Title: Sweet Baby Dean
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, Jess, John - Sam/Jess
Summary: Prompt from a recent meme at hoodie_time; Bobby calls Sam while he's at Stanford... Dean is now 4 (and not talking) and it's permanent. Bobby can't get ahold of John and CPS has dean.... Sam and Jess decide to raise him....One year later, John shows up - ready to retrain his little solider.


The room was sunny and yet, somehow forlorn. Sam scanned the worn carpet, scattered toys, seeking the figure he was here for. Bobby hadn't given him a lot of details – only that what had happened to Dean, it was permanent. De-aged – a hex or curse, Sam figured. He couldn't imagine the field day the CPS had had when they found Dean. A four year old, alone in a hotel room full of dangerous weapons. Sam wondered where the fuck Dad was in all this. Kicking that man's ass was currently on his to-do list.

Sam had explained everything about his past to Jess on the drive over here to Denver. Instead of being horrified at the monsters being real and that her boyfriend knew how to kill each and every one, or could find someone who could tell him, she somehow got struck by a maternal streak and all she wanted to was help his brother. His brother was now his nephew, or so he told CPS. He frowned and was about to leave the room and tell the lady that Dean wasn't here when he caught sight of a tiny figure wedged between the dresser and the wall.

Sam swallowed hard and went over to the boy, crouching down to his level. “Hi, Dean.”

The fair-haired boy slowly lifted his face, his cheeks were stained with tears and his nose was red. His green eyes stared at Sam, blinking once or twice before Dean swallowed and looked back down without speaking.

“You want to come out of there?” Sam was perturbed – this was a Dean he'd never seen. It wasn't the de-aging. There was a look that just seemed – beautifully innocent despite the expression of misery on his brother's face. He'd been told Dean wasn't talking – so he wasn't surprised when he didn't get an answer.

“Sam?” Jess called from the doorway. “Did you find him?”

“Over here.” He waved her across the room and saw Dean's head lift out of the corner of his eye.

Jess crouched down as well, staying back so they wouldn't crowd him. “Hi there.”

Dean didn't speak, but made a tiny wave with one hand, rubbing his nose with the other.

“I don't know if he remembers me or not.” Sam sighed. “I just... this is awful.”

“That it is.” She frowned for a fraction of a second and then turned her attention back to Dean. “Hey, would you like a hug?”

Dean's eyes lit up like he'd just been offered the biggest pie in the world and he shot forward out of his hiding spot, throwing his arms around Jess's neck like his life depended on it.

“Oh, you really needed one.” Jess wrapped her arms around his waist and stood up, hugging him close. “I bet your uncle Sammy would like a hug too.”

Sam chuckled weakly and watched Dean shift his gaze to him and then he opened his arms to let Dean give him the same treatment he'd given Jess. He took the small boy from her and nearly cried as he felt his brother squeeze him around the neck, crying again. Fighting back his own tears, Sam pressed a kiss onto the top of his brother's head. “It's my turn to take care of you now. I'm not going to let anyone or anything hurt you. I promise.”

Jess nodded in affirmation. “Let's get out of this place.”

“Sounds good.” He shifted Dean so he was on his hip, Dean's head against his shoulder. “I could use something to eat, how about you?”

In response, Dean slowly nodded.

“Don't you worry about not talking.” Sam said, sounding fairly optimistic. “You just take your time.”

*
Dean moved mechanically, hadn't protested the bath – and while he was washing his brother – Sam saw that all his brother's scars were gone. He supposed that was a good thing – one less thing to explain. Dean brushed his teeth without having to be asked and curled up in the second bed, the one nearest the bathroom without so much of a whimper. Sam felt odd sitting on the bed nearest the door – waiting for Jess to finish in the bathroom. The bed next to the door had always been Dean's in the past. Sam went to double check the locks. He didn't know what he was going to do about school now.

Dean needed him. Law school was beckoning – and even now, he could see the path that would get him there. But now, now that road had someone standing off to the side, tow-haired, miserable and alone, desperate for help. He didn't know how he was going to go to law school and take care of Dean at the same time. The chance of getting a full ride to Stanford Law? Pretty likely – but how was he supposed to do all this?

“Don't think about it now.” Jess had come into the room without him noticing. She hugged him around the shoulders, resting her head against him. Both of them were looking over at the sleeping Dean. “We'll manage. It's not as if he's a newborn.” She frowned. “I don't mean it'd be a problem if it was...”

“I get what you're saying.” Sam rubbed her back. “The first few months are going to be the hardest. He's not ready for school, I know that. We'll just...”

“We'll make it, Sam. You told me that your brother gave up his childhood so you could have one. Maybe this is somehow the universe trying to make things right... I know, it sounds crazy but...”

“I get what you're saying.” Sam kissed her forehead. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Crash and burn.” She hugged him. “Time for sleep. Long drive to Salt Lake City tomorrow.”

“You talk to our advisers?” Sam got up and pulled the covers back.

“Yeah. I'm just glad they understood family emergency better than most would.” Jess went to turn on the bathroom light and turn the rest off. “They said they would contact our professors.”

