Title: Refrigerate After Opening
Rated: K+ (PG) for Family related Drama
Summary: Another day, another father-son fight. And while Dean's tired of playing peacemaker, this one seems more serious to his fifteen-year-old brother. But what if Sam wants something the Winchester family just can't give? TeenChesters. Clean.
Time Frame:About a year after the flashbacks in "After School Special" took place.
Thud!-snick-Thap! Thud!-snick-Thap!
The dirty baseball hit the wall, ricocheted off the linoleum floor and smacked back into Dean's mechanical hold. Over, over…and over.
Thud!-snick-Thap!
It was like a metronome; each time he alternated from the thought Why is Sam so pigheaded? to Dad's completely oblivious, the ball struck the wall, each time with added violence.
Two angry voices argued on an endless loop in Dean's peripheral thoughts.
"Don't you understand why I - why we do this, Sam? It's not about college or blue-collar jobs or society or friends! It's about making the world a safer -"
"What about what I want, Dad? What if I don't want to be a hunt -"
"Don't interrupt me!"
Thud!-snick-Thap!
Different day, same conversation. And Dean in the middle, trying to yell louder than both of them until all three lost their voices. At that point Dad would grab the keys and book, throwing Dean an automatic "Watch him." He wouldn't return till after dark.
Sam would go mope in some cob-webbed corner of whatever filthy motel they were currently staying in, while Dean sat down where the battle had taken place and mulled everyone's side of the story over till he came to the same old conclusion.
Sam: Stubborn
Dad: Stubborn
Dean: Tired
Thud!-snick-Thap!
Maybe it was time to invest in a new baseball.
This particular scream-off had begun when Sam got back from school, brandishing a permission form. He informed Dad that he'd been invited to join a special honors program at school.
It took off from there in typical Winchester style, but this time it'd been uglier than usual. They fought well into the afternoon, as a torrent of January sleet had started spattering the mildewed motel roof. Sam had been on one end of the living room where Dean now sat, Dad on the other. Dean winced at the memory.
"I've always wanted what's best for you two, you know that." Dad had said, taking on his all-worn-out tone. "But some things have to come before our personal ideas," he went on, harsh again.
"This isn't just an idea, Dad. I need to do this honors program so I can get into a good college!"
"No, you don't. You're fine in school, and we can only stay in town three more days. That's final."
"Fine isn't all it takes!" Sam protested, frustration clamping on every word.
"Sam…"
"Dad, I'm barely making it in school!" He flung his arms out wide for emphasis. "The last six places, we only stayed a couple weeks. I can't catch up, I can't study, I'm gonna fail!"
"You're not going to fail. Just cool off!"
"I don't want this, Dad! I don't want it and Mom wouldn't have wanted it either."
John's eyes blazed. "Don't do that, Sammy. I am doing what's best for us. What your mother would've -"
"What," Sam shot back, "Mom would've wanted us to drop out of school? To never go to college, or have friends, just live in crap motels, and get killed fighting whatever monsters you decide to -"
"SHUT UP!" Dad bellowed so loud, Dean could've sworn he saw the light fixtures shake down dust. Sam flinched back and his arms tumbled to his sides. His mouth was stuck part way open, jaw still tense.
Dad's voice dropped low and he growled, "Just… get out."
"I'm sorry," Sam said suddenly. His eyes had gone wide, like a desperate five-year-old who's broken a vase and is sure he'll lose his parents' love for it.
"I'm leaving," John rumbled towards Dean like he hadn't heard. "Be back after dark."
"Dad, please -" Sam tried.
"Don't wait up." His big hand closed over the bunch of keys on the end table, and he stalked in the direction of the door.
"Dad, I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Sam's voice got smaller with every word until he trailed off completely. Then he turned and flew out of the room. A heart-beat later, Dean heard the back porch door slam.
John was halfway out the room door. Dean had sprinted forward and caught his coat sleeve.
"Dad, wait -"
John shook him off harder than was necessary. "No, Dean. Not now."
"Dad, give him a chance… this honors thing - it's important to him, he's not thinking straight."
"Well, he'd better get thinking straight!"
