Rising to the Challenge

A/N: I was in a Wee!Chester mood, apparently, since this is two in a row. One is not dependent upon the other; timeframes are completely different.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to borrow them sometimes. And I know….I break 'em, I buy 'em. Hmmm….might be worth a little break…Just kidding.

ooooo

Living things have been doing just that for a long, long time. Through every kind of disaster and setback and catastrophe. We are survivors.

Robert Fulghum

ooooo

The locker room door slammed back against the wall.

"Hey!" the coach yelled from his office. He heard the ruckus and thought it was just the normal banter that went on after practice. But then he heard the shouting and the – was that a gunshot? It couldn't have been he thought as he took the few steps to his office door. "Oh my god…."

ooooo

Dean Winchester was on his way to the high school to pick his brother up after soccer practice when he heard the news on the radio. It didn't make sense – this was a quiet, small town. Not tiny like some of the places they'd lived, but he knew that a lot of people still felt safe enough not to lock their doors at night. Surely, someone had gotten the facts wrong Dean hoped as he raced toward the school.

He had to park almost two blocks away because of the emergency vehicles, news vans and random cars; not to mention the people milling around. Police had put up a barricade and it looked like the locals had already brought in back-up - Dean saw a few state police cars as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

"Hey!" Dean called to one of the cops. When he didn't get a response, Dean ducked under the wooden barrier. He was stopped almost immediately.

"No one's allowed in," the cop told him.

"My brother's in there!"

"Where are your folks?"

"It's just our dad and he's out of town," Dean said. "Come on, man, I'm 21." He was actually 18, but had an ID declaring him to be 21 if the cop wanted to push it.

"Hold on."

Dean wasn't overly patient as the officer used his radio to someone. He watched as a woman in a dark pant suit walked toward them a few moments later.

"This is Lindsey Cryer," the cop told him. "She's with the police department and coordinating things with the parents. Go with her."

Dean followed the woman to an area on the side of the school where other people had congregated. He'd asked questions as they walked, but she told him he'd have to wait. Looking around the group he was now with, Dean recognized some people from Sammy's soccer games. Everyone looked worried, and no one was talking.

"Where are the kids?" Dean asked the woman again.

"They're still inside," she told him. "We've taken them to another part of the school while the ones who are injured or….It's going to be a few more minutes until we have everything organized. I'm waiting for a list of the survivors."

"Survivors?" Dean repeated, feeling sick. "Some of the kids are dead?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Her tone was somber.

"How many?" Dean heard himself asking.

"I'm waiting for that information." She excused herself and spoke with a few of the parents before making her way back to the building.

Dean moved to the outskirts of the small group and dialed his brother's cell phone number. Sammy didn't usually turn it on when he was at school, but Dean had to try. He hoped that getting voicemail didn't mean anything bad.

Someone in a police uniform meandered through the group to collect names and phone numbers, and although it wasn't particularly cold, Dean was shivering when Lindsey Cryer came back almost 15 minutes later. There was another woman with her, but no introductions were made. It didn't take long for her to get everyone's attention, and once she had it, she called out the names of seven students and asked their parents to go with the newcomer.

"Where are they going?" someone asked. "You have to tell us something!"

Lindsey looked around the group. "It's going to be just a few more minutes. I'm sorry."

"You can at least tell us why they were taken away. Are their children hurt or….?"

"I…" Lindsey held up a hand as she reached into her pocket to pull out a ringing cell phone. She turned her back to everyone when she answered it. Dean was ready to make a break for it and look for Sam on his own when she turned her attention back to them. "Okay, I can take you to your kids now."

ooooo

Dean knew his way around the school even though he'd never been a student there and he recognized that they were being led to the teacher lounge. Lindsey paused outside the door and turned to face the group, finally telling them something. "Your children are inside. The parents whose kids needed medical care or….Your kids are all right. Scared, some have minor injuries, but they're all right. We have everyone's name, so you can take your kids home. We'll be in touch very soon."

As soon as the door was opened, Dean rushed inside with the parents. He saw Sammy sitting in a chair near the window, curled up as far as his legs would let him. As soon as he saw Dean, Sam jumped up and ran toward him, surprising him with a hug.

"Hey, it's okay, Sammy." Dean rubbed his back, feeling him shaking. "It's okay now."

Sam was always open with his emotions; he had been his whole life. When he was happy, he showed it and he was never shy to admit fear. Dean took half a step away and put his hands on Sam's face, looking at him closely. "You hurt?"

Sam shook his head. "I wanna go home, Dean."

