Distracted
By: Coffeemaniac
A/N: No monsters in this one. It's a one shot that centers on Sam. Pre-Series: set in 1995. Sam is twelve, Dean is sixteen. A little angst, a little H/C, a little brotherly bonding. No slash.
Sam started and finished seventh grade in a small town in Oklahoma. On the last day of school, Sam walked back to the two bedroom apartment he shared with his family, hauling a backpack and a perfect report card, to find Dad and Dean waiting for him. They had already packed the car. As usual, Dean had been itching to get on the road again and Dad seemed equally ready so he wasn't surprised that it was time to go.
They spent a couple of days driving in the early summer heat, ate diner food and stayed in run down motels; moments that punctuated their lives. Sam didn't question any of it. He understood that other people lived differently but he had never known any life but the one that Dad provided. Their pattern of driving while Sam watched the scenery pass by in a blur then sleeping in a different bed or in the backseat every night was ingrained and in some ways comforting.
When they reached San Diego, the city spread out in front of them with salt in the air, seagulls flying overhead and meandering roads that seemed more like random paths than a planned route. Dad navigated with Dean's help while Sam admired the colorful buildings with their balconies and beach art.
Dad had secured a house for the summer. He said it was near the beach and furnished. It belonged to a friend that Dad knew when Mom was alive. Sam didn't really track the idea of life when Mom was alive but Dad said they could use the place for a couple of months which was perfect since there was a hunt nearby.
They parked under a carport and Dad used a key to get them inside. The front door opened into a small living room with chocolate colored carpeting and two dark green couches. The television sat on a stand to one side of the room, a heavy looking coffee table sat in front of one couch and a stone fireplace filled a whole wall. The living room gave way to a big kitchen furnished with a pressed wood table and four chairs. The best part of the kitchen was a window that looked out on to a sandy walk that would lead to the beach.
The house had a hall that led to three bedrooms. The same color carpet ran throughout the hall and all the rooms except the kitchen and bathroom. Dad dropped his bags in the largest bedroom with its queen sized bed and metal bedframe. Dean chose the room furthest from the living room. It had a double bed, a single tall dresser and a full length mirror behind the door. Sam was left with the room across from Dad's. He got the single bed and a closet with shelves but no dresser.
Still, having his own room was a treat and Sam opened the bedroom window just to listen to the waves and smell the salt and sand.
Summer meant no school; Dad knew what he was hunting so there was no research. Sam sparred with Dean in the mornings and every couple of days they would target shoot at a range near the house. Each evening, Sam and Dean spent some time studying Latin and memorizing spells and incantations then quizzed each other. But, the in between time was their own.
A couple of days after arriving, Dean made a few friends with kids who lived in the area so he ditched Sam most days and Sam was left with long stretches of time to fill.
He chose to spend that time walking the beach as often as possible. He loved the endless expanse of water, the seagulls swooping all around and the salt-heavy air. He was just starting to notice girls too and the pretty, bathing suit clad females were everywhere. Skin, darkened by the sun and glistening with oil and water framed young, smooth faces. Their bodies were barely covered by tiny pieces of cloth and he was fascinated just watching them soak up the warmth.
Most days he wore cargo shorts and a baggy t-shirt that came from Dean or a second hand store. He felt chubby and a little awkward but the beach called to him like it was a second home. He couldn't resist the sound of the waves hitting the sand and the smell of fish, seaweed and water. He looked forward to his free time when he could stretch out with a paperback and feel the sun on his bare legs.
About halfway through summer, Dad packed up a bag, left cash for groceries and said he'd be back in a couple of weeks. Sam shared a knowing look with Dean as their father drove away. While his brother claimed that their father's hunts were important and necessary, neither one of them liked it when he left for extended periods. Still they were mostly used to it and, at least, this time, there was the beach.
A few days after Dad left and Dean had gone to meet his friends, Sam grabbed a book and a towel and headed down to the beach. He had recently discovered Robert B. Parker and the Spenser detective novels. They were junk reading but he liked the adventure and the mysteries. He carried "Paper Doll" with him and found a spot on the beach to settle. Before immersing himself in the book, he spent some of the morning swimming in the warm ocean water and letting the waves throw him back on shore. Then he stretched out under the breezy sunshine and read until his shorts dried. He had been feeling a little restless all day so he rolled up the towel and tucked it behind a trash can for safe keeping. He put his book in his pocket then started an extended walk up the beach.
