Juvenile
By Javawolf
Author's Note: Wow... Recognition, don't I love it. Thank you all so much for your reviews, I really, really appreciate it, you have no idea. Just – thanks. And keep 'em coming!
P.S. Things will start picking up in the next chapter, promise.
Sam nearly took the door off it's hinges when he tore through it, and then ran through the house shouting his brother's name. He's not gone. He didn't leave me. He wouldn't. "Dean!" He screamed down the stairs, into the basement. "Dean!" His voice felt so weak as it cut through his sore throat. He descended quickly down the stairs and into the dark, but he knew that he wouldn't find his big brother down here. Dean was gone.
"Sam," John called softly through the basement door way. Even he was at a loss for what to do. The marine in him tugged at his thoughts, whispering to him that there was a fallen soldier behind him; lost and in pain, but the father in him saw only the pain in the dark eyes of his youngest son. First things first, Sam had to get a grip. "Sam." He repeated sternly when he didn't get an immediate response. Still, the boy ignored him, concluding that the basement search was a futile effort and running up the stairs, past his father and across the hall into Dean's bedroom.
Dean had left everything, Sam noticed that immediately. He had always been the observant one. Sam fought the urge to pace the short length of the room, a bad habit of his, and instead began sifting through Dean's things in hopes of finding out what he'd taken with him. Dean didn't have very much by way of possessions. Sam slowed to a halt at the sight of Dean's silver pendent on his bed, still fixed securely onto the leather strap that held it. Dean used to keep it on a long, silver chain, but a hunt gone haywire had succeeded in breaking it. Sam had made the leather strap for his brother in workshop. Dean had looked so happy, why would he leave it?
The charm was the only thing Dean had kept through their years of training. Their family was always on the move and they had to travel light, this is why they only rented homes that came furnished, or stayed in some moldy motel. Dean would leave anything behind if he had too, except that necklace; Sam didn't know why.
He slowly made his way toward the bed, which he noticed was stripped to the mattress for some mysterious reason. He lifted the charm off of the mattress and into his palm. He'd never really gotten a good look at it before. It was a simple, small figurine. It looked almost Asian, the statue resembling a person on his knees. Was he cradling something? Or perhaps he was praying... Sam continued to stare at it, intent on figuring out exactly what it was. But maybe, he just wasn't meant to know.
John, still sluggish and stunned at Dean's sudden disappearance, slowly followed his son into the room and upon sight of the necklace, he faltered. Sam noticed of course and narrowed his eyes only slightly, expecting an explanation. When none came he approached his father.
"Dad?" His tone was more accusatory than he had at first intended it to be, but Sam got the intense feeling that this necklace meant something to his father that he wasn't getting, and he needed to know what.
John shook his head sadly at the boy before him. Sam shouldn't hear that story, it would cut too deep for him to bear. Sam had been on the receiving end of brutal, supernatural beatings before and John knew he could take on any enemy besides betrayal. He trusted his borther with his life. "Sam...," John sighed, rubbing under his eyes at the building sinus pressure. "I don't think Dean is in any kind of trouble. I think he left."
Unexpectedly, Sam lashed out at his father. "You're a liar!" He shouted, waving the charm in the John's face. "You liar, you don't give a damn about him, he could be dead and you're pretending he ran away?" The disbelieving glare Sam aimed at his father was intense, but John had taken worse.
"Sammy..." He tried softly, only to be cut off.
"Don't call me that!" Sam spat, surprising even himself. He shifted his gaze to the floor. He didn't know exactly why it bothered him, but he simply did not want to hear the familiar nickname, especially not now. "It's just Sam." He raised his eyes to meet his father's with another, even more intense glare, currently his only weapon, but the man merely continued to frown.
Sam didn't know John Winchester as well as most sons know their fathers, but he'd lived with him long enough to know that the expression he wore on his face in that moment was one that meant that there was deep, inexplicable thought going on behind the sad, dark eyes. Sam also knew that the thoughts would never be voiced, save in the mumbles that John couldn't prevent in his nightmares.
