Winchester Apologetics

By: Maygin

Summary: "Thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else." –Madame Pomfrey. A Young Winchesters story from Dean's POV.

Warnings: This is not like my other stories. Its dark- well… it's dark for me anyways. Deals with maybe some uncomfortable issues and written from Dean's point of view. And not very well written if you ask me… I don't really think I caught Dean's essence in this story…but I'm posting it anyways because I couldn't just abandon the stupid thing. It literally called to me in the most ungodly hours of the morning; so I gave in – I'm so weak ;) There is cursing w/in the story… sorry – couldn't be helped this time. This is un-beta'd… I couldn't possibly do that to anyone… this is beyond help. So here it is – oh, and this is not a sequel to Heroes, for those of you waiting on that story.

Disclaimer: (begin monotone voice) I'm not making any money off of nor do I own Supernatural. I will however take any donations in the form of story reviews :)

Winchester Apologetics

Prologue

Sam's my little brother. For those of you who actually have younger siblings, you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that there's nothing you wouldn't do to keep them safe. Yeah, well I practically grew up raising the kid… fed him, changed his diapers, rocked him to sleep. Hell, I was even the one who taught him his ABC's. So when I say that Sam's my little brother, I mean that in the truest sense… I'd do anything for him.

anything.

At first glance you'd think he was the older one right? Yeah- no. I top him by four years, nearly five. …and he tops me by about four inches, (usually feels like more.) Point is- despite Sam's best efforts at normalcy, there is absolutely nothing normal about him. Even his obnoxious 6'4" skyscraper imitation wasn't normal. Most guys hit their growth spurt at what- twelve or thirteen? Maybe even fourteen for those few unfortunates? Yeah, Sam's hit him at sixteen. I mean, that's not to say he just became a basketball coach's dream overnight; he had the normal growth spurt at thirteen just like every other kid in his grade, but at least at that point he was able to keep it at a lovely 5'9". Exactly one inch shorter than me. And then suddenly he turned into Mr. Mistoffelees and pushing 6'4".

All because of those two weeks. Two weeks and two very long hours where Sam's primal, most basic evolutionary psyche switched on, formed a friggin committee and decided a change was needed.

We never talk about it- his height I mean. Annoys the hell outta me and yeah, I come up with some amazing jokes and comments about it too. But we don't talk about it. Just like we don't talk about how Sam went from this cute, trusting, giggling- and yes he totally giggled up until 16- annoying I-have-to-hug-and-love-on-everyone kid to the tall, brooding ball of emotional Mr. Serious that we all know and love today.

Two weeks and Sam makes his first dive into the pool of unnatural occurrences. Sam is in the truest sense, Supernatural. And not just because of all this vision crap he's been having lately and the demon. …but because of a period of fourteen days and two hours where I lost sight of him, literally and figuratively; and he had to find some way to cope with the damage. And that's exactly what happened, at the tender age of sixteen, Sam's psyche was damaged. And there wasn't a damned thing I could do to make it better. So Sam made himself better.

Sort of.

He never really got over that… I actually have no clue how someone would, but Sam- the amazingly stubborn son-of-a-bitch that he is somehow managed to at least crawl under it. Problem is… he's been crawling ever since.

Chapter 1

So I'm twenty years old and helping dad now full-time with the Winchester family business, and Sammy's halfway through his first semester of his freshman year in high school. And yes, he was still a little geek then too… I think that little piece of him was permanently ingrained in his DNA at conception- Samuel Winchester, Geek-4-Life. And still a beautiful-whopping inch shorter than me. We'd been hanging around Seattle, Washington for while because God knows there's enough weird things going down in Seattle to fulfill a hunter's dream for a lifetime. Dad said it had something to do with the gravitational pull on the fundamental forces were off by .006815 protons at those coordinates and all the rain that combined made for a nice little niche for a lot of bad, nasty creatures… personally I think he was totally putting me on; number one- because he didn't look me in the eye the entire time he went into Yoda mode, and number two- because Sammy was trying very hard not to smile or look my way. The little snot just buried his face behind his school book which shook slightly from his horribly failed attempt at not laughing.

