Prompt: Sam trying to study for a geometry final in the car while his dad and brother hunt monsters. Life is so unfair-he just wants good grades, you guys.
Characters, Sam, Dean and John. Pre-series, gen. Some potty mouth.
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Another day, another hunt, another late night study session in the Impala.
Sometimes Sam just couldn't wrap his head around it. For several reasons one? He was on a hunt, but not allowed to hunt. How crazy was that? Reason two? Sam was sixteen – a good shot and had a strong back (always a plus with grave digging) Reason three? He was smart and despite what everyone thought he could follow orders. Especially on a hunt. Sam found out early that Dad had a zero tolerance policy when it came to hunting and disregarding orders.
Then there was everything else.
He was capable of putting pieces together as quickly as Dean. Or Dad for that matter. He was fast. He was young – he could and did outrace Dean. Where they afraid of getting their ass kicked by a teenager? Sam snorted thoughtfully over that one…nah, that was not the case.
Ultimately though, three men were better than two. Even if one was just a boy. It was just a matter of odds. And yet here he was in the back of the Impala with a Geometry book in hand.
Not that he cared about having to study. He needed to study. Hell, he wanted to study, but the back of the Impala was not exactly optimum when it came to studying. The lighting consisted of a Mag light carefully balancing in the ashtray atop of some old army dudes that had been there for a gazillion years.
Sam glanced at the ashtray. Maybe he should take up smoking? It would give him something to do. The glow at the end of the cigarette may actually help with the lighting. Plus there was what seemed like a herd of mosquitoes that had somehow managed to get in while his brother and father were getting out. Sam had smashed most of them but there was a tenacious one or two that kept nibbling on him. Smoking would deter mosquitoes right? Then he thought of his father's reaction – hell, Dean's reaction to the Impala smelling like an ashtray and he kicked that shit to the curb faster than a good salt n' burn with Casper trying to keep you from doing the deed.
Why couldn't he just have stayed at the no-tell motel? At least there was a bed and some pillows. Sam liked to prop his back against the headboard, that is if no one was rocking the bed next door. He liked to keep his books on his lap, his notes to the right and his study guides to the left. He liked to have a Coke. Really cold – sometimes he put it in the freezer. No one cared as long as he got it out before it exploded.
It turns out that exploded Coke in a freezer was a bitch to get out. And for some reason it pissed the hell out of Dad.
Not that a lot didn't piss the hell out of Dad.
Sam settled back against the back seat driver side window.
Pythagorean theorem:
In any right triangle, the area of the square whose side is the hypotenuse (the side opposite the right angle) is equal to the sum of the areas of the squares whose sides are the two legs (the two sides that meet at a right angle).
The theorem can be written as an equation relating the lengths of the sides a, b and c, often called the Pythagorean equation .
a2 + b2+ = c2
Where c represents the length of the hypotenuse, and a and b represent the lengths of the other two sides.
How about the Winchester theorem?
Where your father and your brother are morons because
Dad2 + Dean2 - Sam = fuck up of monumental proportions.
Where Sam represents how fucked up things are and Dad2 represents how shitty his life is and Dean 2 represents the bane of his existence. Let's face it if Dad was squared well, shit was sure to happen and it would probably include Latin, sigils and quite possibly land mines and if Dean were squared, the entire female population of this tiny pisshole of a town would probably be pregnant.
Not even worth thinking about. Half way through Euclidean transformations there was a rap on the window. Loud enough that Sam almost wet his pants.
Sam wound down the window to see Dean's grinning face.
"So if a werewolf is running at let's say ten miles an hour with a top speed of 20, but only in brief spurts of lets say…two minute increments. How long will it take a young handsome devil like myself to shoot said were?"
"What?"
"You are studying geometry right?"
"That's a fucking word problem, Dean. And I would need to know the velocity of the gun, the accuracy of the shooter and if Dad is anywhere nearby, 'cause you know that is always gonna factor in to the equation."
Dean shrugged.
"The Dad factor is nil, 'cause he took the high road and I took the low road and the were is a lazy bastard. More like one of those hounds that like nothing better than licking it's own balls. " Dean offered a thoughtful expression, "Which by the way, would be totally awesome if it was doable."
Sam grunted. A most decidedly Winchester sound but with an underlying snort that was all Sammy. "Dean, keep your ball licking fetishes to yourself."