Some of the kids were already being escorted out by their parents. Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulders and led him toward the door. He was sure that Sam didn't even notice the crowd they had to navigate through to get to the Impala.

Dean opened the car door for him and Sam got in, slouching as far down in the seat as he could, hugging himself. Dean crouched beside him and laid a hand on his leg. "Hey."

Sam looked at him, his eyes still wide with fear.

"We're gonna go home and you're gonna tell me all about what happened. But you're safe now, okay? Nothing is gonna happen to you."

Sam nodded and Dean patted his leg before standing up and pushing the door closed. As soon as Dean slipped behind the wheel, Sam scooted a little closer to him.

ooooo

"No, Dad, he's not hurt," Dean said into the phone as he paced in the living room. He and Sam had been home for almost an hour. "He hasn't said much about what happened yet."

"Have you talked to the cops about it?"

"Briefly at the school, but someone is supposed to get in touch. The school is closed for the rest of the week."

"Any idea who did the shooting?"

"From what I heard, it was a kid who was cut from the team, but that didn't come from the cops."

"Where's Sammy now?"

"He fell asleep."

"Yeah, no wonder, poor kid. I know you can handle this, but I want to talk to the police."

"Yes, sir."

"Everything else all right? You doin' okay?"

"Yes, sir, I'm fine. When do you think you'll be home?"

"Probably another four or five days, but I'll be in touch. You can call if you need me, okay?"

Dean was a little taken aback by the gentleness in his dad's voice. "I know."

"Okay. I gotta go. Have Sammy call me when he wakes up, all right?"

"Yeah, I will. Be safe, Dad." Dean dropped the phone onto the kitchen table, then went to check on Sam. He was curled up on his bed, arms wrapped around his pillow. Dean leaned against the door frame and watched him for several minutes.

ooooo

Dean had just gotten off the phone with a police officer when he heard Sam yell from the bedroom. He rushed down the hall to find his brother sitting up, his legs over the side of the bed, and his face in his hands.

"Sammy?" Dean made sure to get his attention before sitting down next to him.

Sam rubbed his face before looking at Dean. "Bad dream."

Dean put a hand on his back. "Hey, I just talked to a cop. He's going to come by in a couple of hours to talk to you."

"I already told them what I saw," Sam said, sounding miserable.

"Yeah, but you're probably going to have to talk about it a few times. And I still don't know exactly what happened." Sam looked at him, profound sadness in his eyes. Dean clasped his shoulder. "You don't have to talk about it right now. Dad wants you to call him."

"He knows?"

"What doesn't Dad know, man?" Dean smiled.

"I just….I don't wanna keep talking about it. I see it in my head and…." Sam bent over, elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands.

Dean rubbed his back. He spoke to his brother in gentle tones, thinking it didn't really matter what he said. There were no words that would make Sam forget what he'd seen.

After several minutes, Sam straightened up. "I'm gonna get cleaned up before I call Dad. Can we order pizza?"

"Absolutely. I'll call it in now."

Sam nodded, then left the room.

ooooo

Sam flushed the toilet, washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He didn't know how long he stood bent over the sink – he heard the murmur of Dean's voice as he ordered the pizza, then the drone of a newscaster on the television. He couldn't hear the words clearly, but he knew what story was being reported.

Sam found himself in the living room a few moments later, standing behind the couch and staring at the television. He saw film footage of the crowd outside his school – a reporter talking to parents and students; kids who hadn't even been in the locker room.

Dean must have heard him breathing, because all of a sudden he flipped off the TV. "Sammy…."

Sam didn't understand why Dean looked so worried; why his brother led him to the couch and made him sit down. But then he realized he was shaking and tears were rolling down his cheeks. Dean sat next to him; Sam felt his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Sam didn't resist and he didn't care if he was being stupid. He let Dean hold and comfort him.

He was more in control of himself when the pizza was delivered. He wasn't hungry any more, but he half-heartedly tried to eat a slice knowing that Dean was watching him. He appreciated that Dean was close, but giving him space. He wasn't ready to talk about what happened yet.

Dean wrapped up the leftover pizza and put it away while Sam pretended to watch a comedy on television. The phone calls had started. Dean answered every one – some were from the soccer team parents, some from teachers, and of course, the reporters. Someone even knocked on the door, but Sam went to his bedroom while Dean handled it. He heard the angry tone of his brother's voice, but not the words as he pushed the bedroom door closed.

Sam rolled onto his side on the bed and noticed the cordless phone on the bedside table. He reached for it, then dialed his father's cell phone number. He expected the call to go to voicemail and almost didn't respond when his dad answered.