Either way, we had enough jobs to fill up mine and Dad's schedule for several months at least. Which of course made the professor happy; he'd get to stay in one school for at least a whole semester, maybe an entire year. I tried my best to keep a neutral expression when Dad announced that lovely bit of news to us, but Sam just got this huge smile on his face… you know the ones that don't just light up a room, but practically erase all past crap lingering in your psyche that you can't help but fall into their enthusiasm? Yeah that one.

…I really miss that one.

So Washington… yeah, rain. Lots and lots of rain; cold November rain at that. I even had to use some of my hard-earned hustling money to invest in an umbrella. Me! How many guys my age do you see walking around with an umbrella and still look sex-worthy… not to mention try holding an umbrella in one hand and a double-barrel shotgun in the other. Sam actually had the gall to call me Slayer Poppins one morning; he carried a lovely bruise on his arm for the rest of the week. So here we were; mid-November and in the middle of investigating the death of some guy, well- kid really, that no-one seems to remember. But hey, his body showed up and he's in the school yearbook and has lived in this town his entire life so now it's a huge fiasco to find out who this John Doe (only not) really is. His parents who were the number one suspects and under constant surveillance claimed he was a shy boy that didn't really leave his room that much except to go to school. Pair of idiots if you ask me.

Only a few people ended up showing to the kid's funeral so we didn't have much to go on. Conveniently enough, Sam was attending the same school the dead kid had gone to; which gave us a perfect excuse to be there and even better- an inside man; reluctant as he may have been. Sam's kind of one of those goody-two-shoes, doesn't like to lie or put on a front type people; which in our business as you can imagine doesn't mingle too well. But Sam's not stupid, he'd never compromise our family or lifestyle… but he never had any issues letting us know how much he hated doing it… the lying that is. Fortunately though it was few and far between the more he came to accept that what we did was a good thing. I guess having someone profusely thank you for saving their life tends to change your outlook a little.

So Sam took on the job of inside man with little grumbling and got the benefits of staying after school under the guise of extra-curricular activities. And believe me, it was a guise; Sam may be an obsessive little freak when it comes to anything academic, but a Mudder he was not. Mudder of course being the catchy name for the group of emotional vagabond dorks that can apparently only express themselves by digging their fingers into a bunch of clay, setting it on fire and making something atrociously useless... not to mention it was the only thing Ryan Filche, (God rest his soul and his horrific last name) the dead kid, had shown interest in other than his own bedroom. Fortunately for my little brother, because of a timing issue, the Mudders met an hour after school normally let out… which meant free library time for him.

The first few weeks of investigation produced absolute diddly-squat. And as Dad has real issues with diddly-squat, we eventually tossed the case into our 'unexplainable' file which was extremely thin by the way, and took on a more pressing case involving a tree that's been recorded to have been hit by lightening at least eleven times in the last three months and yet hasn't a scratch on it… the people standing next to it at the time it's hit however is another story.

So Dad and I started investigating the tree deal and Sam continued his freshman year of high school. It was late one night that we had come home from a stake-out, and per usual- it had rained the entire time. So being cold and soaked to the bone, coming home to a warm apartment was like heaven. Oh, and did I mention that it was an empty apartment? Meaning, where the hell was Sam?! It was well past ten-o'clock and it was a school night. He should've been sitting on the couch in his p.j.'s with his books strewn all over the place and dinner on the table. No p.j.'s, no books, no hamburger helper… and no Sam!

Wouldn't you know it; the little snot came stumbling through the door not two seconds after my revelation that there was a definite lack of hamburger helper. He literally stumbled through the doorway, his book bag flying from his shoulder and books exploding across the front hall; Sam just barely kept himself upright and gave us this stunned look like he'd been caught with his pants down. Did I mention he was sopping wet and shivering from the cold. He just as well could have been shivering from the look Dad had sent him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Were the first loving words out of my father's mouth.

"I- uh, well- um," Was the delinquents intelligent response.