John remembered when Dean was very small; the day that he and Mary had told the child that he was going to have a little brother. He'd been so happy he'd smiled for days. That silly, little-boy grin that John remembered so well, absolutely nothing like the pasted smile Dean plastered onto his face when he needed to please.
Even before little Sammy was born Dean had become a parent figure. He would read stories to the child even in the womb... Mary knew he would be the best big brother and role-model, and she dubbed him as such, with a charm to remind him of his responsibility. John remembered watching that event with amusement, holding the video camera to capture the moment forever.
"The End." The boy said in a dramatically low voice, closing the book and glancing to his mother, who sat on the couch beside him with her hand placed gently on her belly.
"He liked that one." She smiled. "I can tell."
Dean beamed. "Me too." He said enthusiastically. "I can always tell what Sammy likes." He nodded in a very intellectual manner, causing John to snicker behind the camera. The kid was a trip. John envisioned him in the next generation's biggest Oscar-winning film as an adult, he had born talent as an actor.
"You really like that name, don't you love?" Mary cooed. Dean hadn't stopped calling the baby Sammy since he'd learned it was a boy. John preferred Sean, but he'd named their eldest and Mary insisted that Sammy was adorable. Women.
Dean curled up beside his mother and listened through her belly for any sign of life. He always claimed to hear the baby giggling. Sometimes Mary believed he really could.
"Hey, Dean," She said, glancing to her husband to make sure he was still taping. He gave her a thumbs up sign and she turned back to the boy who watched her with glowing admiration. "Do you know what this baby is going to make you?"
Dean grinned ear to ear and nodded. "A big brother!" He exclaimed excitedly. Mary laughed.
"Yeah!" She replied in the same tone of voice. "You got it, buster! And do you know what that means?"
At this, the child tilted his head and scrunched up his nose in thought. After a moment, he shook his head, defeated. Mary leaned closer to him.
"It means you're going to have a special new job. You have to watch out for little Sammy and he's going to make sure you do. Little brothers are really great, you know." She added. "But they can be a lot of work, and you have to make a promise to protect them, like had to promise for my baby brother, your uncle Brian."
Dean's eyes became the size of saucers. "Uncle Brian was a baby?" Mary and John exchanged glances, suppressing the peels of laughter that fought to surface.
"Yes," Mary giggled. "Yes, he was. A long time ago. But even then, I was a little jealous of my brother. See, babies need a lot of attention and sometimes parents can get pre-occupied with things. Sometimes it makes us big kids a little upset, and that's why we promise to watch out for our little baby brothers or sisters, so that even if were upset or they're upset we still have each other. Do you understand?"
Dean shrugged. "I guess so. I have to promise?"
Mary nodded with a smile. "Yup." She said, "Just like this. Repeat after me. 'I, Dean Winchester,'"
"Er... I'm Dean Winchester..."
"'Do solemnly swear to uphold the duties of Big Brother,'"
"Do som...soberly?"
"Sol - em - lee."
"Solemnly.."
"Here, try this. 'I promise to protect Sammy forever.'"
"Uh-huh." Dean nodded. "I promise."
John bit his lip to keep from laughing. Dean could be very sensitive if he wasn't taken seriously.
Mary reached into her pocket and retrieved a long, silver chain. On the chain was a small charm, no bigger than a nickel. Dean's eyes lit up and he eagerly reached for it.
"Is it for me?" He asked excitedly. "Is it?"
"Oh yeah!" Mary exclaimed with a little added enthusiasm. She unclasped the necklace and helped Dean to secure it around his neck. "It's a special 'big brother necklace.' It means you made the promise, and now your officially the coolest brother ever."
Dean hopped off the couch and bounded over to his father, who focused the video camera on him as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "Look daddy! Look, it's a special big brother necklace, and it's mine, see? I'm the coolest brother ever, mommy said so."
The child positively glowed with excitement. While his parents may only think of this promise as a guideline or a nice moment to look back on, Dean carved it into his memory as law. He would protect his brother, always.
"Liar!" Sam shouted again, feeling as though his father weren't even listening to him. Why wouldn't he do anything? Dean could have been kid-napped, or sacrificed to some awful beast or something; and John just stood there feeling sorry for himself.