He had gone a fair distance, mostly wondering what it would be like to live near the water all the time, when he came upon a group of teenagers playing Wiffle ball. They were close to Dean's age, maybe a little bit older. Three boys and five girls were all involved and divided into teams. Sam sat down nearby to watch wondering what it would be like if they invited him to play. He knew it wasn't going to happen but it would have been cool if they did.
Truth be told, Sam liked watching the girls. He thought it was odd that at school, girls were mostly to be avoided, but on the beach in San Diego, they were fascinating. All five were pretty in their own ways but he found one of the girls, a blond with long, bronzed legs and a lime green two piece particularly interesting. He heard one of the boys call her "Em" and Sam decided her name must be "Emily".
Emily came up to bat against one of the three boys. The boy liked to "whoop" whenever he pitched the ball. Young and tan, he had muscle but didn't look strong. Sam had already noticed that the boy liked to show off and was rough with the girls. He tended to pitch harder at them than he did at the one boy on the girls' team.
Emily was the first to bat in a new inning and she walked up, throwing her hair back and taking some practice swings. She laughed as she compared herself to Brett Butler.
The pitcher laughed too but it sounded mean. He told her to get ready to be struck out and then threw a fast, low ball that sailed by her.
Emily rolled her eyes and said she wasn't ready. Sam rolled his eyes too, a little disappointed that she made such a loser excuse. Then she straightened up, evened out her shoulders and took a real stance. Sam forgot about her failing and thought she looked amazing as she waited for the next pitch.
A moment later the pitcher threw the ball, giving a wild whoop and Emily nailed it. The sound of plastic on plastic made her shriek as she ran across the sand towards the empty soda bottle serving as first base. Unfortunately for Emily, she had hit the ball directly at the pitcher who caught it easily. Then, rather than throw it to the boy guarding first, he ran forward, got very close to Emily and heaved the ball at her. The plastic ball thwacked her hard on the back and she yelled "ow". The pitcher jumped around in victory while Emily first glared then walked back to her team scowling.
Irritated for the girl's sake, Sam started watching the obnoxious pitcher. Every chance the boy got, he'd do something to either humiliate or injure one of the girls. It was nothing serious, no one was going to get hurt but he crowded them, beaned them with the ball, made rude comments to them about their skill or stance or whatever. There were only two other boys playing but he didn't treat them with the same disrespect.
Sam grew more and more annoyed as he watched. It bothered him that the rest of the group went along with the mean kid's behavior. And it bothered him that the jerk just grew more rude and inappropriate with every stage of the game.
Another new inning brought a girl with reddish hair up to bat. She was wearing gym shorts with a pink, bikini top and when the mean boy pitched to her, she hit the ball squarely and sent it flying over everyone else. One of the boys scampered after it while the girls cheered. The hitter ran like crazy to get around the bases. Sam enjoyed watching her run with her pony tail bouncing and her long strides. Just as she crossed third the pitcher ran at her and knocked her into the sand. She yelled out in surprise and struggled with him, being playful, not turning it into something, but the boy covered her body with his and didn't move. He was literally holding her down on the sand with his weight.
Sam looked around at their friends and found them laughing but cutting glances at each other that showed their discomfort. One of the boys yelled at "Matt" to get off her. Emily yelled too but didn't approach. The girl's limbs floundered for a moment beneath Matt's weight but he was too heavy and he wasn't moving.
Sam watched her friends chatter at each other, picking up the stuff from their game and glancing over at Matt and the girl, and doing absolutely nothing. And then Sam couldn't watch anymore.
He stood up, dusted the sand off his shorts and walked over to where the two of them were still laying. The sand felt hot on his bare feet while his heart beat hard in his chest because this boy was Dean's age and significantly bigger than Sam. But, Sam was too angry to back down, angry at Matt for being a jerk, angry at the girl for not trying harder to extricate herself and angry at Emily and the others for not doing something to put an end to it.