The only response from Dean was a hearty laugh that somehow, someway he managed to make sound lecherous.
Sam sighed.
"I think you better find Dad and talk it over with him."
"Sorry, Sammy….no can do. Dad is on the other ridge and this is one fucking old were, like older than Dad and I think it probably has to live off of retarded sheep."
"Then why are you hunting it? Let it die of old age or something."
Dean opened the door and shoved Sam over to the middle of the backseat. No excuse me, no move-over , simply older brother demanding territory. Sam acquiesced.
"Thought about it. But you know, evil is evil is evil. Besides, Dad doesn't know it's Grandpa were and there will be brownie points for the kill."
"So why aren't you out hunting the damn thing."
Dean sighed. "Because I've already circled it twice, stopped to take a piss. That felt right you know, like marking my territory or something and then I tried to play a game of eye spy by myself. That fucking sucks."
"So what are you doing here?"
"I'm killing time, jackass. For Dad to circle around and get somewhere close enough to old snaggle tooth so he can watch me kill him."
"Are you that damn vain that you need Dad's approval to see you kill a werewolf?"
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Vanity has nothing to do with it. Rover's on death's doorstep anyway, all I need to do is aim in his general direction and the old coot will probably die of a canine coronary. It's just that Dad likes to be around for the kill."
"So you are trying to inflate Dad's ego? Seriously, dude. Dad doesn't need you for that."
"So what about you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, wanna kill an old werewolf?"
Sam shut the Geometry book with a solid slam.
"Dad will kick my ass. I mean it - from here to Albuquerque."
"You afraid?"
"Hell, yeah, Dean and you would be too if he told you to sit your ass in the Impala and do homework."
Dean bumped Sam hard with his shoulder. "True, but this is an easy kill and it would give you great props. Dad would be pissed but he would also be proud. The ass kicking might be monumental but the payoff? Dude, the brownie points alone would be staggering. Maybe he would consider letting you hunt a little more."
Sam eyeballed Dean. " What makes you think I wanna hunt with you and Dad?" Sam sounded a little sullen and he knew that, but sometimes sitting out on a hunt, well, it was difficult. "Besides, I thought you didn't like me hunting with you guys."
Dean rested his head against the back seat of the Impala. "Point taken, but I hate you sitting here by yourself worse. At least if you are out there I can watch your back."
Damn if Sam didn't consider it. He knew Dean wouldn't bring him out onto a hunt if he didn't feel it was safe. Dean was even more protective than Dad and that was saying quite a bit.
He bit his lip, looked at the Geometry book. He had finals coming up. He needed to study.
But it would be much better studying at the hotel, head board, Coke and study materials. The Mag light looked dimmer by the minute.
Still, he wouldn't put it past his father to tan his ass right out in the middle of the woods, successful kill or no and studying with a sore ass was never a good idea.
"You think I can take him?"
"Hell, yeah Sammy. Grandma Moses could take him. Besides, you are better than you think. Hell, you had the most awesome brother teach you everything you know."
One last lingering look at his Geometry book and Sam grinned.
"Let's go." He shoved his brother out of the car and they both landed in a tangled mess that was quickly sorted out. Dean opened the trunk and carefully loaded silver bullets into the Taurus. Dean knew that it was Sam's go to gun and he was a dead shot with it. Sam sighed just a bit. Once in a while he wouldn't mind keeping some things to himself. He supposed he should be happy that Dean knew him well enough to choose the correct gun. Then he thought about college and what Dean didn't know. He figured that counted for more than knowing what type of gun your brother preferred.
"I've got the Sig loaded with silver too. If you miss the first shot, I'll nail 'm with the second. Remember, Sammy straight through the heart."
"I'm not a moron, Dean. I know how to kill a werewolf."
"Well, c'mon then." Dean slammed the trunk and then turned to Sam, suddenly serious.
"On my six, Sammy. When we are in position, and I'm sure Dad's around, I'll give you the signal. Ventilate old snaggle tooth and then we'll call it a night."
Sam rolled his eyes but the straightened up to his full height and delivered a salute as crisp as any new recruit. "Sir, yes, sir."
Dean laughed. "Not an officer Sammy…that's 'Yes, sergeant' to you. I work for my money!"
"No, you use credit card fraud."
