It didn't take too long to find the small diner in town, and thankfully it looked to be the one building that actually had power.
"Alright, short-stop, let's go grab some grub and see if we can scrounge up any info on the haunted house."
"Short-stop? You know I'm taller than you, right?" Sam reminded his brother with a smirk, knowing full well how pissed off he still was about the younger boy's ridiculous height.
"Whatever, man." Dean grumbled as they exited the Impala.
Sam chuckled at his obvious irritation, a shiver running through him as they approached the small building. Dean held the door open, ushering his little brother inside, thinking violent thoughts towards the bitter weather. They grabbed a seat near the center of the diner, where they always sat when trying to overhear significant information. Dean watched as the young man across from him removed his gloves, setting them on the table and rubbing his hands together.
"Cold?" He asked, attempting a casual tone.
His brother wasn't fooled for a moment.
"I'm fine." Sam declared with a roll of his eyes.
"Sure, you are. Alright, you sit tight. Order us some food. I'm going to go talk up the room." He instructed, looking around at the customers and calculating who would most likely know the names and locations of the teenagers who had been fooling around with the – quite possibly - haunted house.
"Why am I the one who has to sit tight?" The younger hunter questioned.
Dean was tempted to point out the obvious, because Sam was cold and skinny and Dean wanted him to sit and warm up, but he knew that such a reply would start quite the fight with the stubborn brat. So, he took a different approach.
"Hey man, if you want to walk around and talk it up, go for it. I have no problem staying here and placing our orders. Two bacon-sausage burritos coming up." He barely managed to hide his smirk as he watched Sam's expression morph into one of utter disgust.
"Fine, whatever. I'll sit here." He gave in, knowing that Dean would order something he hated if he stayed.
"If that's what you want, Sammy."
"It's Sam."
The older boy laughed at the bitch-face and made to leave.
"And if you order me something fruity, I will cram it up your ass." He threatened over his shoulder.
"You're disgusting." His little brother muttered.
Dean wandered around to several tables, finding out useless tidbits of small town information. All he got was that the house was about fifty years old, it had been empty for the past decade and was presumably haunted. On occasion lights could be seen flickering inside, that and people disappearing, had everyone assuming supernatural entities were involved. Dean did not find any information on the name or location of the 'hooligans' that had recently visited the building in question, but he did know a whole hell of a lot about this old lady's neighbour, Betsy, and her nasty cat. The downside to talking to the local residents of such small towns, was all the unnecessary information that was gathered.
Deam made his way back to the table not surprised that their breakfast had already been delivered. Sam was talking to the waitress, fumbling in his pocket for something.
"Dean, Carrie says she has the phone number of one of the witnesses. Could you jot it down?" Sam asked him as he approached.
Dean noticed his brother's forged FBI badge set out on the table, making it clear the kid had been gathering information from the waitress.
"Do I look like your secretary?" He responded, giving the young woman a wink before taking his seat.
"Just write it down. Please."
The please threw Dean off. He raised his eyebrow in curiosity at his little brother. The kid was the one who always carried around the notepad, so he really didn't get why he wasn't making use of it. With a shrug, he pulled out his phone and punched in the number dictated to him by the waitress.
"Thanks for your help, Carrie." Sam said sincerely.
Dean watched as the waitress blushed, making it clear that his little brother's shaggy hair and puppy-dog eyes had made quite an effect. Not that the moron would notice.
"No problem, I will be back with your coffee in just a moment." She replied, making her way back towards the kitchen.
"You learn anything?" The younger man asked, looking down at his fruit salad, hands still buried in his jacket pockets.
"Betsy's cat has a thing for digging up petunias." Dean stated.
"Anything useful?" Sam specified.
"Nothing we didn't already know. Fifty-year old vacant house with no significant history to speak of. You?" He asked, smiling down at the eggs, bacon, and sausage covering his plate.
"Just a phone number for one of the witnesses. Carrie went to school with her." He explained.
"Well if you ask me, you could have gotten two numbers." Dean pointed out with a waggle of his eyebrows, talking with a mouth full of food.
"Don't be an idiot, Dean." Sam declared sending a serious, almost dark, look his way and shutting him up immediately.
Too soon.