"Uh, Dad? It's me."

"Sammy….how are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Okay? Really?"

It wasn't often that Sam wished for his dad to be home. He'd never seen anything Dean couldn't handle, and Dean was always there, but for some reason, right now Sam wanted his father.

"No," he whispered. "Dad, this is so messed up."

"What happened, Sammy? All I know is –"

"I don't want to talk about it. Dean says there's a cop coming soon and I have to talk to him, but…."

"It's important to tell the police what happened, but if you're not ready yet…."

"People keep calling," Sam said, as if he hadn't heard his father speak. "Dean talks to them, but the ringing….and someone's here. A reporter, I think."

"It's okay, Sammy. Dean will take care of everything. If it gets too bad, just go to a motel. You don't have school for the rest of the week, so you can leave town if you want."

"When are you coming home?"

"I don't know. A few days."

"Oh." Sam's voice was quiet.

"Sammy…."

He rolled over when he heard the bedroom door open. "It's okay, Dad," he said, seeing his brother's face. "I'll talk to you later."

ooooo

Dean sat on the couch next to his brother while the police detective asked Sam questions. Sam answered them using as few words as possible, his eyes trained on the floor. Dean had tried to end the interview a few minutes before when Sam started to cry, but Sam wanted to get it over with. He wanted the cop to leave and not have to come back. And he just wanted to pretend the day had been completely normal as he drifted off to sleep.

ooooo

"Our dad hadn't wanted him to play soccer," Dean said once all the detective's questions had been answered and Sam was in the bedroom. "But Sammy really wanted it, so I helped convince him. Now I wish I hadn't."

"You know this isn't your fault," the detective said. "There's no reason to think something like this will happen when you let a kid play a sport, ya know?"

Dean nodded. He liked this man, despite him being a cop. He looked like someone's grandfather.

"Some jackass who got cut from the team…" Dean shook his head as he thought over what he now knew had happened. "He gets cut from the team and decides he needs to kill people over it? Kill innocent kids? That is beyond messed up."

"Yeah, it is," the detective agreed. "And your brother is going to need some help to deal with it."

Dean looked at him, not wanting to have this conversation.

"When will your father be home?"

"He's working – it'll probably be a few days."

The detective reached into his pocket for a business card. "The school district is bringing some counselors in to talk to the boys who were in the locker room. You'll get a phone call soon, but in the meantime, if you need help, call this number. She works with the police department."

Dean took the card and put it on the coffee table before the detective held out another one. "And this is my number. Have your dad call me and feel free to use it if you need anything."

Dean took that one as well. "What happened to the shooter?"

"He shot himself after killing the coach."

"He's dead?"

Ramsey nodded. "Yeah. Dead on the scene."

Dean shook his head. "Beyond messed up, man."

ooooo

Sam was plagued by nightmares all night, and every time he woke up, Dean was at is side. It was around 6:30 in the morning when Sam gave up trying to sleep. He quietly got out of bed and put the blanket over Dean; he'd not made it back to his own bed after Sam's last dream.

After a stop in the bathroom, Sam grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and sat at the kitchen table. He felt like an idiot – a weakling. Weakness was not something tolerated in the Winchester family and Sam realized that he was relieved his father wasn't going to cut his hunt short to come home.

Sam knew he could handle this; he just needed to wrap his head around it first. And Dean would be a lot more understanding than their father would be. At least lately, Sam mused. He wondered, not for the first time, if something had happened to make their dad so unrelenting. He hadn't always been like this….

Sam woke up with the last images of the dream fresh in his mind. He immediately looked to the next bed where his brother should be, but Dean wasn't there. Then he remembered. Dean was with some of the other big boys from his school.

"Daddy!" Sam called, unable to calm his fears alone. "Daddy!"

It wasn't very long before his father was sitting on the side of the bed, pulling him onto his lap. "What is it, Sammy?"

"I had a bad dream."

"You know dreams can't hurt you, right?"

Sam nodded against his father's chest.

"What did you dream about?"

"A big monster was after me."

"Where were you?"

"In the woods."

"You'd never be in the woods all alone, Sammy. You know that Dean and I would always be with you."

"Uh-huh." Sam felt his father softly kiss his head and he looked up at his smiling face. "When I get big like you, you and Dean won't always have to be with me."

John kissed him again. "But we will always make sure you're safe. You want some warm milk before going back to sleep?"

"Uh-huh. And a story?" he looked at his father with a shy grin.

