Juvenile
By Javawolf
Author's Note: Well, I have to say I was rather intimidated by the lack of response. But I know where I want this story to go so I'm going to continue it, no matter how few reviews I get. For those who did review, I really do appreciate it. Thanks.
And now for some plot, eh?
Chapter Two
"What about Andrea Billings? She's pretty cute." John grinned through a mouth full of ham sandwich.
"Andrea?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I want her mom."
At this, his father merely stared. Dean shook his head with a slight smile and got out the bread to make himself another sandwich; while at the same time, John shook his head with a slight frown and downed the last of his coffee in a shot. As Dean spread a layer of mayonnaise over his bread, John cleared his throat.
"Is there any one girl you have your eye on? Or a girl with her eye on you?"
"Dad..." Dean groaned, rolling his eyes.
"No, no, I want to know." He said, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the counter.
"Truthfully..." Dean sighed. "I don't do much in the way of socializing." At John's frown, he hurried to take back what he'd said. "I mean, school is great and all. I... learn stuff... I guess... We just move around a lot." He shrugged. "I guess I've learned not to bother getting close to anyone."
"Dean, I want to be a good father and tell you that's wrong..." For a moment, John looked helpless; at a complete loss. "... But I can't." He put his hand on Dean's shoulder, not awake enough to notice the dark mask that had been put back in place.
"This is a soldier's life. When push come to shove, we do what we have to. And you're a soldier, a damn fine one. You've already taught yourself a good lesson."
"That being anti-social and carrying lethal weapons around in my backpack are the keys to popularity?" Dean mumbled sarcastically. John smiled despite himself.
"You've learned to adapt to hardship. You took a regular, teenage conflict and used it to further hone and develop you fighting skills."
Dean blinked.
"It's called intuition. It's something that will save your life time and time again. You'll see."
"All I did was ensure that I'll die a virgin." Dean scoffed. John forced his gaze on his son. Dean felt that the look he received from his father in that moment was enough to drive any normal man into the ground. But not a soldier. He refused to let show how intimidated he was, his stony features reflecting only frustration.
"You're..." John dropped his gaze. "You're–still a virgin?" Dean almost smiled at the sight of his father blushing.
"Do we need to go over the anti-social part again?"
Finally deciding that drilling his son at 4:30 in the morning was getting him nowhere, John backed down from the subject and moved on to a different one.
"I know we haven't lived here for very long, but I'm sure after a few more months Virginia will seem like a nice enough place."
"Sure, it seems nice enough." Dean scoffed. "But contrary to what you might think, I'm not an idiot, Dad." John jerked and recoiled as though he'd been physically slapped. Dean continued without noticing.
"I know why we're here, and I know what we're hunting. And while, yeah, the place is nice – with the picket fences and the happy little kids who jump on their trampolines when I'm trying to sleep..." He let his breath out in a rush. "People here are going to die."
After the shock of the statement had finally sunk in to John's mind, Dean rose from his stool and began pacing the floor, madly.
"Sure, maybe after a couple months I could get used to this place. Ask Emily out, join the boy scouts, win the lottery; each just as likely to happen as another." He raked his hands through his still damp hair. "But who are we kidding, Dad?" Dean's voice was much lower now. "Assuming we don't die in this fight we'll be moving on to a new one. This isn't home, it's just a place."
"Who's Emily?"
"A girl Dad, don't change the subject."
"Is she cute?"
"You know what your problem is?" Dean shouted. He could feel the blood rushing to his head. He was out of line and he knew it, but he made a fast decision not to care. "You're so obsessed with the–the fighting and the hunting, you don't even pay attention to us."
"I'm trying to pay attention now!" John growled. "You keep pulling away, you have nothing to whine about!"
"I'm not whining, I'm just telling it like it is." Dean covered his face with his hands. "You know Sammy's miserable. Do you even care? All you can think about is fighting. He keeps trying to tell you, but you can't listen... The war is so loud... You might try to listen, but..." Dean glared at his father through his fingers. "You're so heartless."
There was a long and uncomfortable silence during which the younger Winchester fought for his breath after an adrenaline rush. John stared at his son with a vacant look, unsure of how to break this dreadful silence.
Dean fell backwards into the recliner that sat in front of the TV, still holding his head in his hands. It was in this moment that realization dawned on the elder, who suddenly understood where this outburst had come from.
John walked around the kitchen counter and into the joint living room, and knelt by Dean's side.
"Dean..." He soothed. The boy twitched, but didn't respond.
"Hey, Sam knows you care about him, son. I mean, damn. It's so obvious the way you look out for him. You're a good brother, Dean." Dean peeked through his fingers at his father. He felt so ridiculous.
John continued. "You're alert and capable as a soldier–that doesn't make you any more a freak than I am."
"That's very comforting Dad, thanks." Came Dean's muffled grumble.
"Listen to–hey–LISTEN!"
The sudden noise scared the boy, but he didn't let it show. Dean fixed his poker face, rose slowly out of the recliner and onto his feet in something of a tired salute. John sighed and shook his head.
"I was going to say that you are, in fact, not obsessed with the fighting, but..."
Dean relaxed back into his usual slump, and approached his father slowly with a pleading look.