Sam stood deliberately straight, trying to make use of his height but there wasn't much to work with. He leaned over Matt and could hear the girl's muffled voice telling Matt to get off her.
"It's not funny anymore," she said.
"No, it's not," Sam said. "Let her up."
Matt turned his head, glanced up at Sam and barked out a laugh.
"Get out of here, kid. This is grown up games."
"I'm telling you to get off her," Sam said. He hoped he sounded like Dean.
Matt rolled off the girl. She took in several gasps of air before she rolled over in the other direction. Her back was red and covered in sand. She stood up unsteadily, pushed her ponytail off her shoulder where it was stuck with sweat and stalked off to join their friends. She didn't look in Sam's direction.
Matt rose slowly, brushing sand off his legs in a way that was exaggerated for the show of it.
"What are you, the midget lifeguard? I ought to pick you up and toss you in the ocean."
"I'd like to see you try." The words left Sam's mouth without his permission but he turned his hips preparing for the fight.
Matt glanced towards the group that had gathered to watch. Most were the Whiffle ball players but some others had noticed the action too. Matt grabbed Sam's arm and Sam turned in on him, using a fast defensive lunge to knock the bully back a step. Matt stumbled. Surprise and fury lit his face before he blew out a stunned breath and went after Sam. Sam dodged and shoved and Matt lost his balance. He landed on one knee then scrambled up, cursing and red-faced.
"Let's go, Matt," one of the girls said. She was a petite dark haired girl who had been the only female on Matt's team.
Sam kept his focus on the bully, waiting to see what he would do. Then someone screamed from the direction of the ocean and Sam glanced over to see a couple of girls trying to straddle a surfboard. Matt took advantage of the distraction and threw a hard punch. Pain flared along Sam's jaw and he dropped into the sand, scraping his side as he landed. Neither Dean nor Dad had ever hit him that hard in training and he was stunned by the force of the blow.
Knowing better than to stay down, Sam started getting up, pushing the pain back so he could function when Matt punched him in the side of the head. Sam fell back again, a dizzy sort of blackness creeping around his vision. He tried to get up, fumbling while the sand depressed in uneven clumps and twisted his feet under him.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Matt said. His voice seemed to have a weird echo.
The next thing Sam heard was Dean's voice. He couldn't make sense of the exact words but he knew it would be typical Dean. "How about taking on someone your own size", or "let's see how tough you are" or "do you feel lucky, punk". Dean would have said something familiar and tough sounding before throwing a punch.
Sam lay on his side with sand scratching his cheek. The taste of salt hung on his lips while the world took on a hazy tilt. His head pounded a hard staccato and his stomach turned, threatening to erupt all over the sun drenched beach. He tried to get up again. He could hear Dean's voice but not the words. He heard a couple painful thumps as Matt gasped and groaned under Sam's skillful brother.
Somehow he managed to get his knees under him and Sam stayed still, his head hanging while he tried not to vomit. Once the warm saliva stopped flooding his mouth, he put one foot flat and worked on getting upright. Then he felt his brother's arms lifting him up and steadying him.
Sam kept one eye closed while he tried to survey their surroundings. He found Matt first, sitting in the sand, one arm wrapped around his belly and the other holding his head up. Another boy, one of Matt's buddies was kneeling next to him but he didn't seem to know what to do.
Standing in a half circle, the rest of Matt's playmates waited. The way they shifted and looked anyplace but at Sam and Dean, Sam thought they were probably embarrassed. He thought "join the club" as Dean started leading him away.
Sam recognized a couple of the teenagers as boys that Dean had been spending the summer with. They "high-fived" each other before patting Dean on the back.
"Gonna take him home. I'll catch up tonight," Dean told them and Sam wanted to shrink up and disappear.
When Sam reached the solid sidewalk, he stumbled. He was still a little dizzy and Dean waited for him to get his balance.
"Easy there, Tiger. House is just a little further," Dean said.
Then they walked silently the rest of the way with Sam determined to make it without any further help. He dreaded getting home because he knew that Dean would lecture him about screwing up the fight. Sam should have been able to lay Matt out so getting bested by an untrained teenager was humiliating. Worse than that, Sam had made an amateur mistake that Dean would never make and then Dean had to rescue him because of it.
