"I'll be back before you know it." Dean says from where he is stood in the door frame. His duffle swung gracefully over his shoulder. Sam distantly wonders if Dad gave Dean a handbook of 'How to Look Good Hunting' because Sam can do the training, read the Latin, learn the lore, but he will never be able to carry it off like Dean seamlessly does.
Sam turns his head back to face the window. And how cliché that all he can see is a grey sky and water streaking down the pane.
"Come on Sam." And Dean's voice is closer now, "It will only be a week, two tops. Caleb needs help and now I don't have to go to school anymore…"
"No." Sam sighs and graces his brother with eye contact again, "I know. It's just… It sucks here."
"I hear ya." Dean grins coming to stand behind Sam as they both now stare out at the motel lot, the grey of the tarmac bleeds into the grey of the road and the buildings, all the way up to the sky. It's like the entire town has a smoke filter over it. "But when I get back Dad should be up to moving again and we'll put this place in our rear-view." There's a stretch of silence before Dean opens his mouth again, and Sam sighs because he knows what's coming. "Just take it easy with Dad OK."
"I know Dean." Sam sighs. It's not like they argue every time they are alone but it has been happening more and more recently. And Sam knows his Dad; having to send his son to help out a fellow hunter instead of himself because he pulled his back isn't going to put him in the most charitable moods for the next week or so.
"Hey and just think – with me gone you might have a chance to sample the local delicacy." Sam rolls his eyes but can't help the slight quirk to his lips. This town may be shit hole full to the brim with assholes and wanna-be assholes but they do have a championship cheerleading squad, which Dean was very excited about when they first got here.
Sam turns away from the window and gives Dean a playful shove. "Just go before Caleb recovers his sense and leaves you behind."
"What you talking bout Sammy. I am a joy."
"Yeah. Be sure to remind him of that after your third burger with extra onions."
"Aww, Sammy. I'll miss you too lil bro." Dean reaches out and pulls Sam into an awkward half head-lock, half hug, which turns into a weird head-hug thing. Sam struggles half-heartedly at first but soon stops and just leans into his brothers frame.
"Be careful." He mumbles into Deans T-short covered chest. The arms around him tighten quickly then retreat and Dean has his grin firmly in place.
"Always am Sammy. Now be a good boy." Dean mocks, picking his duffle back up off the floor, "Eat all your greens, and do as Daddy says."
"Just go you loser."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Boys." They both whip their head around to where John is stood by the open motel door. "Caleb's waiting for you Dean."
"Yes Sir." Dean gives one last ruffle to Sam's hair, dodging Sam's failing limbs, and ambles over to his father.
"Now listen to Caleb, I know spirits are an old hat to you now but remember-"
"There's no such thing as a simple salt'n'burn. Got it Dad." John tries to hide it but Sam see's the amused glint in his eyes at his eldest back chat.
"Alright. Well, be careful." John pulls Dean into a one armed hug, complete with manly pat to the back.
"Will do sir. See you soon Sammy." Dean waves before exiting the room and jogging to Caleb's truck. After another quick wave to his family Dean jumps in the cab and the truck pulls out of the parking lot.
There's a brief moment of silence after John closes the door where neither Winchester is really looking at each other.
"So just you and me now, eh Sammy?"
Sam gives a deep sigh looking around the cramped motel room and then out at the grey town, which suddenly seems darker than it had a few moments ago. "Yes sir." He replies.
Life alone with his Dad isn't too bad. Sam would never admit this on pain of death but they are both quite similar. They both like things quiet, Dean is loud and brash and turns the volume up right to the top. Sam watches TV on a low volume, likes to read and, when Dean isn't there to draw him out, will quite happily not speak for the entire afternoon.
Dean left on Saturday afternoon and the eldest and youngest Winchester have quite a nice couple of days. They keep to themselves, John reading up on the next hunt no doubt, but Sam gave up asking about that years ago. And Sam doing some homework and perusing the text that Pastor Jim gave to him last time the visited. It's too miserable for John to want to go outside to train on the weekend but Sam knows that this respite won't last forever.
It's Monday morning he is dreading.
Because, like Sam has said before, this town is full of assholes and wanna-be assholes. And all of the wanna-be assholes and a fair few of the assholes, go to Sam's school.
Sam is used to being the new kid. The one in the hand-me down clothes, the one that knows all the answers in the quiz, the one that lives on the rough side of town. But up until this year he had one thing going for him; he was Dean Winchesters brother.