"You really think that?"
John blinked. "No." He almost laughed. "No, I was just... Jesus Christ, Dean, lighten up."
Dean waved a disregarding hand. "Yeah, whatever. I'm sick of this soap-opera shit."
John looked like he wanted to argue, but his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Hey family." Sam yawned as he swaggered groggily into the kitchen in search for coffee.
"You're up early." John smiled at his son, following him into the kitchen. Dean brought up the rear.
"It's hard to get any sleep with you two bickering like an old married couple." Sam shrugged.
Dean snickered. "Pour me a cup of coffee too, would you little brother?"
"Uh-huh." Sam yawned again. And so began another typical morning of the atypical life of a Winchester. As he sipped his black coffee and shared small talk with his brother, Dean vowed never to let his walls down again. He had to stay strong for Sammy, and the mask would be a part of him from this point on.
"Fuck those guys, Sammy. You're tougher than they are."
"I can't kill them!" Sam gasped, horrified. They were in Dean's car on the way to the middle school, and Sam had just confided to his brother that he was being bullied.
"I don't mean kill them." Dean couldn't help but laugh. "I'm just saying, you've spent your whole life training... So use it." Sam sighed loudly. Dean glanced at his brother and then back to the road. "You really hate this gig, don't you?"
"I just don't like fighting." He grumbled. He'd had to repeat this a seemingly endless number of times. "It–"
"Doesn't help anything." Dean finished smugly. "It'll keep you from getting your face pounded into the bathroom wall." Sam was silent as he looked vacantly out the window.
"Hey Sammy..." Dean hesitated. "Look, if they're causing you trouble, I can deal with them."
"No." Sam stated firmly and forcefully.
"Are you sure?" Dean persisted. "Cause...well this is the only time I'll offer."
"I can handle it." Sam said. Dean glimpsed at him long enough to see a twitching smile that tugged at his mouth. "I'm going to handle it myself." Sam finished confidently.
Way to go, Sammy...
"Fine, whatever."
A few minutes passed in silence, and soon the sleek, '67 Impala eased into the employee parking space closest to the front doors of the Middle School.
"You can't park here." Sam sighed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"Ah, you always say that." Dean smirked.
"And you always park here." Sam retorted. He smiled to his brother. "See you."
"Wait, Sammy." Dean grunted, turning off the engine and sliding out of the driver's seat. "I wanna walk you in today."
"Dean." Sam whined. "I'm fine, I'll take care of those guys."
Dean spread his arms. "What? I'm not cool enough? I'm the coolest damned brother you'll ever have."
Sam gave an exasperated sigh. "Why, God?" Dean laughed and grabbed his brother's hand.
"Just for that–uber embarrassment."
Dean kept a firm hold on Sam's hand all the way to his home room. Sam couldn't help but notice just how tight his brother's grip was; as though he feared losing Sam to some invisible under-tow.
And naturally, the four shades of red that Dean had already caused Sam's cheeks to burn, weren't enough. Without warning, Dean knelt down and embraced his baby brother in a tight hug.
In front of the whole class.
What surprised Sam the most though, is that he returned the hug despite the quite laughter that sounded softly through the classroom.. "Bye, Dean."
"Yeah. Bye." Dean let go and stood again, looking somber. Then he said in a louder tone. "Hey Sammy, you tell me if you have any problems with the other kids, and I'll talk to them." He scanned the room with an intensely pointed look.
The snickering stopped immediately.
Dean turned back to Sam. "I can't pick you up after school today, so call Dad on the cell when class lets out."
"Why can't you–"
"See you, Sammy."
And with that, Dean turned and left. Sam watched him saunter down the hallway and out the double doors.
And he didn't look back.
John groaned loudly when his vibrating cell phone woke him from one of the few peaceful naps he'd had the luxury of experiencing lately. Grumbling various swear words, he picked up the line.
"What?" He spat into the mouth piece.
"Dad?" Sam ventured.
"Sam?" John straightened in his recliner and turned down the television. "What is it? What's happening? Are you okay?"
"Fine, Dad. I just need to be picked up."
John blinked.
"Picked up from where?" He asked hesitantly.
"School." Sam said slowly and unsurely.
John's pulse quickened. "Where's your brother?"
"He said he couldn't pick me up today. Test or something."
"He had a test?"
"I don't know, he didn't say." Sam was confused. "Why? What's going on?"
"Nothing... Uh... I'll pick you up in a few minutes. Wait inside." He put emphasis on the last two words and reached for the keys to the truck.
"Ciderlock High School."
"Yes, hello. My name is John Winchester, I need to talk to my son, Dean. Please, it's urgent."
"One moment please." The woman drawled before putting him on hold.
"Christ, lady, do you know what urgent means?" He grumbled. A moment later the woman picked up the line again.
"Sir, Dean Winchester is absent today."
"What? No he's not. He-he can't be. I saw him leave."
"Well, he's not here." The woman scoffed.
"Can you check again?"
"No."
"How the hell did you get this job?" John spat before hanging up his cell phone and throwing it roughly into the passenger seat of his Ford pick-up.
Dean was gone.
... Dean was gone ...
tbc
Please, please review, okay? I really appreciate feedback.