Damage Inc.

Chapter Two

Disclaimer - I own nothing except Weston Smith.

He'd never smelled anything like it before, and if he had been smart, he would have been able to guess it couldn't mean anything good, and he would have just listened to his newly found uncle and stayed outside. But instead, Weston stepped over the threshold and inside his apartment. The first thing he saw was the splatters of red across the back wall of the living room, and than Sam leaning over two bodies. Weston recognized the person who still had her face intact right away, and proceeded to vomit all over the carpet. He thought the smell was bad, but the sight of it all –

Weston didn't remember what happened after that, just flashes of Sam pulling him away from the apartment while he shouted for his mom, and than driving away in the Impala. Weston couldn't even remember what the outside of the motel his uncle had dropped him off at looked like, all he remembered was the pillow he dug his face into, to try and block the image away. He stayed like that a long time, even after Sam had left to go and get some of Weston's stuff from his old room (and he thought of it as old room because there was no way in hell he was going back to that apartment) and left him alone.

But he did remember Sam sitting at the foot of his bed, a hand placed on his back soothingly while he whispered 'I'm here, its okay.' And ever since then it was just him and his uncle, Weston's first ever family.

"Weston?"

Weston continued to mumble to himself, oblivious to the desk his face was shoved uncomfortably against, and the many sets of eyes staring at him.

"Winchester!"

The sharp sound of his last name made Weston jump. Startled from his sleep, he hurried to wipe the drool that had pooled on his desk away as his Math teacher, Mr. Simms, made his way across the classroom to stand over him, boring his beady eyes into him in what he thought was a demeaning way.

"I will not tolerate anyone continuously sleeping through my class," Mr. Simms spoke, slapping a piece of paper in front of Weston," Principal's office. Now."

"Yes sir," Weston grumbled, taking the teacher's note as he backed his chair out and headed to the door. Giggling and chuckling came from the rest of the class, who just loved to see the weird, quiet kid get yelled at, and although the thought of giving them all the finger was tempting, Weston ignored them and kept walking.

Drifting down the halls, Weston had no trouble finding the principal's office. He'd been there enough over the passed year and a half. He let out a sigh as he stood before the door to the office, knowing Sam was going to have a hissy fit if he found out. Maybe Ms. Martin would let him off easy and he wouldn't have to find out? But as Weston entered the room, and the secretary looked over her glasses at him and muttered something close to 'you again' under her breath, he doubted that was going to happen. And besides, Ms. Martin only went easy on the kids who played sports, because God forbid they miss a practice while they're in detention.

"Take a seat; I'll let her know you're here."

Weston shuffled over to one of the plastic chairs lined against the wall and sat down softly. Despite the height and bulk he'd put on, Weston could still be just as quiet as he had when he'd been only a 5'8, hundred and ten pound teeny bopper sneaking around his old apartment. That was something his uncle had drilled into his head, though. Always stay silent, no need to let others know you're coming. Sure helped out when the jocks waiting for him in the locker room stood there like idiots, talking about what they were going to do to 'Texas,' as Weston had been non-too-fondly nicknamed, while he slipped out the door.

"Winchester, you can go in now," Mrs. Holt said from behind her desk, not bothering to look up from her work to address him.

Weston got up and went into the office where Ms. Martin was waiting for him. She was a small woman who looked stupid behind her huge desk, but she could strike fear into the hearts of all the students at Big Walnut High with just one look. Weston wasn't excluded from this fear, as he was determined the woman was made of pure evil.

"Hello, Ms. Martin," He greeted politely; hoping charm might be able to save him.

Ms. Martin sent him an electrified glare, speaking with loathing in her voice. "Weston. I see you've been sent to my office. Again."

Excuses were futile against her, so Weston just nodded his head solemnly. He might've been sixteen years old, but the woman could reduce him to a cowering nine year old.

"Did you get sent with a note?" She asked, holding her hand out expectantly. Weston placed the paper in her hand, and she skimmed over it with hawk like blue eyes. "Sleeping in class for the second time this week?" Ms. Martin placed the note on her desk, sitting back in her chair while shaking her head and making a 'tsking' noise. "Tell me, Weston, what could possibly be busying you so much at night that you have no time to sleep? Its not like you're on a sports team, you can't be exhausted from running around all day."

Weston kept a steady gaze, but he didn't move to open his mouth. If you only knew, lady.

They sat in silence, until Ms. Martin finally accepted she wasn't getting an answer out of him. She picked up her phone. "Well, we just can't stand for this constant misbehavior. Obviously the punishments aren't helping, and talking to you is a lost cause. I'll just have to set up a meeting with your uncle."

"Wait!"