Up until this year Dean had been at school with him, maybe not everyday because, well… it was Dean, but Dean still had a presence in the school.
Wherever they went Dean imposed himself onto the school psych. With his cocky attitude and his natural charisma, he worked his way into the schools hierarchy. Now, Sam knew that all of Dean's bravado was a mask to hide how out of place he felt, a kind of 'fuck the system' attitude, but it was a ruse that worked. It worked so well that it bled down the food chain to Sam and people left him well enough alone.
Now, Sam was just another nameless, faceless scrawny boy that did well in class and didn't have the latest trainers. In other words, he was an inevitable target.
But Sam was a Winchester, and Winchesters didn't back down and hide so when Monday morning came around he left his dad asleep on the sofa where he had eventually passed out at about three, grabbed his backpack and headed to school.
As soon as he saw the grey (surprise!) stone building materialise ahead of him he felt his hackles raise. He squared his shoulders, eyes to the floor and just kept on walking.
He ignored the calls of 'geek boy' and 'trailer trash' hollered at him as he crossed the paved seating area in front of the school and braced himself against the shoves to his shoulders as he wandered through the corridors. 'Just keep you head down' had been his Dad's advice when he said the school was full of idiots. So that was what he was doing, but it didn't seem to be helping.
First period Algebra was simple, second period history a doddle, third period Latin was laughably easy. Then lunch.
Eating on the bleachers was a habit he had picked up from going to school with Dean. They always sat outside together and ate whatever sandwich Dean had rustled up for them. Sam didn't get it, Dean could have sat with whoever he wanted in the lunch hall, but he chose to sit outside in the cold with his little brother. Sam never said anything though. He may not have got it but it didn't mean he wasn't grateful.
So Sam sat alone on the bleachers and ate his lunch. He liked it out here. The lunch hall was too crowded, messy and noisy. Nobody else came out here, it was quiet and he could eat his lunch in peace and maybe read a little before heading back to class.
Sam was halfway through his sandwich and just starting on the third chapter of his book when he heard him. The unmistakable voice of Karl Wetlock. Captain of the football team, son of the Principle and one of those assholes Sam had talked about.
"Well look what we have here!" his voice drawled out from the field, "A stray. Should we take him to the pound boys?" Karl's cronies all giggled in the back ground and Sam only just managed to restrain rolling his eyes.
"I don't want any trouble." Sam said clearly as he put his things back in his bag. He was a Winchester and would stand up for himself, but he also knew the wisdom of a tactical retreat and one scrawny fourteen year old, no matter how well trained wasn't much of a match for four football players.
"Oh I don't think you'll be much trouble." Karl sneered in Sam's face as he reached the bleachers. They stayed in deadlock for a few moments before Karl whipped out to grab Sam's bag. Sam's training unconsciously kicked in as he pulled the bag from Karls reach and sent out his right arm to jab Karls hand away.
KARL let out a growl and shook his hand. "Seems puppy knows how to bite." The words were said lightly but Sam could see the anger stirring behind those eyes. Now would be the time for that tactical retreat, and he would have if two of Karl's followers hadn't grabbed him by the arms at that point.
Before he could do much thinking Karl swung forward and delivered a swift punch to Sam's gut. Not prepared for it, all of the air left Sam's lungs in a whoosh and his upper body sagged forward. Karl's cronies dropped his arms and he dropped to his knees in the mud. The group left with a few muttered phrases and sneers, making sure to empty Sam's bag right on top of a particularly messy puddle before leaving Sam alone.
By the time Sam got home he was tired and irritated and the, no doubt impressive, bruise to his abdomen was aching. He just wanted to get in, get out of his damp clothes and go to sleep. One look at his fathers face when he entered the room told him that wasn't going to happen.
"I want five miles and then push ups."
"Dad, come on-" Sam started to whine. And he would perfectly admit that it was a whine. He was too tired to mask it as anything else.
"No Sam. There's is no need for you to fall behind on your training just because I am out of action for a bit. Now get moving."
"Fine." Sam huffed, grabbing his tracksuit.
"What was that?"
"Yes sir".
So now Sam was tried, aching and sweaty and starving. Luckily John had gotten dinner ready whilst he was running so as soon as he got in he changed and ate. After that he felt marginally better. Not good enough to answer his dad's probing about school with anything more than sullen grunts and nods. And he was trying he really was, but he just wanted to go to sleep and pretend this day hadn't happened.