Once they were safely inside, Dean pulled one of the kitchen chairs out and told Sam to sit down. Sam sunk into it, wishing his head would settle and wishing he could escape to his room. The house didn't have air conditioning so Sam relished the breeze from the ceiling fan whirring overhead.
Dean reappeared within moments carrying the first aid kit. He handed Sam a cool, wet washcloth.
"Wash your face off so I can see what that punk did to you."
"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said.
"You probably have a concussion. And your eye is swelling pretty good there."
"Sorry," Sam said. The whole humiliating thing washed over him like an ocean wave.
"Going to have to call Dad," Dean said.
Sam stood up and Dean put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into the chair.
"Don't call Dad."
"You're hurt, Sam. He's going to want to know."
"It's not that bad. I'll heal. Just don't call him."
Dean sighed. "Okay, okay, but, you know, I'm the one that's going to catch hell when he finds out."
"He won't find out if you don't tell him."
Dean shrugged. He took the washcloth away from Sam's face and studied him for a moment. Sam tried to be still.
"You shouldn't have got distracted," Dean said.
"I know."
"But, that dick really needed his ass kicked," Dean said.
Sam sighed, wishing he had been the one to teach Matt a lesson.
"If you're going to go after someone twice your size, you have to stay focused," Dean said.
"You think?" Sam said, sarcasm dripping off the comment.
"Don't be a bitch. I stayed out of it as long I could."
Sam looked up. Dean dabbed at his eye making him wince.
"What do you mean?" Sam said.
"I saw you challenge him. You waltzed up like a half-sized Stallone...maybe quarter sized…and picked a fight."
"You were there?"
"Me, Joe and Ben were talking up a couple girls. They were playing sun goddess on the other side of the game."
"Did you see what that guy…Matt..was doing?"
"Kind of half watching when he tackled the female Babe Ruth. That's when I heard you."
"But you stayed out of it?" Sam couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
"Sure. You can handle yourself okay. I stayed to make sure, of course. The guy is older than me and a lot bigger than you."
"And I blew it."
Dean smiled and shook his head. "Sammy, you got distracted because you thought those surf monkeys were in trouble. It's not a big thing."
"You just said I should have stayed focused."
"And next time you will."
"You had to bail me out."
"That's my job."
"I feel like an idiot."
"Good. Remember that feeling and next time, you'll keep your eye on the guy you're fighting."
"Now you sound like Dad."
Dean shrugged. "When he's right, he's right."
Dean gave Sam an ice pack and told him to keep it on his eye.
"You probably ought to go lay down for a while. Sleep it off."
Sam nodded, feeling a little better knowing that Dean still had confidence in him. He had made a mistake but Dean thought he made it for the right reason so that helped too.
"Sammy," Dean called.
Sam turned around and Dean tossed a pill bottle to him. Sam caught it one handed and glanced at the red "Tylenol" label.
"Take a couple of those."
"Thanks, Dean."
Sam took a couple steps then turned back around. His brother was still standing there with a wet washcloth watching him.
"Hey, Dean. Did you see that girl in the green bathing suit?"
"The blond with the big…" Dean rounded his hands in front of his chest.
"Yeah," Sam said, a new embarrassment sweeping over him.
"You got good taste, Sammy," Dean said.
Sam smiled and turned back around.
He lurched into his room, glad that the window was still open. The ocean blew in with the breeze and seagulls cried to each other. Sam dry swallowed two pills before he eased back on to his pillow. His stomach rolled for a few moments before settling. He touched his eye, cringing at the sting of pain before putting his hand down. He stared at the ceiling for a long time thinking about the way Emily had stood with the bat in her hand. As he drifted to sleep, he wondered what it would be like to live near the ocean all the time. Maybe someday he would. Maybe he'd have a pretty, blond girlfriend who liked the beach too.
A/N: This story came from watching some teenagers play whiffle ball on the beach a couple of years ago. "Matt" behaved pretty much as described in this story. But, in real life, no one called him out.