About A Boy--Supernatural (Alternate Ending) #JustWriteIt

Part 4

From the expression on Dean's face when he walked up to the car, Sam knew he was in for it.

He threw open the door. "Why didn't you tell me about the case?" He growled.

Sam put up a hand. "Dean, I—"

"No," he exclaimed. "Don't 'Dean' me. You don't get to keep me out of the loop on a case when you put me in the school that all the kids disappeared from. You don't get to keep me out of the loop on a case, period! I'm not actually fourteen, Sam, so don't treat me like it."

Sam sighed. "Did you find anything out?"

The scowl didn't disappear from his face, but Dean started talking while Sam pulled away from the curb. "Yeah. I talked to some of their friends, and Keith's ex. Didn't find a lot from them, nothing more than what the papers had to say. Also I went through the school records, but there was nothing there about any deaths on property or anything suspicious."

"Huh," Sam said, and then nothing.

After a moment, Dean made an impatient gesture. "Well? That's all I get? 'Huh?' You spent all day on this case, Sam. You don't get to cut me out of this just because I get uncontrollable boners."

Sam sighed. He knew that Dean wasn't a kid, but there was a constant thought running through his mind. Everyone deserves a second chance. His brother had decided to stay as a kid so that they could avoid the Mark of Cain, and this wax his second chance at that. But maybe...

Maybe this do-over could be more than just the Mark. Maybe they could start over again. Leave the hunting business. Move to Europe or Australia or Antarctica. Be normal people with normal lives. Sam could pick up law again and Dean could start up a car maintenance place. He knew that Dean had enjoyed his time in a family as normal people, with Lisa and Ben. Sam had taken that away from him, but maybe now he could get back.

"Sam!" Dean yanked the steering wheel to the left and the Impala swerved away from the ditch on the side of the road. Sam jumped, shaken up, and he glanced over at Dean. His face was white as a sheet. Sam looked back at the road and tried to focus.

"Maybe we should pull over," Dean suggested. Sam nodded and pulled into the nearest parking lot, which happened to be a Starbucks cafe.

Dean looked over at him. "What was that? Are you OK, Sammy?"

It was almost comical, Sam supposed, a fourteen year old comforting a man old enough to be his father. It was comical. He started laughing, and laughed and laughed.

Dean simply stared as his brother broke down into hysterical laughter.

Dean had driven the rest of the way back to the motel, and then got Sam back into the room. It hadn't been like that for ages, but Sam wasn't one to lose himself at the wheel. That was one thing that he had always been extremely careful doing, was when he was driving.

Once Sam was sitting down, Dean stepped outside for a breath. He leaned up against Baby and inhaled deeply. The cold was nice. That was something that hadn't changed. He still hated the cold. He might be stuck in his fourteen year old body again, he might be dealing with hormones and angst, and hot creepy goth chicks, but he still hated the cold.

God, he thought, this was hell. As much as he was giving Sam hell, he should have instead been giving him credit. Dean had broken down the first night, when he knew that there was no going back, but Sam had held out so far.

Dean realized that this was actually just as hard on his brother as it was on him. Even though he wasn't actually fourteen, he knew that Sam automatically wanted to act like he was on instinct; when he looked at him he saw a kid—not his older brother. Dean had been selfish, he was realizing. Sam had had more sleepless nights, judging from the amount of legal forgery he had been doing, the research that had been accomplished, the spacing out and dark circles under red swollen eyes. But Dean had been off throwing temper tantrums about redoing the ninth grade.

Maybe this was having a different effect on him than they had thought—maybe the mind of a child came with it, a package deal. Or maybe the selfishness came with the Mark, and he was still fighting the aftereffects. He could remember when he would have put anything first to keep Sammy OK, regardless of what state he himself was in.

He sighed. This was what he had become--the epitome of a teenage boy in a chick flick, questioning everything. Absolutely everything.

He stepped back inside and pulled out his computer, and scrolled through news articles again and again. He closed the tabs with various pornos. Despite his teenage libido, the simple fact that he was a teenager was a permanent turn-off. He felt the familiar dark anxiety settle over him in the way he hadn't felt since he left school. New schools, new people, new cases, new people to save, Sammy to take care of, act normal, cover it up, find a girl maybe, don't piss off dad. It flooded over him, all at once, and he was suddenly unable to distinguish between when he was first a teenager and now. Was that Sam in that bed, or John? Which school was he at? What was the case? Oh god...where was Sam? Was he in trouble? It started as a whirl of thoughts in his head, and then a pervading buzzing in his ears. His throat dried up and it was a struggle to breathe. Sam...people...dad...the cases...schools...it was too much, too much. The words in his head repeated themselves faster and faster until they were indistinguishable from each other, and from the buzzing. Oh god...save him...save him.

There was a fluttering of wings that served to snap Dean back into reality, slowly at first. Castiel. Cas. He felt a wave of relief wash over him like a cold shower. He didn't know Castiel twenty years ago. He was in 2014. It was just Castiel. John wasn't there. He knew all the hunting tricks. Slowly the little mantras of panic fizzled into nothingness, and he took in his surroundings. It was Sam lying in the other bed. And there was a reassuring hand on his shoulder...Castiel.

"Dean?" Cas asked, his voice gravelly and confused. "What--what happened to you?"

Dean groaned and stood up, facing Cas. "Long story. Witch. But..." He held out his arm--clear of the Mark.

Cas stared. "You got rid of it. You're--you're--"

"I'm me again," Dean said. "Fourteen year old me, but still me." He struggled, but kept a note of self-satisfaction in his voice. The problem was solved.

But Cas frowned. "Dean...what is this?" He tugged Dean's arm closer into the light to reveal a series of bruises and discoloured scars across his forearm.

Dean pulled his arm back hastily. "It's nothing...just from this last hunt."

Cas frowned, but didn't say anything other than, "Get some rest, Dean. You look tired."