Too soon after Jess to be encouraging the kid to have some fun.
Dean wondered if it would ever not be too soon.
"Why aren't you eating? That fruit salad not healthy enough for you?" He asked sarcastically as he watched the young man just staring down at his meal.
Sam barely had time to send him a bitch-face before the waitress returned to the table.
"Here you are." She said. She had a tray of food in each hand, so she simply lowered the tray with steaming mugs over the table and waited for them to remove their cups. Dean automatically reached out, giving the young women a polite nod before removing his coffee.
He noticed Sam pull his hand from his jacket and reach out, he moved slowly as he curled his fingers around the cup's handle. Dean squinted at the kid's hands, not seeing any discolouration or shake. The waitress gave his brother a curious look, pulling the tray away when she thought he had the beverage in his grip.
She thought wrong.
The cup fell from Sam's hand, dropping onto the table, covering everything in coffee, before falling to the ground and smashing into pieces. His little brother's face went bright red in embarrassment as the entire diner went silent and all eyes were on them.
"I'm sorry." The kid muttered, face flushed with humiliation as he struggled to wipe up the mess.
"I got it, Sam." Dean declared, pulling the barely held napkins from his hand and using them to soak up the hot beverage. "I'll take my meal and another fruit salad to go." He briskly informed the stunned waitress, who finally closed her gawking mouth and nodded, hurriedly grabbing his breakfast, which had managed to avoid the majority of coffee splatter, and making her way to the back.
"Give him your hands." Dean instructed quietly, getting to his feet and moving around the table to get closer to his brother.
Sam obeyed, keeping his gaze on the floor as he presented the troublesome limbs.
Dean gently wiped them free of coffee, cringing at the angry red marks left behind by the steaming hot liquid.
"They stiff?" He asked, finally piecing together the issue that properly explained the kid's strange behavior.
The shaggy head bobbed up and down in confirmation.
"Alright. You want to go out to the car? It's unlocked. I'll be there in a second." He suggested, knowing the young man was eager to get out from under all the questioning stares.
"Okay." He agreed, attempting to grab his badge off the table as he got to his feet.
"Just leave it. I got it."
"My gloves are there to."
"I see them, don't worry, buddy. I got it covered." He reassured, placing a hand on Sam's back and lightly pushing him toward the exit.
The young man moved quickly across the room, his head bent, hair covering his eyes, hiding his face from the nosy customers as he pushed open the door and stepped outside.
Dean finished cleaning up just in time to grab the two take-away containers the waitress brought.
"What's the matter with him? Is it some sort of disease?"
"What?" He bit out, both angered and appalled by the question.
"My grandfather has Parkinson's it seemed like-"
"It's not a disease." He growled, glaring into the woman's eyes, hating the pity he could see oozing out of them.
"Then what is it?" She stuttered out, taken aback by his apparent anger, but seemingly unable to control her curiosity.
"It's my fucking fault, that's what it is." He muttered as he dropped some cash on the table and made to leave. He ignored Carol, Catie, whatshername, as she yelled out that he'd paid too much. His eyes and his mind were trained on one person. The shaggy headed beanpole slumped over in the Impala's passenger seat.
Dean shook his head in sympathy, because why the hell couldn't this kid ever catch a break? But he set his face into a nonchalance expression as he dropped into the car. He set the food on the seat in between them and angled toward his little brother, who proceeded to stare down at his feet.
"Hands." He requested simply, waiting for his little brother to un-tuck them from his sleeves.
"Can we get out of here first?" He questioned softly, glancing over at the older man and then nodding towards the front.
Dean looked up, seeing the faces of the customers staring inquisitively out the diner windows at them.
"Assholes." He accused, sending a glare their way before starting up his baby and guiding her out of the parking lot, momentarily debating which direction to go.
"Head to the library. We need to look through the city records." Sam instructed him.
Dean was tempted to throw in the towel, ignore the stubborn kid, and just start driving south until they hit some significantly warmer temperatures. But Sam would never allow it, and he was past the age where he would simply obey orders, if he had ever even hit that age.
"They cold, or just stiff?"
"Just stiff."
Dean nodded, itching to check for himself, but recalling Sam's promise to be more careful and honest; he needed to trust the kid to follow through.