"A story, huh?" John hugged him. "Yeah, I think a story is a good idea."

Sam rubbed his eyes and stared out of the kitchen window.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard Dean's footsteps behind him. He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder before he walked past and started the coffee brewing. A moment later, Dean was sitting across from him at the small table.

"Hey."

"Hey," Sam said.

"How long have you been out here?"

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea."

"You had a rough night."

"Yeah, you, too. Sorry."

Dean waved it off. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Ya know, --"

"I said no, Dean," Sam was irritated and too tired to hide it.

"Yeah, okay." Dean sat back in his chair.

Sam looked around the room. He was used to living in cheap places and it didn't usually bother him. He had what he needed and he loved his family. But right now, nothing looked good to him and nothing was going to make him happy. He couldn't get the image of what he'd seen yesterday out of his head and he didn't know how to deal with it.

"This place sucks," Sam said glumly. "I hate the worn paint and the used furniture. Why can't we ever have anything nice?"

"Come on, Sammy, you know why –" Sam's glare stopped Dean. He looked at Sam for a long moment before standing up and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You want some?"

"No." Sam voice was quiet.

Dean turned around and leaned back against the counter. "How about we get out of here? We can jump in the car and go somewhere for a while – we can start with breakfast and maybe a movie?"

Sam thought about it. Anything would be better than sitting around the shabby house. He nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Why don't you take the first shower and I'll mainline some caffeine?"

Sam stood up and left the kitchen without a word.

ooooo

Sam suggested they get on the highway and stop for food later. Dean suspected he didn't want to run the risk of bumping into someone he knew. The whole town knew what had happened the day before, and any kid Sam's age could be the target for a reporter or just someone a little too nosey. The news no doubt had reached nearby towns, too, but there'd be less reason for anyone there to think Sam knew anything about it.

Dean hadn't driven very far when he glanced toward the passenger side of the car and noticed Sam had fallen asleep. He turned down the radio volume a little, and settled back against the seat. It was no surprise his younger brother was able to sleep in the car – he'd gotten a lot of practice doing just that over the years. Dean silently hoped the dreams didn't plague him here, too.

Sam jerked awake half an hour later. He sat up and looked around. "Where are we?"

Dean glanced at him, trying to determine if he'd had another nightmare. "East of home. That's about as accurate as I can be because I haven't really been paying attention."

"Sorry I fell asleep,"

"It's okay. How ya doin'?"

"No dreams."

"Good. That's something. I'm gonna stop at the next place for food, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

The next place turned out to be a fast food restaurant 10 miles down the road. Sam didn't protest, so Dean parked and they went inside. There weren't many other customers, so after getting their food, they almost had their pick of places to sit.

Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam picked at his burger without actually taking a bite from it, but he didn't say anything about it. He tried to start a light conversation, though Sam's one-word responses made it difficult. It didn't take long for them to lapse into complete silence.

He had never seen anything like Sam had seen yesterday and wasn't sure how to help his brother deal with it. He knew how their dad would feel about Sam talking to a counselor, but Dean was beginning to think that wouldn't be such a bad idea. He was still thinking about it when his cell phone rang a few minutes later.

There was no way to disguise that the call was about Sam and as soon as he realized it, Sam left the table. Dean watched as he went toward the bathrooms at the back of the restaurant. The call was over before Sam came back.

"Well?" Sam demanded, looking at Dean with hard eyes.

Dean cleared his throat, knowing that Sam wouldn't like what he was about to tell him. He steeled himself for Sam's anger and met his stare. "All the guys from the team are supposed to meet with a counselor tomorrow to talk about what happened as a group."

"No."

"Sammy, come on. You'll be there with other people who went through the same thing."

"No."

"You have to do this,"

"Are you going to order me?" Sam asked, his sarcasm blatant.

"No," Dean said, not missing a beat. "But I really want you to give it a shot. Do it for me."

Sam's face softened. "Dean, please."

Dean hated the plaintive sound of his brother's voice almost as much as he hated to see the fear in his eyes. "You gotta talk to someone about this, man. And it makes sense to talk to the other people who saw it."

"You don't understand," Sam said quietly.

"You're right. I don't understand it. That's why –"

"No. Not…not what happened. At least…." Sam sighed, sounding frustrated and stood up quickly, walking out before Dean could stop him.

In a rush, Dean gathered their trash and followed Sam, finding him pacing next to the Impala. Dean saw Sam glance toward him, but he didn't stop moving. Dean leaned back against the trunk and watched his brother. It was several long moments before Sam spoke. "I'm not like those other guys and you know it.'