Another day, more rain and another run in with Karl and now Sam was sporting bruised knuckles to go along with his tender stomach. And this time he had jumping jacks and interval training waiting for him at home. And this time he couldn't just swan off to bed after dinner either because he had to catch up on the homework he missed the night before.
Sam was well aware that his patience was on a loose thread so kept well away from his father, and John didn't seem to mind.
It wasn't until after the third day that he walked home with another injury cutesy of Karl that he realised it hadn't even entered his mind to tell his father. It just wasn't an option to him at all. He had already had more than enough disappointed looks and lectures on 'being a Winchester' to last him a life time. Dean had never had this type of problem in school. Sure he had had a few jealous boyfriends to put in their place over time, but he had put them in their place. Sam hadn't even got in any decent damage yet.
He was fourteen for god sake. He was a decent fighter, a pretty good shot with a gun and deadly accurate with a bow. These asshats should run at the mere thought of him. But Sam didn't think that bringing a bow and arrow to school was in line with 'keeping his head down'.
So he sighed, again, and trudged down the side of the road and was ridiculously grateful when his Dad announced shooting practice for tonight's training. He didn't think his brand new sprained knee would appreciate any jogging.
The next night John went out to the library in the evening and Sam got to speak to Dean for the first time.
"So you behaving yourself?" was Dean first question.
"Yes Dean." Sam replied with a long suffering sigh.
"Just checking, just checking. No wild parties and naked chicks whilst Dad's out?"
"Oh yeah. I'm having a rave as we speak." Sam muttered glancing down at his French text book and the half eaten packet of Cheetos next to it.
"Awesome. So… schools good yeah? No problems?"
And it was on the tip of Sam's tongue that yes there was a massive problem. That he was obviously a complete wuss that he couldn't even get through one week without his big brother there to protect him and could Dean please come home already because he was sick of being pushed around by the school bullies.
It was right on the tip of his tongue… But he made some sarcastic comment and started asking Dean about the hunt. Which distracted Dean enough that he didn't realise Sam hadn't answered the question.
It wasn't that he thought Dean would be disappointed or ridicule him for having trouble at school. No – it would be worse. Dean would be totally understanding and totally bad ass and would come home from his hunt and kick Karl's ass for even thinking of hurting Sam. Then he would put an arm around Sam's shoulders and lead him away from the crumpled mess that Karl and his friends would be on the floor.
But Sam needed to grow up now, needed to fight his own battles. Here Sam was, getting picked on by a couple of jackasses whilst Dean was hunting a supernatural monster and saving lives.
Yeah, he could handle this himself.
Sam was so relieved when the weekend came around that he didn't even mind the run his Dad sent him on Friday night. When he got back he took a long shower and fantasied about two whole days with no Karl and co. In his good mood he even sat down and watched a few minutes of a random baseball match on TV with his dad after dinner. It was quite nice.
That Friday feeling, funnily enough, lasted until Saturday morning when he was abruptly awoken at 6am for sparing.
"I thought you weren't allowed to spar for another few weeks." Sam tried once they were out on the misty field round the back of the motel. His father just shot him an un-amused look and continued to stretch.
"I feel fine. And it's not like it's full on training against you anyway."
Sam bristled at that. Was that supposed to be an insult, a slight jab before they had even started? Because what did the man expect, he was half his size and scrawny and it was 6am!
"Well come one then." John gestured to Sam, "Don't just stand there with your hands hanging useless by your side, lift 'em up."
Useless! Sam seethed, lifting his arms up in his fighting stance. Who was his Dad calling bloody useless. Who was the one that could recite an exorcism faster than the demon could blink, who split the bulls eye with an arrow last time they practiced with a bow, who could train every night and maintain his grade point average. Sam, that's who. He'd show him bloody useless.
By the time he and John engaged Sam had worked himself up so much that his fists were shaking. And it may have made his swings passionate, but also sloppy.
"Come on Sammy, where's your head at. Get with the program." John called after the third time Sam had been pinned.
"It's Sam." He gritted out, wiping the grass stains off his knees.
"What was that?" asked John, getting ready to start again.
"I said. It's SAM!" he bellowed, his voice echoing around the tree line. John looked upon his shaking son with bewildered eyes.
"You need to calm down. Now, start again."
"No."
"No?"
"Yes, that's right I said no! You can't push me around and tell me what to do. It's a Saturday, it's hardly dawn. And I am going back to bed." Sam turned around and stormed towards the motel room.
"Sam!" he heard bellowed from behind, but he didn't stop. "Sam! I said stop!"
