All right, nobody seems to remember this line:

Sam: You know, Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old... it's Sam.

Now, with that said, I'm going off of what I remember from my guy friends in high school. If they were pudgy twelve year olds, it took them until they were at least fifteen or sixteen to hit a growth spurt and get that cursed guys' metabolism that I envy. Now, I agree with some of you. I wouldn't expect Sam to be a pudgy kid considering what they do for a living, however: I do not write the show, and that was how they described him. That being said…Holy Crap, I did not expect that many reviews during my shift at Dunkin Donuts. THANK YOU!  And as a reward, I'll update that much faster. In another side note, this chapter isn't originally what I had planned, but I like it almost a little bit better.

Second note: My computer committed suicide and took a huge chunk of files with it, the bastard. So I had to write this again from scratch. Please let me know if there are chunks that don't go together, and the usual – spelling, grammar, etc. Also, thanks to everyone who corrected me about the car…I knew the year, I just typed it wrong and never fixed it. Oops.  I still favor the Mustang over the Impala though.

As Brad turned his head to see the expected irate older Winchester to be coming down on him but there was nothing, nobody was anywhere nearby. And then suddenly white hot pain exploded in his groin.

Brad turned as predicted, and Sam lashed out with his foot, striking the older boy in the crotch as hard as he could. Before the other two boys could react, Sam threw his head back, the back of his skull connecting with the fragile cartilage of Josh's nose. Josh immediately dropped him, and as soon as Sam's feet hit the ground, he dropped to a crouch and swung his left leg out in a sweeper kick, knocking the older boy on his back, blood spurting from his nose. As soon as he knew the boy was down, Sam dropped into the defensive stance that had been ingrained into his mind since he was five, one fisted hand dropped by his hip and the other up to protect his face.

The third boy, Mike, didn't look like he knew what he was doing. A tiny, insignificant freshman, and a bookworm at that, had just dropped two of the biggest guys in the senior class. Not to mention the kid had a crazy ass older brother to watch out for, and now that his buddies were out for the count, he wasn't at all intent on sticking around. Mike took off running back to the school.

Sam dropped his hands, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"You…lied…" Brad gasped.

"Yeah. I did. I can be a shit about that," Sam replied dismissively, bending down to pick up his books.

He stepped carefully over Brad's prone form, before bending down to look him in the eye. "You thought that with a brother like Dean I wouldn't know how to defend myself? And if you think about how easily I took you and your friend out and I'm half your size, imagine what will happen if my brother catches you touching his car again."

"I'll get you for this," Brad growled, slowly getting to one knee but not quite kneeling.

Sam rolled his eyes. He'd hunted demons for a living since he was nine. An overly hormonal teenaged boy was the least of his problems.

"Now Sammy, what have I told you about playing nice with others?" his brother called. Dean, in his usual manner, had decided to make an appearance after Sam could have used his help. "I just saw Mike tearing out of here like the army was after him."

"What did you do, take the longest way possible to your locker?" Sam demanded.

"I had to!" Dean smirked, barely glancing down at Brad. "The Principal was in the hallway, I had to be creative if you didn't want to be waiting out here for another two hours while I was stuck at the rally."

"Yeah well, you owe me. Brad touched your car," Sam said as Dean popped the lock on the passenger side.

Dean stopped. "Excuse me?"

Sam smirked. Figured, his brother would be more concerned about the car being touched than his little brother being smacked around, but then again, Sam almost appreciated Dean's cavalier attitude about him sometimes. Everyone else seemed to have this overprotective drive to make sure nothing ever happened to him. It's not that Dean and his father didn't care about him, they just knew exactly what he could or could not handle and let him face the less than supernatural forces of evil, such as bullies or bitch-tastic teachers, on his own.

"Yeah, he left a nice handprint on the hood of the Impala. You might have to kill him," Sam answered absently, tossing his bag into the back seat of the car.