Dad, the looming figure he is, (remember Sam's still only 5'9" at this point) lumbered up to him all intimidating and reached past him to shut the door. Fortunately, Dad's not the absolute monster Sam sometimes makes him out to be, so he grabbed towels for all three of us and then started throwing together the beautiful hamburger helper while Sam and I dutifully sat down at the kitchen table throwing questioning glances at each other.

Fifteen silent minutes later Dad delivers the heavenly dinner and we all, well me mostly, start digging in. Dad gives his youngest a good once over, patiently waiting for his access to the pot of food while Sam does his best impression of melting into his chair.

"Sam," Dad finally spoke; taking the spoon from me, he scooped some food onto Sam's plate and then onto his own. "You wanna tell me where you've been the past five hours?"

It may have sounded like a calm question, but John Winchester doesn't ask questions, he makes demands. And as his off-spring we are well versed in the ways of Winchester communication.

Sam meekly picked up his spoon and just held it, as if it offered some type of emotional support or something. I swear the kid needs to get out more. He seemed to finally find the courage to look Dad in the eyes and started his explanation. "I thought maybe since you and Dean had moved on to this other case that, well… since I'm still going to the same school and all, I mean- what would it hurt for me to continue the investigation on Ryan's death right? I mean… I just go to the stupid club afterwards and keep seeing if I can get the other students to talk or maybe-"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa," Dad held up his hand, "you're still doing what?"

Sam's shoulders had dropped at that point. "It's not for me Dad, I just thought I could maybe keep trying to figure this one out while you two finish this other case."

"And when were you going to tell me about this?" Ah, the clincher.

"Well…" at least Sam had the intelligence to look guilty, "the thought to keep going didn't even occur to me until this afternoon when classes had almost finished. I tried calling your cell but I kept getting a voicemail."

Dad nodded, "We were in a park; there wasn't any reception."

It was at that point that my stomach had been satisfied that I was actually feeding it and that more would be on the way that it allowed my brain to take over once more. "Wait a second; when you joined the Mudders," it always takes a lot of restraint for me not to laugh whenever I refer to them, "Dad or I had to start picking you up. How the hell did you get home tonight?"

Obviously I had hit a sore spot because Sam ran his hand over his face and had started kneading his forehead. "I uh… I took the bus."

"They have a school bus that runs that late?" Dad had asked doubtfully.

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Again with the question slash demand.

I pride myself on the fact that I've always been awesome at reading my little brother and that time it just clicked into place. "You took a city bus?"

"Several of them actually."

Wrong answer Sammy… so very wrong answer. Dad's eyes totally bugged and he dropped his spoon. "You took a city bus?!"

"Several?" It was always my job to keep them on track.

Sam had set his spoon down as well at that point and just tiredly rested his head in his hands. "I didn't think it would be a big deal. But the bus routes are completely insane and indecipherable. I kept having to jump onto another one to get anywhere near here. Finally I just gave up, grabbed a map and ran home. Which ended up not being too far. I'm sorry I'm late and that I didn't let you know beforehand."

There's a reason I love my father so much; any normal parent would have gone off the deep end hearing their youngest son took a little voyeur trip around town on the city buses and then proceeded to run home in the pouring, cold rain, again- in the city at night. But not Dad. He just stared at Sam for minute, ran a tired hand over his own face and then reached forward and picked up my brother's spoon and held it out for him. I saw Sam hesitantly glance at it from his shadowed position beneath his hands before he slowly lowered his arms and accepted the silverware.

Dad finished that night's conversations with yet another demand as he started paying attention to his food. "Dean or I will start picking you up afterwards again okay? You can continue investigating if you want, just make sure we know when to pick you up alright?"

Sam had given a small nod followed by an almost missed smile before he too turned his attention to his plate.

I love Hamburger Helper.

TBC...

Thoughts? Anyone remotely interested in where this might be possibly going? It's okay if you're not - the story is already written so I'm posting it no matter what... I just like to hear yerall's thoughts... and yes, 'yerall' is totally a word. It is in Texas anyways ;)