Sam didn't stop; he just needed to get to his room. He was tired and aching and fed up of feeling helpless. And being beaten around a clearing by his father wasn't helping at all. He could feel his hands start to shake and a tell-tale burning behind his eyes. Oh come on, this was ridiculous. He couldn't cry just because he lost a few fights. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He could hear his dad coming up behind him and sped up his walk. He just needed to get to his room, only a little further to go.
He was nearly at the door when a large hand gripped at his bicep. Acting purely on instinct he swung round, using the weight of his attacker against him and flinging him into the wall.
His father made a pain filled grunt as his injured back collided with the wall. Sam didn't wait for the yelling and berating to begin. He hightailed it into the motel room and shut himself in his room. Exhausted, he slumped against the closed door until the burning in his eyes subsided.
Sam didn't leave his room for the rest of the day. But perhaps the most surprising part was that John didn't try to get him to come out. There was no manic pounding on the door demanding he come out, there was no shouting or screaming. It was rather unnerving.
It was close to midnight when Sam's bladder and stomach finally forced him to exit the room and brave the wrath of John Winchester. He braced himself as he opened the door, ready to stand under the fury of his father and listen to the speech about how he needed to take this more seriously and his immature actions. And he would stand there like a good soldier and take it, because he may have overreacted, just a little bit... Maybe.
So when he came out and saw John just sat calmly on the sofa reading, he was a little unnerved. And when John didn't look up as he crossed to the kitchen he was downright weirded out. After scoffing down a sandwich and having a shower Sam sent one more confused look at his father and headed back towards his bedroom.
"Have you gotten over your tantrum?" his father's voice came from the sofa. Sam glanced around to see John hadn't lifted his eyes from the text he was reading.
"Um… Yes Sir." Sam replied.
"Good. Get some sleep; we will have to do double tomorrow."
Sam sighed in resignation before turning back to his room and going to sleep.
They didn't speak as they trained the next day, Sam kept his eyes averted from his fathers and dutifully followed the orders. They seemed to be at some kind of plateau. Sam knew he had done wrong but refused to apologise, and John refused to make him apologise. It was like they were trying to wait each other out.
It was inevitable really that Sam blinked first. He didn't really think about it at the time. After diner John sat back down on the sofa as Sam stayed at the table to do some homework. Out of the corner of his eye Sam watched John fidget and twist, grimacing at the pain in his back that was obviously bothering him. Without much thought Sam quickly grabbed a heat pack from the bathroom and gave it to John.
Sam kept his eyes down so missed the flash of surprise in his father's eyes but heard the deep growl "Thanks." He received.
"No problem." He responded before going back to his own corner in silence.
Monday rolled around again and it was the same shit different day. Dean had called on Sunday night saying he wouldn't be home until the next weekend but at least Sam could see the light at the end of the tunnel. 'Just a few more days' was his mind mantra for the week. It's what he repeated over in his head on Monday when he was shoved face first into his locker. It is what he repeated on Tuesday when Karl and his buddies had dropped his Spanish Armada essay into the mud. It was what he chanted all through his after school detention he had to serve for not handing in said essay. It's what carried him through the late night run he had to endure on Wednesday night as punishment for his punishment.
When it got to Thursday, he only had two more days left, only two more. But seemed his patience had none.
So when he heard the taunts and sneers following behind him as he walked home he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming urge to just at least attempt to bash these guys heads in. 'Two more days' he chanted in his head.
"Oi. Geek Boy." He heard called out from behind him.
'Just keep your head down, two more days, keep your head down' Sam willed himself to understand.
"Hey! I'm talking to you."
"Fuck Off!" Sam finally sneered, not stopping as he turned the corner. Next thing he knew his back was against a filthy wall and Karl and his three buddies were swarmed in close.
"You really should talk to me with some respect." Karl's breath ghosted over Sam's face making him cringe back.
Sam wriggled against the large body pinning him, that feeling of helplessness that had haunted him for the past few weeks becoming more prominent. But 'NO!' his mind screamed. He wasn't bloody useless, wasn't helpless. He was a Winchester for god's sake. So he fixed his opponent with an icy glare and his patience snapped.
"Sam!" John bellowed as his youngest flew through the motel room door and straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sam had been acting strange ever since Dean left, at first John left it and put it down to his youngest's worries about his brother out on a hunt. So he made sure the boy kept busy with homework and training. But after the weekends issue he got the feeling it was more than that.
"Sam – open this door."
"I'll be out in a minute." Came the muffled response.
