This is pre-series...Sam is a freshman in high school...Please review, then head to my blog where I answer all reviews...As always, the boys aren't mine.
Sam ran down the stairs of the bus so quickly that he tripped on his own sneakers and nearly fell, only barely managing to catch the railing and hold himself upright. His backpack, bulging with heavy textbooks, dug into his shoulder and he shrugged under it, trying to ignore the sharp pain of his protesting muscles. He put his head down, letting his long hair hide his face as he walked quickly toward the house, ignoring the other kids who had gotten off the bus with him, feeling their stares on his back.
He took the porch steps two at a time, lurching up to the rickety screen door and slamming it open. As he stepped in, letting the door slap shut behind him with a creaky "sprong" of rusted springs, Sam caught the sound of Rush blaring from the back yard, which meant that John wasn't home. Thank God for small favors.
Sam let his backpack drop to the crook of his elbow, then down to the floor with a loud thump, and then trudged to the kitchen and stuck his head in the refrigerator. There were a few pieces of chicken left in a KFC bucket, so he snagged a drumstick and flopped to a seat at the kitchen table, gnawing absently at the bone.
The back door slammed and Sam ducked his head as Dean clumped into the kitchen and kicked off his boots. He smelled like motor oil and paint, a smell that Sam would never admit he found sort of comforting. Dean stooped at the sink, turning on the tap with his elbow. He whistled through his teeth as he washed, lathering up to his elbows and splashing mightily. Snagging a towel from the hook on the oven door, he scrubbed his hands dry and dropped to a seat at the table with Sam. "How was school?"
Sam only grunted in reply, dropping his head lower and cramming his mouth with chicken, muffling all the words he wanted to say. Dean cleared his throat and swung his leg under the table, his toe connecting with Sam's shin. "What's up?" There was curiosity in Dean's voice, and concern. Finally, Sam looked up through the veil of hair that hid his eyes, reluctantly meeting Dean's gaze.
The muscles in Dean's jaw gave a twitch and a jump as he looked at his brother's face. He reached across the table and gently brushed the hair away from Sam's eyes, revealing a purple and red shiner swelling around the left eye. "What happened?"
"Just some stupid kids," mumbled Sam, dropping his gaze again. "Jumped me on the bus."
"Didja kick their asses?" Dean stood and grabbed a clean towel. "How many of 'em were there?" He wrapped a handful of ice cubes in the towel and handed it to Sam, who winced as he touched the bundle to his eye.
"Being the new kid blows," he grumbled, feeling a sudden, unwelcome flush of heat in his eyes. "I'm sick of having to go to a different school every semester. How come we can't just stay in one place?"
"You know why, Sammy." The crack of a beer bottle opening drew Sam's eyes.
"Dad'll kill you if he sees you drinking his beers."
"Well, he's not here, is he? Not due back 'til Thursday." Dean dropped back to a seat and took a quick pull at the bottle. "So didja kick their asses?" Sam just looked away, mouth drawn into a tight line. "Bigger than you, huh?" Dean handed the bottle across the table and Sam took a small sip, trying not to frown at the taste.
"I'm sick of fightin' all the time. I've spent every semester for the last four years fightin' with the local kids." A single tear plopped from Sam's cheek onto the tablecloth. "Just when they finally get used to me we have to leave again."
Dean didn't say anything, just pursed his mouth a bit and gave a thoughtful little nod. Finally he spoke, quietly and gently. "Wish I could tell you it gets better, man. But it is what it is. We've just got to deal." Sam snuffled once, shrugging that I-don't-care teenaged shrug, which didn't fool Dean at all.
Dean looked down at the half-eaten chicken leg that lay forgotten at Sam's elbow. "What do you say we order a pizza and rent a couple of video games tonight. I don't feel much like cookin'." Sam shrugged again and ran the edge of his hand under his eyes. "Why don't you grab your coat and we'll go to the video store. Maybe I'll even let you drive." That drew a watery smile from Sam, who pushed away from the table and ambled to his room for his jacket.
Dean looked after his little brother with knowing eyes, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. He knew just as well what it was like to walk through a hallway full of staring eyes, to have people whisper about you just loud enough that you could hear. He especially knew how teenaged boys dealt when they felt threatened, which was with fists. The worst part was, he also knew that there was nothing he could do about it, and that Sam was going to have to suck it up, and find his strength. Dean huffed a sigh, and reached for his keys. Damn this life.
Postscript:
Dean let Sam skip the next week of school, claiming food poisoning, but if he had made it to school he would have seen three chagrined looking local boys with lovely rainbow shiners.