"Well, unless the name on the card has LT on it, I'm going on the premise that I'm a working man."
Sam sniffed and followed Dean into the woods. He was gonna be so dead. And not from a geriatric werewolf.
Sam had to admit the woods were nice, dark and sweet smelling. Like moss and jasmine. In Sam's experience, usually woods smelled like decaying - well…decay. It was an easy hike too. Dean was a good man walking point. He carried his rifle easily with the Sig nestled carefully in his belt. It was a testament to how sure he was that Sammy was gonna nail the Grandpawere that he wasn't walking with his silver loaded Sig out. Then, to be truthful, Sam hadn't paid much attention to the pre hunt prep so the rifle could be loaded with silver too.
Dean stopped and Sam stopped a split second behind.
"There." Dean nodded and sure enough there was what appeared to be an ancient werewolf huddled over some unlucky mule deer fawn. He wasn't wolfish at all, not really, but grizzled and his nails were longer than expected. There was no long gray haired snout. He was naked and well wrinkly. Hardly a menace. In fact, the mule deer fawn wasn't really even dead, just stunned and it looked like it might just jump up and kick the shit out of the were.
Dean nodded again and pointed up the ridge where although Sam couldn't see, he was quite sure that his father was there.
Sam pulled the Taurus out, took careful aim and then put it down again, whispering to Dean.
"It's kind like shooting fish in a barrel Dean…really?"
Dean spoke clearly but soft. "It may be old, Sam, but it's reeked a lot of havoc in it's time…fuckin' gank it."
The werewolf stopped, sniffed the air in a most canine fashion and then his eyes met Sam's. There was nothing human there. Nothing.
Sam brought the Taurus up. BRASS. Breathe, Relax, Aim, Slack, Squeeze.
And just like that there was no more geriatric were. It dropped like sack of potatoes and the mule deer fawn bolted.
A moment later his father was there.
"Sam."
"Sir." Because it was always smart when you defied the old man to be as respectful as possible.
"Can you tell me why you are not in the Impala studying?"
"I'm helping you out?"
"You sound like you aren't sure." Dad moved his glance from Sam to Dean. "It sounds like you might have been encouraged to disobey my orders and come out here."
"What gives you that idea, Dad?" Dean grinned. It was his shit-eating grin. The kind that melted just about everybody but Dad.
"Because the Taurus wasn't loaded with silver rounds, you are looking far too cocky, and Sammy there looks like he might just cut and run."
"Well, Dad…you were doing recon and the opportunity presented itself. Nothing like a little Winchester initiative. You know, think on your feet, adapt to whatever the situation is – resourcefulness. Dad, how many times have you talked about resourcefulness?"
"There is a fine line between initiative and disobedience, Dean." Dad growled at Dean and then glared at Sam.
Dean dropped his head, seemed to study the mossy ground with intent." Yes, sir."
Dad carefully placed his shotgun up against a nearby tree and stepped between both boys. Sam's heart skipped a beat.
Ass kicking time.
Instead John slung his left arm over Dean's shoulder and his right over Sam.
"It's okay boys….let's just chalk this up to a lesson in Winchester initiative that should have been run past your CO. "
Sam should have been embarrassed by the slow exhalation of his breath, he wasn't though, shit, somehow he dodged a bullet on that one.
Dad offered a gentle squeeze to both boys and then walked over to the dead werewolf, gave it a poke with his steel toed boots.
"Pretty long in the tooth there eh, Sammy?"
Sam smiled, a 1000 watt smile that he couldn't help but use when Dad spoke like that.
Dad squatted down next to the dead werewolf. "Guess we have a salt and burn to take care of boys. "
"Yes, sir." Both Sam and Dean answered automatically.
"Not so sure what the thing was eating. I mean, if that damn mule deer fawn could get away…" Dad let the words linger a moment.
Dean laughed. "I'm not even so sure he could have handled the kibble in the Kibble and Bits."
Sam shook his head and chuckled.
Dad laughed then, deep and resounding through the stillness of the woods. A gunshot always seemed to do that – it was as if all the animal life hunkered down in the aftermath of that retort.
"I'm not even sure he could have handled the Bits." Dad smiled at his own joke.
Sam killed a geriatric werewolf, avoided a smack down of monumental proportions and Dean and Dad were cracking about dog food.
All a day in the life for a Winchester.
end