"No. I want you to open this door now!" The walls reverberated a few times with John's pounds on the door before it swung open. Sam's eyes were glued to the ground somewhere in front of John's feet but John's eyes were roaming all over his youngest boy's face.
The split lip and black eye were what John saw first, followed by the drying blood under his nose and the matted blood in his hair. Along with the ragged, torn state of his knees and hands Sam just bet he made a wonderful picture. The very model of a Winchester.
"Sam – what happened?" John asked breathlessly, tilting Sam's head up by the chin examining his wounds. Sam kept his mouth shut and his eyes averted. "Sam!" John barked, tightening his grip on Sam's chin to the point of pain.
"Just some idiots at school. Don't worry, I handled it."
"You handled it? Well if this is you handling it I wouldn't want to see what you liked like if you didn't." John released his grip on Sam's chin and Sam couldn't help but sway a little as the room blurred slightly. Strong hands gripped his biceps keeping him stable. "Geez Sam." His father's voice sounded through the buzzing in his head. "Sit down before you fall down." Suddenly there was something hard and plastic against he back of his knees and he automatically sat down.
When his vision cleared he realised was sat on the toilet seat with his dad and an open first aid kit in front of him. "Did you hit your head?" John asked, running his hands through Sam's thick locks, getting his answer when he reached a small bump and Sam winced.
"Yeah just a little." Sam mumbled to the floor.
"Ok, we'll get some ice for that in a bit, let's clean you up first." Sam nodded as much as his banging head would allow and sat still as his Dad wiped at his cut hands and knees with antiseptic.
"Sam. What exactly happened here?" John finally asked once he was finished with the first knee.
"Nothing." Sam mumbled to the floor.
"Sam." John barked again, using his no nonsense tone, and Sam was just too tired to argue anymore.
"Just this guy Karl Wetlock. Seems to have issues with me."
"Issues? What did you hit on his girlfriend or something?"
"Dad! I'm not Dean!" Sam shot back indignantly before his eyes returned to his knees. "He just doesn't like me. My mere presence offends him."
"Has-" John started, staring resolutely at the bloody mess of Sam's knee. "Has this been going on long?"
"He hasn't liked me since I started but… usually it's just little stuff. But today… I was fed up with it."
"Sam." John sighed. "You should have told me if you were having trouble at school."
"Why?"
"Why? What do you mean why? So I could have helped you."
"And done what exactly? The guy is the principles son, he's untouchable. God!" Sam groaned, the implications of his lapse in control finally dawning on him. "There's no way he's going to let this slide!"
"Hey. Let's just get you cleaned up and we will worry about the rest later." Sam just nodded, the softness in his father's tone surprising him as he carried on his ministrations "So I should see the other guy huh?" John ventured after a while. Sam snorted a little.
"Yeah, I got in a good few swings before I hit my head. I think I scared them, a bit."
"Course you did, Winchesters go down fighting." John smiled up at his son, his tired eyes crinkling in the corners. Sam liked it when that happened, it made his Dad look younger, more carefree. It was easier then to be reminded of the Dad that Dean described, the one that tucked them in at night and read bed time stories. The Dad that threw a ball around the garden with Dean and rocked Sam to sleep.
"I'm sorry Dad." Sam sighed eventually. Once John was packing the kit away.
"What for?" John frowned.
"There is no way the principle isn't going to find out about this. You told me to keep my head down."
"And from what I've heard it was these assholes that started it, you were just defending yourself. I'm betting this Karl had more than one friend along and I bet they were older and bigger than you." Sam didn't respond and John nodded in confirmation. "Then you did the right thing." And then Sam received the ultimate trophy: his father clasped his hand to his shoulders with a small shake.
"I think you might have to brave a trip to the principle office when he finds out." Sam smirked down at his Dad.
"God. Why do I get punished too?" John whined, Sam sniggered and John patted his leg. "Come on, up. I don't think you've got concussion but you'll have a pretty bad headache in a few hours. Get changed and have something to eat and you can sleep it off."
John got up, groaning when his back protested, and headed for the kitchen to get dinner started. A quiet voice from behind him made him turn around. "Yeah Sammy?"
"Just… thanks. For… you know, being cool about this."
"You're not a baby anymore Sam. I trust you to fight your own battles. But I want a promise alright - That if you think anything is going too far you will tell me or your brother and we can help. Either the conventional way or… the Winchester Way." Sam snorted and gave his Dad a shy grin. "Deal?" John asked.
"Deal." Sam nodded in response.