The stiffness sucked. It made it nearly impossible for the kid to get a grip on anything, even something as light as a coffee cup. It wasn't as severe or as unpredictable as the numbness, but it still sucked. It showed up on occasion when Sam's hands were chilled. His fingers would become stiff and uncooperative, it wasn't dangerous, but it was frustrating and often resulted in a great degree of embarrassment for his little brother.
As he roamed around the town in search of the library, he was reminded of a time when Sam's stiff fingers had caused him great distress.
They were in some no-name town in Oklahoma, well it had a name, just not one Dean bothered to remember. It was just him and his little brother. Their dad had gone off on a hunt up in North Dakota, further north than Dean would allow his little brother to travel in the month of February. He had thought about accompanying their father, so he wouldn't be stuck hanging around this crumby place for a couple of weeks, but he had priority number one to look out for.
Sammy.
They were in a very small town, small towns meant prying eyes, and prying eyes could lead to a call to child services. Needless to say, there was no way in hell Dean was leaving his little brother, a minor, alone for a few days, let alone a couple weeks.
Besides, Bobby was watching John's back, so there was no need to worry.
The job Dean managed to find wasn't all that bad either. He got a gig at a bar, it mostly just involved cleaning, but that was alright. The bar was quiet in the afternoons when he worked. Some people would come in for lunch and the small-town-drunks would spend the day half-passed out in a stool, but beyond that it was pretty empty. Dean swept the floor, cleaned tables, did some dishes, and on occasion served up a couple drinks. His manager was slack and even though Dean was only nineteen, he pretty much allowed to do what he wanted as long as he got the job done. So, when his cell rang as he was sweeping the worn wooden floor, Dean didn't worry about answering.
"Hello." He greeted, not recognizing the number.
"Is this Dean Winchester?"
The older boy straightened, a nervous energy settling over him.
"Yes. Who is this?" He asked.
"This is your son's school."
He didn't blink at the assumption, it has been made multiple times, and was hardly his main concern.
"What's wrong with Sam?" He questioned, the worry growing in his gut.
"He's sitting here in mt office."
"Why?"
"Mr. Winchester, I feel that it would be best if you would come in and we could sit down and discuss your son's behaviour."
"Behaviour? What are you talking about?" His confusion was apparent.
"Your son has been blatantly disobedient."
"You're talking about Sam? Sam Winchester?" Dean searched for clarification, because that just wasn't right. Sure, he was a teenager, he was stubborn and moody, but he was not disobedient...never with teachers anyway.
"Yes. Mr. Winchester. I would really prefer having this conversation face to face. If you would come by my office tha-"
"I'm on my way." He declared, closing his cell and returning the broom to the closet.
"Eric." he called out, as he walked in the back towards his boss' office.
"Yeah Dean, what do you need?" The older man inquired, peaking up over his computer screen.
"I need to head out."
"Come again?" Eric asked, eyebrows raised.
"My little brother's school called. I have to go over there." He explained. The older man was already aware that Dean was looking after his brother, he had to tell him in order to explain why he couldn't work overnights. Sam may be old enough to be on his own, but that didn't mean that he was okay with leaving him alone at a seedy motel every night all night.
"Is he alright?"
"I'm not sure." He answered honestly. "I don't really know how long I will be, but since my dad's out of town I have to go. I wi-
"Dean, it's alright, man. Go take care of your little brother. Just call if you won't be able to make it back for the rest of your shift."
Dean nodded his thanks and rushed from the building, hastily dropping into the Impala and booking it to the high school.
Something must have been wrong with Sam. He never got into trouble at school. The kid was a total nerd and a complete browner. He had always respected and obeyed his teachers. Minus the fact that even in his teenage years his brother always managed to be the victim of the school douche-bags, Sam was a model student.
Something was wrong.
It didn't take long to get to the principal's office once he arrived at the school – he remembered where it was from when he had gone to enroll Sam in his classes.
"Hey, I'm Dean Winchester. I got a call from the principal about Sam."
He informed the secretary.
"Oh yes of course. He is expecting you, go right in."
He marched past the older women and right into the office.