Ms. Martin held the phone mid-way to her ear.

"Don't bother him, this isn't Sam's fault," Weston said, causing Ms. Martin to slowly place the phone back down. "In fact, if it wasn't for my uncle, I'm sure I wouldn't even be in school. He's the closest thing I have to a father … "Weston continued to spew a sob story about his absent father and how Weston would probably be in jail right now if it weren't for his loving, caring uncle who took him in. He added dramatic pauses were he pretended to fight back tears, until Ms. Martin finally caved.

"Alright, alright, but if what all you say is true, than I believe I need to set up a different meeting."

"With who?"

Ms. Martin smiled. "Why with the guidance counselor. You obviously have some very deep, emotional problems, and I think if you talked with Mr. Camp about it, you'd feel much better."

Weston grimaced. Shit, he hadn't seen his plan back firing on him like this. The thought of spending time with the gayest man in the world, talking about feelings and angsting over the past, was something he didn't look forward to. But at least I spared Sam an extra worry. That's what he kept telling himself as he walked out of the office. This was all for Sam, this was all for Sam … Damn, this sucks out loud.

SN

Sam was in more of a hurry than normal to grab his shit and get out of the warehouse he worked at and get home. He'd received a phone call earlier from Weston's principal, saying she was concerned about his nephew's well being. She wanted him to come in for a meeting on next Monday. Damn kid, getting in trouble again. He thought they'd talked about Weston's attitude after the last high school he nearly got kicked out of.

He drove home faster than necessary, anger and worry pressing his foot down harder on the pedal. When he pulled into the driveway of the small house he rented, he didn't take much time to park and get out. The Impala was already in the garage, so that meant Weston was home from school. Sam jumped the two steps onto the porch and was inside the two bedroom house in ten seconds flat.

"Weston?" Sam called while throwing his bag and jacket on the small sofa they had in the living room.

After receiving no answer, Sam went down the hallway to where his and Weston's bedrooms were. Both doors were open with no one inside them, so he figured his nephew had to be down stairs. The basement was where the weight set was kept, along with a dart board, stereo, and small TV. It was Weston's hang out, and he spent most of the day down there.

Sam stopped half way down the stairs leading into the basement, because from there he could see Weston on the bench press with head phones in his ears.

"Weston!"

This caught Weston's attention, and he put the weights down and took the head phones out.

"Huh?"

Sam glared at the teenager, who was using his best 'what?' face, like he didn't know what was going on. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting in trouble at school again? I thought we went over this."

"How'd you – "Weston paused, than brought his fist down on the bench. "That bitch," he muttered under his breath, before turning back to his uncle. "Ms. Martin called you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did, and she wants me to come to your school for a meeting to discuss the problems you're having," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you maybe want to tell me what these 'problems' are before she does so I don't look completely incompetent?"

Weston wiped his hands on the grey shorts he was wearing. "It's not what you think, Sam. Mr. Simms is just a prick; he makes me go to the principal's office for everything. And all the other teachers complain about me because they know my record and think I'm some no good punk."

"What's 'everything'?"

Weston shrugged. "Not doing a few assignments, falling asleep in class, maybe a few 'dumb ass' remarks."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Why aren't you doing your assignments?"

"We've been busy," Weston answered shortly while settling back on the bench so he could continue his weight lifting.

Sam racked his brain for something to say back to his nephew, but found his mouth unable to form a response. What kind of solution could he come up with to give Weston more time to study? None. Weston had already been on his first hunt and needed to start going on more, so they couldn't cut back on that or his training. Unless the two of them never slept, it was impossible to make more time for studying.

He moved on from that subject for now, he'd have to go back to it later when he had more time to think. More time, that's all I need. He let out a sigh and sat down on one of the steps, suddenly feeling the impact the day's work had on him.

"That can't be all you've done," Sam said, eyeing his nephew wearily.

Weston paused in his work out. "There might've been a disagreement with one of the jocks that I had that led to some retaliation I got the full blame for."

Sam threw his hands up into the air. "Why haven't I heard of this until now?"

"I did community work to make up for it so they wouldn't call you."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling a lot older than thirty-one. If I only knew what I was getting into back then. Hell, even if he did know about the shit he was going to have to deal with taking Weston in, he still would have. The poor kid didn't even realize how messed up he had been, and still was. From lack of parental involvement and just plain love, Weston had been a hard case for Sam. God knows it took him months to break the kid from the habit of wolfing down his food the moment it was placed in front of him, and it had even taken him a while to get Weston to the point where they could have a conversation like the one they were now.

"What kind of retaliation?" Sam asked, wondering if he even wanted to know.