Sam straightened his posture and stood toe to toe with him. "We're going to find Dean." He growled. "Anything could be happening to him... For Christ's sake, you're supposed to be our dad!"
Without warning, the older man grabbed his son by the collar of his shirt and yanked him off of his feet. For a moment John just froze, his eyes screaming curses without a single sound escaping his lips. Then, following the long, shuddering breath that threatened to turn into tears, he spoke.
"I am your dad." He said softly, he voice breaking only slightly. "And that means I'm in charge, and you will do what I tell you to do is that clear?"
"Crystal." Sam mumbled coldly. John blinked several times, as though trying to find the right words, and then finally set the boy back onto the ground embracing him in a warm, fatherly hug.
Sam hadn't expected that. His thoughts flashed back to just that morning, when Dean had tried to say good-bye. It was in this moment that Sam knew – Dean hadn't been forced into leaving, or taken away against his will – he'd left on his own, and he wasn't coming back.
Maybe he should go back... Dean cranked up the heat a little, but his windshield began very quickly to fog up and he grumbled various complaints as he tugged his jacket on and turned on the AC. Tennessee was cold in November. It didn't help that Dean always broke into a sweat when he was nervous or anxious, and the cold bit at the beads forming all over his body. He wasn't sure he could do this...
Sam always talked about leaving. He dreamed of an education... Of all things. But going away to college, where there's at least some level of normality and an illusion of safety, was very different from the war path. He was all alone out here, and he hadn't the slightest clue what the hell he was doing.
Dean hit the power button on his radio, probably a little harder than was necessary. The screaming guitar riffs that normally gave him his needed boost were now beginning to melt into pointless noise. He knew he should go back. He wasn't ready. But he also knew that he couldn't, not now. Damn that Winchester pride. Damn it to hell.
The silence around him on the cold mountain highway was beginning to grate on his nerves just as much as the music had. Agitation was a side effect of the anti-anxiety pills he'd taken an hour ago, but he felt certain it wasn't the medication that threatened to tear through his skull. He was so tense he was giving himself a migraine.
This is ridiculous.
Dean told himself to calm the hell down, he was being a baby. Dusk had fallen and his teeth chattered as the sweat beaded up all over his face. He couldn't do this anymore, he had to stop. But the twisting, two lane highway didn't sport any grungy motel, or even a rest stop. Just the fading pavement stretching on endlessly. Dean kept driving for another half hour, until he was able to see his breath form in the air. It was now pitch black, and below freezing; Dean didn't know how high the altitude was but the air was thin and hurt his chest.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw lights ahead, and sank again when he saw that the lights belonged to another car that had pulled off of the road. Dean regained hope, however, when he saw who the car belonged to. A handful of kids his age, maybe three or four of them – and they looked like they'd set up something resembling a camp. He prayed that they would take a liking to him, because he just couldn't drive like this anymore, not tonight. The added drowsiness from the pills was beginning to take effect.
Dean eased his car off the road and slowed to a halt behind the beat-up blue Subaru. None of the teenagers stood from around their protective fire, and when Dean slipped out of the car he got a whiff of the reason. These kids were stoned, the air stank with it. Dean's first thought was to get back in the car and keep going, but his headache made a very convincing argument. Deciding finally that stopping for the night was his only option, he approached the camp-fire with his patented confident stroll.
"Hey, fellas. Got room for one more?"
John fingered the charm as it lay in his palm. Sam had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago, with the telephone in his lap. Dean had taken his cell phone, so Sam insisted he would call. Of course, he didn't. John had known he wouldn't, but he couldn't tell the boy what his brother had given up. The necklace he held in his hand was a message. Dean had quit. He didn't have a brother anymore. He had no one.
He was all alone.
More soon. And hey, fishing for reviews. Did I mention my birthday is Wednesday? I'd like Jensen Ackles in a gigantic, red-velvet stocking, but I'll settle for some honest reviews. Emphasis on honest, okay? Tell me how I'm doing, what you'd like to see next, because I admit to being a spontaneous writer. Till next week, stay healthy and happy.