An angry looking man was sitting behind a large desk. He looked to be about John's age, but fifty pounds heavier, with a lot less hair, and a huge pair of glasses. Sam was seated across from the large figure. His head was bowed, long hair hanging before his face as he ducked into his sweater, as though he could use it as a shell and hide inside of it.
He looked so damn small.
"I'm Dean Winchester. We talked on the phone."
At the sound of his voice he watched Sam relax, his tense posture easing; but he didn't raise his head or look Dean's way.
Never a good sign.
"You are Mr. Winchester?" The man said, tone dripping in sarcasm and disbelief.
The guy was a dick.
"There is no way you are Samuel's father. You aren't a day over twenty-five."
"I am Sam's legal guardian. You don't believe me? Look it up." He responded flatly.
And, like he said, this guy was a dick. So, of course he looked it up.
The principal didn't proceed with the discussion until after he had called the secretary and received documented confirmation that he was, in fact, Sam's legal guardian.
"Alright Dean, please take a seat."
"What's the problem?" He asked, reluctantly dropping into the chair next to his little brother, across the desk from the older man.
"Samuel-
"It's Sam." The older boy corrected, not failing to notice the brief side-long glance his little brother sent me, a tiny smirk flashing across his face.
"Pardon me?" The principal asked, his patience clearly limited.
"His name is Sam." Dean repeated, sending the man an even look.
"Fine. Sam has been exhibiting some, frankly, unacceptable behaviour."
Dean eyed his little brother, not liking the way the kid was hiding his face from view with that long hair.
"His class was taking a quiz and Sam refused to participate."
Dean quirked an eyebrow, because that just wasn't like the younger boy.
"And when his teacher instructed him to participate, Sam refused."
Dean was baffled, sending his brother a look that said as much, but he didn't see it, he was far too busy examining his shoes.
"Now I don't know what sort of educational institutions you are accustomed to…" The man faded off as he eyed Dean's little brother, no doubt taking in the second-hand clothing, with all its stains and tears, not too mention the way it draped off the thin teenager.
What a dick.
"But this sort of defiance is not acceptable in my school." The principal finished.
"Did you ask him why?" Dean questioned, attempting to keep his growing contempt for the asshole out of his tone.
"I did. He made up a ridiculous story. Some sort of fabricated nonsense about frostbite and stiff fingers."
Now it made sense.
Everything became clear as day.
Sam hadn't disobeyed. If the kid's hands were stiff he probably wasn't able to properly hold the pen, let alone write legibly with it. He had probably tried to explain himself. He had likely done his best to make his teacher and the sonuvabitch principal understand, but they refused to believe him. Instead, they dragged Sammy into the office and called him a disrespectful, disobedient, liar; all the while staring at the kid as though he were some stain upon their precious 'educational institution'.
"Now, there are two possible solutions. Either Sam chooses to acknowledge his unacceptable behaviour and writes a letter of apology, or he is suspended for the remainder of the week. Either way he will be sent home for the day."
Dean clenched his jaw, doing his best not to tell that bastard exactly where he could shove his apology. He knew he couldn't lose it, not the way he wanted to. Sam needed to go to school - hell, he liked going to school - and Dean wouldn't take that from him by ripping out his principal's lungs.
The older boy had almost convinced himself not to teach the man across form him a lesson, but all that changed the next time the fucktard opened his goddamn pie-hole.
"Sam, the display you put on today was disgraceful, made worse only by your lying. You are a horrible example, disobedient, and disrespectful. Your rebellious attitude will not be permitted in his school. You are a bad seed, Sam Winchester. You need to change your ways, or you're out."
By the end of the principal's spiel Dean's fists were clenched in anger. He watched as the man looked over his little brother, staring down at him like Sam was nothing more than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Sam was looking up at the man through his bangs and Dean could tell his kid's face was red with embarrassment and shame.
How dare some asshole make his little brother feel ashamed.
How dare he call Sammy a "bad seed."
This kid was nothing but good.
He was loyal, honest, kind, selfless, and good, so damn good.
Dean got to his feet slowly, glaring at the source of his fury.
"Sam, give me a minute with your principal." He ordered, placing a gently hand on the teen's shoulder.