“One less thing to worry about.” He got into bed and when Jess joined him, he snuggled up next to her, putting one arm protectively over her. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Jess replied, pulling the covers closer to her. “Good night.”

“Night.”
*
Sam learned a lot of things he didn't know about his brother over the next several weeks. It was certain that Dean didn't remember his first experience of growing up – other than bits and pieces – most of them events Sam knew he'd been a baby when they occurred. That wasn't what surprised him – it was the nightmares. It wrenched Sam's heart out every time Dean woke up wailing for a mommy who wasn't there, screaming things like 'mommy's burning on the ceiling' and 'scary man did it!' How had Dad handled it? Had he handled it at all? He knew that there was a time when Dean hadn't talked, but he'd never thought about it – at what point did Dad turn into a closed off bastard leaving his four-almost-five year old to take care of his pain on his own.

No wonder Dean had literally thrown himself at Jess for the suggestion of a hug.

He'd grown accustomed to finding his brother curled up in small places in the apartment. Sam was glad that Bobby had come by and checked the place out – and checked his friends out too – the old hunter had really given him what-for on that. His friend Brady had been possessed. For how long, he had no idea.

Dean still hadn't started talking, apart from screams in the night. That was something Sam really wished could stop – but he had no idea how to go about it. However, he himself had developed some sort of internal early-warning system, so at least now he was waking up when Dean started whimpering instead of full blown terrified yells.

Sam came into the room where Dean was shivering under his covers and he didn't even pause, he just pulled his brother into his arms and started rocking him. “Hush little Dean, don't say a word, Sammy is going to buy you a mocking bird...” Lame, he knew it – but it was honestly the only lullaby he knew. He rubbed his brother's back as he continued to rock him, feeling Dean settle down. “Hush little Dean, don't you cry...” He bit back tears of his own. “Your Sammy loves you and always will.”

“Hey Jude.” Dean's voice was so quiet, Sam almost didn't hear it.

“What's that, Dean?” He looked down as his brother tilted his face up to him, his lower lip trembling.

“Mommy sang Hey Jude.”

Sam brushed Dean's hair out of his face, making a note to give the boy a haircut soon. “Your mommy sang pretty, right?”

“Mommy was the best.” He rested his head against Sam's collarbone. “I miss her.”

“I miss mine too.” Sam closed his eyes and went back to rocking his brother. “Wish she was here right now.”

“Did your mommy have to go away too?” Dean's voice is muffled, but Sam doesn't care. His brother is finally talking again and that alone is reason to be joyful.

“Yeah. She had to go away.” Sam decides he'll save explanations on what happened when Dean's older.

Like when he's nine or ten. No way in hell was he going to burden a four year old with more than he needed to be.

*

That night proved to be a turning point. It wasn't easy by any means and there were still bad days, but they started to get few and far between. Somehow, they made it through the holidays and on a cool morning in January, Sam walked his now five year old brother up the steps of the Horace Mann school on campus. There were a few expected sniffles when Sam left his brother, but once Dean caught sight of a group of kids with blocks, thoughts of being left behind fled and he settled right into making new friends.

Sam and Jess got married in a very quick ceremony – which neither of them minded. There was just to many other things for the two of them to do – and really, black tie affair or simple picnic in the park, the two of them weren't any more married whichever way you looked at it. Jess's parents watched Dean for a weekend while the newlyweds went to a bed and breakfast, but that was the extent of it. Sam found he didn't like leaving his brother alone.

He wasn't worried about monsters, demons or anything of the supernatural. What Sam was worried about was John Winchester.

*

Time slipped past in a flurry of classes, papers, school projects and good memories. Dean rarely clamped up into his own quiet world – and nightmares had grown few and far between. What once had been a nightly occurrence had gone to perhaps one a month. Jess got a job teaching in Palo Alto, choosing to save up before tackling nursing school. Dean made a few friends – and got to go to birthday parties. Normal, happy stuff that brought no jealously into Sam's heart. Deep down, Sam knew it wasn't going to last – he knew John was going to show up.

*
Dean was excited. Tomorrow, he was going to go to school. First grade. Sure, he was only five and a half, but he'd taken a test and the teachers said he was ready for it. First grade was serious school, Sammy had told him so. But he wasn't worried. Sam kept telling him how smart he was – and really, it was going to be great. Uncle Bobby had sent him a really awesome pencil box and a Star Wars lunchbox he'd found. It was a really old lunchbox – but it was awesome, metal and it had Han Solo on it. No one else would have a box like his. So there would never be a question of which lunch belonged to Dean Winchester.

He opened up his backpack one more time and pulled out the absolutely wonderful box of forty-eight crayons. Aunt Jess had gotten them for him when they went back to school shopping. His clothes for tomorrow – were already laid out, waiting for him to put them on in the morning. He was about to open the lid of his crayons when Uncle Sammy's voice called out to him.

“Dean! It's time for dinner!”

He put the crayons away and hurried to wash his hands. He could smell the garlic bread and pasta sauce already. “Coming!” He nearly ran into the kitchen and slid into his chair.

