back and tried desperately to get rid of the tears with the pad of his thumb gently. Twenty minutes later he tried to replace the nipple against Dean’s lips. This time Dean gave another suck, and happily kept on sucking the formula till the bottle became empty, all the while making happy and contented baby noises. Sam felt a brand new wave of love that kept growing and expanding, taking up every possible space deep inside his heart. This was his big brother, but he seemed to be so innocent and fragile. No, Sam didn’t forget the possibility that Dean might turn into a demon; but for now, looking straight at Dean’s attentive eyes, he smiled heartedly. Sam set the empty bottle aside, and lifted Dean on his shoulder, patted his back to make him burp. When he heard that Dean had done so, he resettled him on the bed.

“Sweetheart, now you just have a good dream,” Sam cooed, placed several kisses all over Dean’s soft smiling face, making the baby gurgle even harder and make happy sighs.

Sam ensured that Dean was warm in the bed and left the room. He set down before the computer intending to find more information about how to raise a baby properly. Moreover, he needed to do lots of research on how to avoid a possible baby demon turning into a true adult one. The research could be called fruitful. An hour later he had found tons of useful information. Stretching himself, he decided to stand up and go check on Dean. It was at that time the shit hit the fan.

He heard a loud and muffled thud coming from the bedroom, and seconds later Dean had shifted from small whimpers to full-force hysterical wailing, full of the sour taste of pain and fear. Sam cursed and hurried to open the door, and the sight that greeted him made him want to kill himself then and there. On the floor in a miserable heap was Dean, and it was clear that he had fallen from the not-that-low bed. His head was ominously against the foot of a bedroom chest beside the bed.

Sam carefully collected Dean, all tears and snots, back into his arms, using all means possible to plead with the baby to not cry anymore and let him check the bruises. Dean cried himself to exhaustion and pliantly laid his head against Sam’s neck, giving out small refrained whimpering protests, which just further wrenched Sam’s heart from his body. He tentatively touched Dean’s head and found a scary bump. Thankfully there was no blood, otherwise Sam wouldn’t know what to do entirely.

“Ow,” Dean sniffled, feeling the pain, already prepared to start round two.

Sam felt he might start crying too. He hushed Dean in a comforting voice: “my precious one, Sammy’s terribly sorry! Yeah, he’s a meanie! Now, let’s go find you some help, baby boy.”

Fantastic. Two fuck-ups within one day. The only thing Sam wanted to do was to take Dean’s pain away. “Cas,” he prayed, “if you hear me, please show up! I’m begging you, please.” His voice nearly croaked.

Several minutes later when he decided to give up the hope, the sound of fluttering wings greeted him. Thank God. Turning to meet Cas’s intense and surprised gaze, Sam prevented the angel from asking tons of questions.

“What happened, Sam? Dean, why…” Cas was asking questions in no time.

“Not now, Cas. Now I need you to get me a crib that will fit Dean. When you come back later, I will answer to whatever questions you ask.” Sam interjected hastily.

“Okay,” Cas said, after another few seconds of staring.