"Dean, it's okay. I'll write the letter. It's fine." Sam insisted, hazel eyes finally staring fully into green ones. The kid could clearly sense his brother's anger and was doing his best to ease it, but Dean could also see the apology on the young face, the guilt in his expression.
Guilt that wasn't his.
Guilt that had been forced on him.
For no fucking reason.
"Give us a moment." Dean instructed sternly, in a no-argument tone, but he followed it with a half-smile, to easy some of Sam's worries and let him know he wasn't going to kill the piece-of-shit principal - even though he would love nothing more.
Sam sighed, reluctantly standing, his hands hidden inside his sleeves the way they had been since he first walked into the office.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinsley." His brother stated miserably, before he shuffled from the room.
Dean grit his teeth, because this sonofabitch didn't deserve an apology, let alone one that sounded so bloody sincere. Sam had barely made it from the room before the older Winchester was turning to face the principal.
"Alright listen here, asshat-
"Excuse me." The principal stood with a shocked expression.
"Sam was not lying. He got frostbite awhile back. And yes, his hands get stiff. They get so stiff that he can't make a fist let alone grip a fucking pen. But I am sure you already know all of that. I am sure that Sam already told you all of that. But you didn't listen, because you had already pegged him as a delinquent. You took one look at him and decided that he was a 'bad seed.' Well you don't know shit about my little brother."
"Now you listen here-
"No, you listen! I'm not one of your scared students. I'm not intimidated by you, you piece of shit. How dare you degrade my little brother, treat him like some little punk. Sam is a good kid and a great student. He pulls off straight A's, even though that shouldn't be possible with how often we move around. And if I ever hear that you've mistreated him again, I will march back in here and show you how a real bad seed behaves."
Dean strut from the room, ignoring the sound of his name being called. He knew that if he went back in there he was going to strangle that pompous-pig.
"Come on Sam, let's go." He ground out as he walked past the kid standing outside the office.
His brother followed him out to the Impala, backpack slung over his shoulder and hands tucked into his sweater.
Dean turned the heater on in the car, even though he knew it would do nothing to help diminish the stiffness of the teen's fingers, they had to wait for it to go away on its own.
"How'd your hands get chilled?" Dean questioned in an attempt at calm, even though his jaw was still angrily clenched, because the stiffness only occurred after the frostbitten area had been exposed to the cold.
"In Phys ed. we went outside to play soccer. It was fun, and I didn't feel that cold, so I really didn't notice the chill until he got back inside. Thought I was fine, my hands were only a little shaky, but by the time I got to my next class...my fingers wouldn't curl." Sam muttered, glaring down as his hidden appendages.
Dean sighed. he wanted to give the kid a lecture on being more careful, but he couldn't bring myself to do it. Sam was already beating himself up over everything that happened, and he saw no need to add to the guilt by ranting to him about things he already knew.
"I'm sorry." Sam mumbled softly, staring up at the older boy with those stupid puppy-dog eyes that were just oozing apology.
"Shut-up, Sam." He responded, but at the teen's dejected sigh he felt the need to elaborate. "I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault. None of it is."
"I should have ju-
"None of it!" Dean interrupted forcefully.
A side-long glance told him that his brother was frustrated with not being able to further explain, but there was no way Dean could handle listening to the kid blame himself for more shit he wasn't responsible for.
"Look man, like you said, you didn't know that your hands were chilled until it was too late. I know you would have taken that quiz if you could have, and I know that you tried your best to explain the situation to your teacher and that jack-ass of a principal."
"Yeah, I know, but-
"What the hell, man?!" Dean hollered, because why wasn't this kid getting it? "None of this was your fault, nothing leading up to this was your fault. How are you not getting that? Do you want me to make a list? Because I swear I'll do it. I will make a list of all the things that are not your fault. Like the fact that there is a cool breeze in the air, or that you had gym outside today, or that you are too fricken tiny for my old clothes, or that your principal is a total-
"Dickwad?"
Dean glanced to the passenger side, smirking when he saw those damn dimples on the young boy's face as he smiled. "Yeah, exactly." He agreed.
"So, do I have school tomorrow?" Sam asked, no doubt wondering if Dean had gotten him expelled.