Weston remained silent, his gaze shifting nervously to his uncle and then back to the weights. Sam could tell he was deciding the best way to answer to make it sound like it was no big deal, not to be worried over it.

"The bitch spread a rumor about me around school, so I put Nair into his soap, 'cause he uses some pansy-ass body wash," Weston said, grinning to himself," It was pretty freakin' hilarious when Coach Phillips found out, he thought Wheaton had shaved his legs or something."

"Then?"

"Then he said to meet him at some lot off school property so he and his buddies could beat the shit out of me, and if I didn't show up they'd make sure 'I wish I had,' or some crap like that." Weston got off the bench to get a drink of water.

He leaned against the back of the couch that was positioned in front of the TV, gulping down most of the bottle. When he was finished he threw the bottle back onto the couch.

"So I slashed all their tires, and that's when Wheaton went crying to Ms. Martin."

Weston acted as if there was nothing to it, but Sam was in shock that this could all go on without it ever once being mentioned to him.

"So, wait, this was all over a rumor this Wheaton kid started?" Sam asked, trying to remember if fights were started over such trivial things back when he was in high school. God, it feels like that was forever ago …

"Uh … Not exactly. You remember Sara?"

"The little brunette you went out with a couple of times?"

"That's her," Weston said, then averted his eyes to the floor. "Ends up she was going out with Wheaton. She only went out with me because they were having some kind of fight, but Wheaton didn't believe me when I told him."

Sam nodded his head in understanding. "She played you."

Weston was chewing at his bottom lip, still not meeting his uncle's gaze. Sam figured it had been harder on Weston than he let on, so he decided to let the subject drop. If he pushed for too much information, Weston would close him out completely. I'm always walking on egg shells. But that was just the way things worked.

Sam stood up, stretching his muscles and letting out a deep yawn. "I'm gonna get started on dinner, any requests?"

"How about a steak?" Weston asked cheekily while flopping down on the couch and turning the TV on.

"Ha, smart ass, you're so funny," Sam said with a smile on his face.

He climbed up the stairs and shut the basement door behind him so Weston could turn his music up if he wanted to. Sam went into the kitchen, finding the answering machine blinking with one missed call. He pressed the play button for the voice mail that was left. Turning to grab the rice out of the cupboard, Sam froze when he heard the voice that started to speak through the phone's speakers.

-SN-

Hunger biting at his insides, Weston turned off the old South Park rerun he'd managed to find and made his way upstairs. Sam would have dinner almost done by now and he'd need to set the table before his uncle finished. That was the deal they'd made for meals, whoever didn't cook had to set the table and do the dishes afterwards. Neither of them were very good cooks though, and Weston wished it was one of the, two days out of the week they got to order take out from someplace in town.

In town. Weston snorted at the thought. Big Walnut wasn't exactly the most happenin' town, with only two pizza places and a Chinese joint to choose from.

But Weston couldn't really complain as long as there was food on the table.

He pulled out of his thoughts as he entered the kitchen, expecting to find some form of chicken on the stove. Instead, the room was empty, bare of any signs of dinner except for a discarded bag of rice on the counter top.

"Sam?" Weston called, not seeing his giant of an uncle anywhere.

He went to the back of the house, finding Sam in his room.

"Sam?" He asked from the doorway, watching the man move from his dresser to a half full duffel bag on his bed.

"Go pack a week's worth of clothes."

"Why?" Weston was confused by his uncle's uncharacteristic shortness.

Sam spun around to face him. "I said go pack your bag," he said, absolute seriousness in his voice.

Weston silently left to do as his uncle said, a bad feeling crawling around inside him. In the three years he'd been with Sam, Weston had never seen him act this way, at least not towards him. It reminded him of when he had first met his uncle and thought he looked like one scary son of a bitch.

It took him ten minutes to gather all of the clothes Sam had told him to pack before he zipped up his bag and waited for the next order. That came as Sam passed by his door, saying distractedly "Go get in the car."

"Which one?"

"The Impala."

Weston scurried out the door, threw his bag into the backseat, and got into the passenger side of the vehicle. We must be going a long distance if Sam doesn't want to take the junker. The slamming of the trunk before Sam got into the car also had Weston wondering. They normally just threw their stuff into the backseat, only using the trunk for bulk items and their weapons whenever they went out to the range. Weapons. Maybe we're going on a hunt? His heart jumped at the idea. His second hunt! But why wouldn't Sam just tell him that …

"We're going to South Dakota."

And that was the only information Weston had to go off of as his uncle sped away from their house, rock music blaring as they settled in for an eight hour drive.

a/n: Sorry it's so short, next chapter will be longer, promise!