"Dad!"
"Just watch him," he barked and stormed out the doorway. Dean kicked it shut behind him.
Thud!-snick-Thap!
Thud!-snick-Thap!
THUD!-Bam!-bap -bap….bap
The last bang off the wall sent the baseball bouncing in all different directions until it rolled under the couch and Dean let his head clunk against the wall behind him, unable to muster enough enthusiasm to retrieve it. These inevitable fall-outs always triggered a pulsating turquoise light at the base of Dean's skull for which there was no painkiller
The room smelled like bananas. Probably some poor excuse for an air freshener. It was too cold to go outside so Dean toyed with the idea of opening a window until he heard the back door swing cautiously open. For a moment, he heard the amplified roar of wind. Then there was a soft click just as the chilling draft caught around his knees.
"Sam?"
There was an audible sigh from the hall but no answer. Fine. If he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to talk. It was going on five o'clock and dinner was sounding like much more fun anyway.
Dean groaned to his feet and turned toward the kitchen. What would it be today? he thought dryly. Mac n' cheese, crackers, or Mac n' cheese. Gosh, just so many choices. He stuck a hand in the top cupboard and rifled around. There was scarcely anything left. Dad always stopped stocking up a few days before their routine departure; an ominous reminder.
His hand came out with a half-empty box of Macaroni and he bent down to the cupboard under the sink to find a pot.
Would Sam be hungry yet? He banged the pots and pans around in the cupboard, hoping the kid would get it and show his nose. But after thirty seconds of no-show from Sam, he gave up and quit banging. He filled a brown-tinted saucepan with tap water and stuck it on the stove to boil.
The noise of slushy rain rose outside and Dean wandered to the window. Just visible beyond the trees was a widespread pile of rubble where the old motel had stood. It had collapsed due in part to poor engineering, and to a small tornado that had ripped through town years ago. There had been enough funds to rebuild, but not enough to clear old site. So there it sat, a pile of debris fifty yards from The Second Chance Road Stop. Dean wondered vaguely what the old building had been called.
And then he saw it. A figure dashing between the trees toward the ruins beyond.
Sam.
Dean ran to the back door, snatching his coat off the floor beside it, and rushed into the pelting sleet and wind. He ducked his head in the deluge and yanked his coat on as he ran, cursing Sam several times for picking now to explore the stinkn' rubbish heap.
Sam was only just beginning his second growth spurt and Dean still had a good foot and half on him. His long strides had him at the edge of the junk heap in minutes.
Sam was nowhere in sight.
Dean turned his collar up and charged into the garbage. For about ten minutes he kicked boards over, pulled tin slats back, and checked behind sopping armchair carcasses and busted bed frames.
Then he spotted a huge, old-fashioned refrigerator. The side was scorched black (probably from some gas leak or propane explosion during the tornado) and the rest of the white was peppered with rust spots. The latch was broken.
On a hunch, Dean stumbled over some dining chair remains and crouched down before it. He gripped the cold, metal door with numbing fingers and heaved. It was heavy, but opened easily. And there, arms hugging tucked up knees, cheeks red, jaw taught and shivering, was Sam.
"Sammy, geez!" Dean groaned.
"Go away," Sam replied, his voice shaky but determined.
"What are you thinking, you moron?" Dean grabbed him by the arm just below the hem of his short sleeve and started pulling.
"No, Dean, no…"
"No phone, no note, you just take off and hide?" Sam struggled but there was nothing to grip in the shelf-less fridge and his much stronger brother simply hauled him out and sat him on a wet, plywood board.
Dean ran his hands down the sides of Sam's arms and sighed heavily. "For crying out loud, Sam, you're frozen solid. Why didn't you wear your coat?"
Sam clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering while Dean pulled his own coat off and slapped it around the stupid kid's shoulders.
"Forgot it," Sam rejoined stiffly.
"Yeah, smooth move, Kemosabe." Dean sat slowly on the stone remnants of a leveled chimney. His arms still stretched out to Sam, pulling the coat shut around him. He went on in a softer tone, "What are you doing out here?"