"I'm not really sure, probably not." He admitted regrettably. Not regretting what he had said, because that douche-bag needed to be put in his place, but regretting that it would likely lead to Sam's suspension. "I'll let it cool for a couple days and then I'll go back in and work it out." He promised.
"Thanks." Sam said genuinely, he probably knew how much restraint it would take for his big brother to walk back into that building and not beat the shit out of that fucktard.
"Did you have to leave work?" The kid asked a moment later, the disappointed tone of his voice telling Dean that he was already aware of the answer.
"Yes, which is also not-
"Not my fault. Yeah, I got it." Sam responded with a dramatic teenage eye roll.
"Well it's about damn time."
"You have to go back?"
"Yup, you can either come with me, or I can drop you off at the motel first."
"I'd be able to come? I'm not really old enough to be in there, Dean."
"I know, but no one is really around at this time of day, and I've only got a few hours left on my shift." He shrugged, thinking that Eric probably wouldn't object to the little squirt hanging around as long as he stayed out of trouble.
"Okay, I'll come." Sam said, a little bit of excitement shining through those two hazel orbs of his. "I can help you out too, once my fingers start working again."
"Sure, sounds good."
And it did. It sounded good.
It sounded good that, at least for the moment, his little brother wasn't taking blame for every screwed-up aspect of their lives. It sounded good that his fingers would start cooperating again. It sounded good that he would come help-out his big brother. It sounded good that Dean could hang out with his little brother. It all sounded pretty damn good.
Fuck that principal.
He didn't know anything about Sam.
Sammy was smart, honest, and hard-working. He was the furthest thing from a disgrace. And he sure as hell wasn't a "bad seed." Sam was good, he had always been good, down to his very core. And he would always be that way.
Because he was Sam.
He was Dean's kid.
And he was the greatest thing that had ever happened to the older boy.
"Dean, you just passed the library."
The driver was pulled from memory lane by the information. "Oh." He said, looking into the mirror to his left and seeing the sign for the small town's library. "Your hands any better?" He questioned as he looked for somewhere to turn the car around.
"Not really, it's only been a couple minutes, but they'll get there." Sam told him, as though he was the one who needed to be reassured.
"You don't need to be embarrassed, you know, when that happens." Dean pointed out, glancing to his right to be sure the young man listened and understood.
Sam snorted, shaking his head.
"What's so funny?" The older man asked in irritation, because he hadn't said anything humorous.
"I just don't get it, how are you not embarrassed, man? I mean, I make this big mess and you literally have to clean up after me like I'm five years old, because I can't manage to do it myself." Sam stated miserably.
"Oh please, you spilled a little coffee. So, what? It's nothing compared to the mess you used to leave in your diapers."
"Oh gross." His brother groaned, his nose scrunched up in disgust.
"Just stating the facts, Sammy." Dean smiled
"Well it's not really the same thing, seeing as how I'm not a baby anymore."
"Well, that's a matter of opinion."
"Dean." Sam moaned in exasperation, clumsily smacking him in the arm.
Dean snickered at his own sense of humour as he pulled into the library parking lot and turned off the Impala.
"Hey, Sam, seriously though." He waited for those two hazel eyes to connect with his before he continued. "You never need to be embarrassed about your hands, not for me and not around me, or anybody else. Because I don't give a shit, and anyone who does can take it up with me." He declared, staring intently into the puppy dog eyes directed his way, being sure his little brother knew that he wasn't kidding.
"You going to rip their lungs out?" Sam asked, his soft smile telling Dean that he got the message and was now giving him an out to the chick-flick moment he had created.
An out which he gratefully accepted.
"You bet your ass I will." He guaranteed with a nod.
Because that was what he did, he hunted monsters. And anybody who would hurt someone as kind, forgiving, loving, and good as his little brother, had to be a monster.
Sam didn't ask for frostbite, and he sure as shit didn't ask for everything that came along with it. He didn't deserve to be insulted, judged, degraded, or gawked at for any reason, least of all his uncooperative limbs. He didn't deserve the shit-storm of a life he had been given.
Sammy deserved the best.
Because he was a good person. He was the best fucking person that Dean knew. And he would do everything in his power to make things better for him. Even if that meant ripping out a million sets of lungs.