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Changing his nephew is absolutely not Sam’s favourite thing to do, but once the gross part was over, there is ample opportunity to indulge in his silly side without any judgement. And today is no different. Dean squealed whenever Sam pulled faces, kicking out his legs and flailing his chubby little arms. Sam grinned at the sight, easily catching hold of Dean’s legs, and pressing a swift kiss to the sole of each tiny foot. Then he reached up to press his lips to Dean’s soft tummy and blew a loud raspberry. Dean positively erupted with delighted peals of baby laughter.
“Who’s my favourite nephew then?” Sam cooed, smoothing his fingers over the baby’s downy head.
Dean wriggled enthusiastically, a big gummy grin on his freckled face, as if to say; “Me, me me!”
"That's right, Cherub!" said Sam, grinning warmly.
The slightly more complex process of getting Dean dressed followed; he was too much of a fidgeter for it to go smoothly. Today, Sam had selected a pale yellow onesie with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front. Sam was pretty sure Cas had bought it because of the little honey bees stitched on it in shiny gold thread. Adult Dean tolerated these cutesie outfits, though he preferred to dress the baby in plain colours or rock-themed clothes.
The bunker was always a melancholy place when he was there alone, so Sam cherished these times when he wasn’t technically on his lonesome, and he got to spoil his nephew. Dean seemed to like it too, if the way he clutched onto Sam’s plaid shirt and babbled constantly, as they made their way to the kitchen, was any indication. Sam's brother was pretty good at letting people know when he was pissed off; he’d transferred that ability to his son, who had a set of lungs on him and wasn’t afraid to utilise them.
Sam did his best to keep Dean in high spirits though, mashing a nice concoction of strawberries and banana for his breakfast. Dean took one look at it and said; “Blah!” and suddenly there was a fresh baked cherry pie on the table of his highchair. Dean screeched in triumph, immediately plunging both pudgy hands into the unhealthy treat. Sam sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. It was no use trying to separate Dean from his ill-gotten gains; he’d only conjure another one to replace it. Luckily Cas had assured them Dean didn’t actually need to eat.
“He takes no nutritional value from any food he consumes. He merely partakes in the custom because he likes to fit in with his family, and he enjoys the taste sensations.” Cas had said, when Sam tried to convince Dean that letting your kid eat pie all day was not a viable lifestyle choice.
Sam threw up is hands in surrender, though he had by no means given up the fight for healthier food consumption in this family. It was hard not to be charmed by the sight of Dean stuffing his chubby cheeks though, pink cherry filling all over his face. With a subdued chuckle, Sam picked up the fruit mush and ate it himself.
After breakfast, and a thorough application of facial wipes to the little man’s face, Sam took Dean to the storeroom they’d converted into his play room. The place was thickly carpeted, painted a cheery apple green, and peppered with different coloured handprints on the walls, from their friends and extended family, and filled with a broad selection of soft, plush toys. Sam in particular was paranoid about letting the baby play with hard wooden or plastic toys, though Cas was quick to debunk the theory of those being dangerous for Dean as well. But no matter how many times he was told Dean was a nephilim, and stronger than him, it didn’t change the fact that Sam looked at the kid and saw a fragile baby.
After a few hours playing peek-a-boo and providing silly voices for Dean’s teddies, it was lunchtime, and then research time for Sam. At first he kept Dean on his knee, cuddled against his chest with one broad hand, whilst he typed with the other. Dean grew bored of that however, and soon dropped to sleep. Sam carefully transferred his precious bundle into the waiting playpen, with its thick, soft surface for Dean to snuggle down into.
Sam checked on him periodically, and the first three times, all he found was a gently snoring nephew, lost to the world. The fourth time, however, Sam gave a horrified yell when he found the pen empty.
With strangled cries, he called out the babies’ name. He had taken out his gun, a reflex action, even though he knew he’d never shoot anyone who was carrying Dean in their arms, kidnapper or no. The risk of harm to his nephew was too great. Sam tore through the bunker, yelling at the top of his voice, but in vain. Cas could no longer respond to prayers the same way he used to, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear them. Sam was in tears by the time Cas called him, obvious worry colouring his voice.
By the time Cas and Dean got home, Sam was sitting on the steps to the war-room, cradling a sheepish Dean, who was babbling baby-style reassurance to his freaked-out uncle.
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean grumbled, plucking his kid out of Sam’s arms. “Did you lose my kid?”
Little Dean cooed at the sight of his pissed-off father, whose gaze immediately softened at the sight of his healthy, safe baby. Sam shrugged helplessly in response to Dean’s question; he’d found the younger Dean in the aquarium, watching the fish with a look of wondrous rapture on his face. He had no idea how the baby had managed to escape the pen and toddle there, when he couldn’t even walk. When Sam said so, Cas gave a little hum and leaned over Dean’s shoulder, to look into baby Dean’s eyes. They did their Vulcan mind-meld thing, and Cas’ face transformed with a proud smile.
“I believe I can explain what transpired here. Dean was playing ‘hide and seek’ with Uncle Sam, but was distracted from the game by the wonderful aquarian creatures in room 54. I believe Dean has worked out how to use his wings.”
Sam and Dean looked equally flabbergastered by that revelation, but Cas didn’t seem the least bit ruffled. “Did you tell Uncle Sam you were going to play hide and seek?”
Dean didn’t answer, of course; at least not in the human fashion. But he did look apologetic when Cas picked him up, and after an appropriate pause Cas said; “Ah, that is the problem. Next time, wait until your grown-up initiates a game themselves, so they are sure you are merely playing and not in any danger. It is also wise to set the parameters of the game, such as which rooms are not to be used, and a time limit for forfeiting if you have not yet been found...”
Cas’ voice trailed off into the distance as he walked through the bunker, presumably to put away his and Dean’s duffle bags, which he was carrying over the arm he wasn’t using to cradle the baby against his chest. Sam and Dean exchanged similarly horrified expressions at the thought of little Dean being able to zap wherever he wanted.
“Well,” sighed Dean, “I suppose I’ll let you off the hook.”
Sam couldn’t help a nervous giggle; just another day in their crazy lives. He was just glad everything had worked out all right in the end. His family might be wacky, but he wouldn’t change them for anything.