"But you all saw the same thing."

"But I'm not like them! I know more than they do, I've had training that they haven't had."

Dean was beginning to grasp what Sam was feeling. "You think you should have been able to do something."

Sam finally stopped pacing and stood in front of Dean. His expression told Dean he'd guessed correctly.

"Sammy, your training is for ghosts and --" He grabbed Sam's shoulders when he tried to turn away. "Neither one of us has had training to deal with something like this. The guy had a gun, Sammy. More than one, according to Detective Malloy. What could you have done up against that?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, miserably.

"Sammy, come on," Dean loosened his grip on Sam's shoulders, but still maintained contact.

"I know Dad's disappointed in me."

Dean was confused. "What? Did he tell you that?"

"You know it, too."

"I do not," Dean insisted. "Where is this coming from?"

"I failed, Dean. I should have been able to do something, but I didn't."

"Tell me what you could have done differently," Dean said as Sam pulled away and began to pace again.

"I…" Sam looked at him, then turned away, still moving.

"Sam?"

"I could have done something other than freeze up!" Sam leaned against the Impala and Dean moved to his side.

"You wanna tell me what really happened now?" Dean asked softly.

Sam didn't respond, but Dean saw he was shaking. He put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the passenger side door. "Get in." Sam didn't resist.

Dean slid in behind the wheel, but turned so that he could look at Sam. He put his arm on the back of the seat almost close enough to touch Sam's shoulder with his fingers. After a moment, Sam turned and rested his back against the door.

"Talk," Dean told him.

"It all happened so fast. The door slammed against the wall and Toby walked through the room – I heard the first gunshot before I saw him. I knew it was a gun, but I couldn't believe it, you know?" Sam looked at him with tears in his eyes. "I mean, I know what a gun sounds like, but this was school, man."

"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly. "So what did you do?"

"Nothing," Sam snorted. "I froze. Worse, I dove under the bench and covered my head with my arms while Toby shot…killed seven people."

Dean touched Sam's arm, but moved his hand away when Sam flinched.

"Listen to me," Dean said, his voice quiet but firm. "Sometimes all you can do in a situation is protect yourself. No matter how much training we go through, no matter how much we know, sometimes there's just nothing else we can do. You're not Superman, okay? You're not faster than a speeding bullet. In this situation, you're just like those other kids."

Sam looked at Dean, almost hopefully. Dean knew Sam wanted to believe him, but he couldn't quite manage it. Dean reached out to touch him and this time, Sam didn't resist.

"I don't know, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I do. And since I'm older, I have to be right." Dean smiled at his brother.

"Yeah?" Sam's voice was small.

"Yep." Dean nodded confidently.

"What time is that appointment tomorrow?"

Dean's smile broadened. "Ten in the morning."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll go."

Dean nodded. "Well, all right."

ooooo

The brothers were home by early afternoon, after spending time in an arcade. Sam ignored the games that involved battles and zeroed in on a racing game. He'd been happy to beat Dean a couple of times and he crowed about it all the way home.

Dean had needed to field a few more phone calls on Sam's behalf, but after a while he started letting them go to voicemail. Sam sat on the couch next to him while they listened to the messages on the cell phone's speaker, and they agreed to ignore the majority of them.

Sam was dozing in the recliner when he heard Dean's phone ring sometime later. He opened his eyes to see that Dean was asleep on the couch and didn't seem to hear it. He was going to ignore it as well, but decided to answer it at the last minute.

"Hello?"

"Sammy? Hey, it's Dad."

"Hey, Dad," Sam was relieved it wasn't a cop or someone from the school.

"How ya doin'?"

"All right."

"How'd you sleep last night?"

Sam thought about his answer for a moment. He couldn't blatantly lie, even about something as insignificant as this, but at the same time he felt his father's disappointment. "Not so great."

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Dean kept waking up with me, so it wasn't so bad." Sam didn't want to talk about it any more. "How's your hunt?"

"I've had better. I'm hitting a lot of dead ends. I was thinking I'd just hang it up for now and come home."

"You don't have to do that," Sam said quickly. "I mean, things are okay here."

"Yeah, well, we'll see. I'm working another lead now."

Sam glanced at Dean when he came into the kitchen. He looked at Sam questioningly.

"Hey, Dad, you wanna talk to Dean?"

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dad?'

"It's all gonna be okay. I love you, Son."

"Thanks, Dad. I love you, too."

Sam handed the phone to Dean, then left the kitchen.