Sam seemed to consider that. "Hiding," he said and blew a little embarrassed puff of air out his nose. He rubbed the back of his wrist under his red, runny nose.
"Why - ? Oh, you mean the fight? Come on, Sam, it wasn't that bad…" he shot Dean his best incredulous look. "Well… and anyway, what good is hiding gonna do?"
Sam looked away, from the open refrigerator, around the drenched debris clearing, then at his own hands. "I can't… Dean, I did something really, really bad."
Dean shook his head. "You both said stuff you didn't mean, you'll simmer down and -"
"No, it's … not that. Dean, I lost something - something of Dad's, he'll never forgive me," Sam's voice rose urgently. "He's gonna kill me when he finds out."
Dean ducked his head, trying to catch Sam's eyes. "Sammy, I can't remember the last time Dad killed someone who wasn't possessed, packing, or already dead."
Sam raked ten fingers through his damp mass of sandy-brown hair. "You know what I mean."
"Not really," he bent forward seriously. "C'mon, what'd you lose?"
Sam's eyes finally came up to meet his. They were dark with panic. "Mom's engagement ring. I… dropped it down the sink."
Dean's mouth opened a little. He leaned back again, rubbing the nape of his neck with one freezing hand and studied his brother for a moment. "It's okay," He said at last in a voice purposefully light. "It's fine, Sam, no big deal."
Sam's eyes widened. "How can you say that? Of course it's a big deal! Dad loves that ring, Dean, it's one of the only things of Mom's we had and I lost it! We'll never -"
"It's no big deal," Dean half yelled over top of him, then quieted when he broke off. "Because we can get it back."
Sam's shoulders dropped. "Huh?"
"Yeah, we'll go back to the room, disconnect the pipe from the wall under the sink and…" He spread his hands and shrugged with a "voila" look.
For a moment, the younger Winchester seemed lost for words. Then he started shaking his head violently. "No, I can't - go back to the motel…"
"Yeah, you can, come on." Dean stood up and dragged Sam to his feet next to him.
"No! No, wait -" Sam tried uselessly to push his hand off. "I don't… don't want to be there when Dad gets home, Dean let go!"
"Sam!" Dean stooped to his eye level and said earnestly, "It's okay, you don't have to be afraid to go home."
Sam looked affronted. "I'm not afraid."
"Alright then. Let's go." Sam's response was stony silence. "Unless… there's some other reason why -"
"No." Dean waited a moment, watching Sam's face. It fell slowly, resignedly. "Fine," he said quietly, and without looking at Dean, he trudged off through the debris.
The journey back to the house was a soundless one, save the constant spray of icy rain. Sam watched his shoes and tried to stop shivering. He heard Dean's crushing footfalls, never more than a yard behind him. Incorrigible nuisance. Well, there was nothing for it now.
Sam let his brother get ahead of him to open the door and pound the mud off his shoes onto the welcome mat inside. Sam followed and shrugged off Dean's coat. He hung it loosely on the hook by the door.
"Okay," Dean said, we-can-handle-this voice on. "Dad usually puts his tools under his bed. I'll get that, you go lay a towel down under the sink."
"Got it."
Sam made his way through the kitchen area and stopped. His coat was lying on the linoleum. Once Dean had slipped into their dad's room, he scooped the coat up and stuffed it onto the small kitchen counter for easy access. He examined it a moment, and grabbed an apple off the top of the microwave, setting it on the counter, too.
Then he hurried to the bathroom and threw down a towel just as Dean walked in, twirling a wrench in one hand.
"Alright, let's pop the hood, shall we?"
Sam faked a hopeful smile and stood back in the corner.
Dean didn't have the proper tools for this job and had never so much as glimpsed a plumber performing the task of disconnecting a sink, but he rarely gave such things anymore forethought than "How hard could it be? I've killed ghosts…" A fact which had no baring whatsoever on household repair.
"Right, so we'll just yank this thing-a-muh-who-sit off and…. There! Twist the screw… hm… hey Sam, check and see dad has a screwdriv -" Dean looked over his shoulder. "-er."
Sam was gone.
To Be Continued....