"I just might, if he doesn't move before I hit the gas," Dean grumbled as Brad and Josh staggered to their feet, Brad still partially bent over and grabbing at his groin while Josh pinched his still bleeding nose. Dean slammed down on the horn. "Think you can go any slower! You pussies, you didn't even break anything!"

Sam smiled at his brother, nothing ever went fast enough for him. He'd be the type to fall asleep skydiving or on a roller coaster. He gently prodded at his cheek where Brad hit him. It was getting puffy, and would definitely leave a bruise, but it was far from the worst injury he'd received.

"How's your face?" Dean asked as he gunned the engine, Mike and Brad having finally stumbled far enough out of the way that Dean could pull out.

"It's fine, just need some ice. Brad hits like a girl," Sam said, turning his head so his brother could glance at the injury.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, he does."

"By the way, thanks for all your help, you ass. What's the deal with leaving me to defend myself with the odds three to one? I thought you were supposed to watch out for me!" Sam said.

"Oh, piss and moan. I was watching you, just from a distance. And for the record, you did just fine on your own. If you couldn't handle three human bullies by now you'd be dead and you know it," Dean pointed out.

"Jackass."

"I'm you're older brother. It's part of the job description. Now shut up and let me drive," Dean said as he punched the radio button and ACDC blasted through the Impala.

Their motel was on the outskirts of town, shabby but still clean compared to some of the joints they'd stayed in over the years, isolated from the rest of the population. It looked like some invisible dividing line lay just beyond the rundown building. Nothing went past it, just the one road leading out of town.

John liked it because it meant he could come and go and no one would see it.

Sam liked it because he could go out and play and not encounter anyone, from school or otherwise.

Dean hated it because there was nothing to do, near the motel or otherwise.

But for the moment, it was home.

As the pulled into the empty parking lot, Sam remembered a question Brad had brought up during their 'conversation.' "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you get the car?"

Dean turned towards his brother as he turned the ignition. The sudden quiet was deafening. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Yeah right. Where'd you get the car?" Sam pestered.

"I stole it."

"You did not!" Sam protested as he followed his brother to their room. Dean smiled brilliantly at him. "You didn't…did you?" When Dean remained silent, Sam suddenly wasn't so sure what he'd told Brad was a lie. "Dad wouldn't let you keep a stolen car. Not in a million years!"

"Yeah Sammy, 'cause what we do for a living is oh so very legal."

They were still arguing when their dad got home from his temp job at the local mechanics.

Brad Renshaw was not one to tolerate being made a fool of. He might not be the smartest guy in school, but he had the uncanny ability to convince all his buddies that his ideas were great, and that they should carry them out for him. After all, he wouldn't want to get the credit for something they did, now would he?

Another little known fact was that Brad had two separate groups of friends. The ones the school saw him with, like the rest of the football team and the cheerleaders, and the ones he saw in the privacy of the abandoned lot behind the soccer field.

"I want them humiliated," Brad growled. "They think they're so tough, I want to see what the little shits can do against you guys. Their dad is gone all day every day, so you won't have a problem with him. The older one usually skips out after seventh period, and his brother usually goes with him. No one's around then."

"What you paying?"

"Five hundred dollars." Brad held up the wad of cash, which he had stolen from his parents' bedroom safe. As the other reached for it, he pulled it back. "Don't kill them, that'll draw too much attention. And if you so much as breathe my name to anyone, I'll take you down so fast your head will spin. Got it?"

"Yeah, whatever pretty boy. Give me the fucking money." He snatched it from Brad's hand. "We get caught though, you're going down with us."

"Then don't get caught."

Wow. So not what I had planned. We'll see where this goes; I'm working on it in my head as we speak…dangerous thought, yes? Leave thoughts, comments, suggestions, reviews…whatever your little heart desires. For those of you who don't believe people like Brad exist in high school, you might be right. But they exist in college, so I figure they come from somewhere. Now…to geology class! Yay for mass wasting and streambed valleys! WOO!