Sam chuckled as he set the bowl on the table. “Washed your hands?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his nose, watching Uncle Sammy put more things on the table. “Where's Aunt Jess?”

“She's still finishing up her classroom. She'll be home in another hour.” Sam retrieved a glass of milk for Dean and then sat down. “Excited for the big day tomorrow?”

“Yup.” He got a piece of bread out of the basket as Sammy dished up the food. “You gonna go to school too, right?”

“Right. I've got classes too.” He smiled and set the bowl down. “Careful, it's hot.”

“I know.” Dean took the can of parmigiano cheese and shook it over his pasta. “It smells yummy.”

“Hope it's yummy.”

Dean was about to speak again when someone pounded against the door. “What's that?”

Sam frowned and stood up. “Eat your dinner, I'll take care of it.” He looked worried as the noise came again.

“Is the doorbell broken?” He ate a piece of meatball, watching as Sammy crossed the room and glanced out the window in the door.

“Shit.” He shot a glance at Dean. “Pretend you didn't hear that.” He took a deep breath and opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

A moment later, a man who was shorter than Uncle Sammy and maybe a little younger than Uncle Bobby pushed his way into the apartment. “Where's Dean?”

“He's sitting at the table, eating his dinner.” There was something odd about Sammy's voice. He sounded mad.

“Get his things. We'll be out of here in no time.”

Dean dropped his fork, blinking at the man. “Sammy, I don't wanna go anywhere.”

“Tough.” The man barked. “His things Sam, now.”

“No.” Sam glowered at the man. “Dean's not going anywhere with you dad.”

“I don't give a shit what you want, this is about...”

“What part of he's staying here don't you understand?”

Dean shrank down in his chair as the voices rose. He hated it when people fought. He couldn't imagine why the man wanted to take him away from Uncle Sammy.

“I need him.”

“Bullshit!” Uncle Sammy screamed. “Look at him! You couldn't take care of him the first time he was that age, what the fuck makes you think you can do it now?”

The man hit uncle Sammy. Dean stared, horrified at the man. He'd hurt uncle Sammy. He did the first thing that he could think of. He got up off his chair, raced over and kicked the man as hard as he could in the back of the leg.

John did it on pure instinct and had he been thinking, he never would have done what he did next. He slapped Dean across the face. “Stop that!”

Dean howled in response, tears streaming down his face. “You're mean! Go away!”

Sam picked up his sobbing brother, ignoring the pain in his face, knowing he'd have a black eye tomorrow. “It's okay Dean. He's going.” He smoothed Dean's hair. “Please leave.”

“Sam.” John blinked, as if he had just realized what had just happened. He'd struck both of his boys in anger. Something he swore he'd never to Dean – again. Not after Flagstaff. Sam he'd never hit until now. But he watched as Dean's head turned toward him, and in those green eyes, he saw Mary's face staring back at him, full of accusation and loathing. “I...”

“I asked you to leave. Don't come back here. We're fine.” Sam was glowering. “He's not your little soldier anymore, Dad. He can never be that again.”

“Sam...”

“By the time he could be... you'll be seventy-six.” He lifted his chin and tightened his grip on Dean. “Do you think you can live to see that age, Dad? Can you keep him safe?”

“You were safe, Sam.”

“That's because I had Dean.” He squared his shoulders. “I've asked you to leave twice. This is the last time I'm asking nicely.”

Dean didn't understand all of what Uncle Sammy was saying, only that he knew the man wanted to take him away from here. He didn't want to go. He tightened his grip on his uncle's shirt and sniffled. His face still hurt. “Don't wanna go.”

“You don't have to.” Sammy's voice was a whisper against his ear. “I won't let you go.”

He heard the man come over to them and he turned his face slightly. Sadness had replaced the anger in the man's face. He looked from him to Uncle Sammy and then back at him. He just chose to glare back at the bad man. He sort of looked like his daddy – but no way was his daddy this old.

“Fine.” The man's voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “When are you going to...”

“When he's older.”

The man looked at the two of them again and then walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, Dean heard the front door open and close.

“Where was that man going to take me, Uncle Sammy?”

Sam put Dean back in his chair and went to get a paper towel to wash his brother's face. “Some place that a kid's got no business being.”

“If I'm not supposed to go there, then why'd he want to take me there?” Dean sniffled as Sam rubbed his face with the warm towel.

“Because he doesn't know any better.” Sam shook his head. “You think he would, but he doesn't.” He lifted Dean's chin. “Pretty brave, kicking him like you did. Does your foot hurt?”

“No. I woulda bit him if I could.”

“Biting is not nice. Neither is kicking. No fighting, right?”

“No fighting Sammy. Fighting isn't a good thing.” Dean frowned and touched Sam's cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

“I've had worse. You still hungry?”

“A little.” Dean picked his fork back up, watching as Sam went and filled a towel with ice and pressed it against his cheek. “He's not going to come back, is he?”

“Not any time soon.” Sam sat down at the table, sighing. “Don't worry about him, okay?”

“Okay, Uncle Sammy.” Dean turned his attention back to his food.