Guilt and concern and anger warred in Sam's mind as he watched the clock tick the minutes down to three-thirty. He needed to get out and see his brother. Dean had gotten in around six-thirty that morning looking haggard. He'd grunted an angry greeting, a warning against asking questions, then proceeded to make Sam's lunch. He'd snapped, swearing to God that Sam needed to "back the fuck off" when Sam had tried to insist he could make it himself.
Sam knew Dad had been due back a little over two weeks ago. Knew every single strain on Dean right now was because of Dad. But god damn it - Dean needed to let Sam carry some of the weight - at the very least his own.
But it didn't matter. What Sam really needed to do was get out of school as soon as possible. Make sure there was absolutely no delay in getting Dean into a bed so he could sleep because he was pretty sure his older brother had missed the last bus of the night, tried and failed to sleep on the stop's bench like a homeless person (maybe even with the homeless people), and then taken the first bus Friday morning at five. Sam was pretty damn determined that Dean wouldn't work again tonight even if it meant calling the bar to report his true age and get him fired. He didn't care anymore - he was pissed that Dean was doing this to himself. More pissed that Dad was doing this to Dean. On a general note, pissed that their situation, while not exactly common, still lacked an element of surprise.
Sam was thirteen and while he was small for his age he made up for it in his competency in training and knowledge their father put them through when he was around. Sam was obviously no longer in need of such stringent protective measures as the ones Dad had in place for them: leaving for weeks on end with only Dean as his guardian. As much as Sam hated hunting, he had to acknowledge that he'd rather be with their father during an investigation than ever have to realize Dean had been gone all night because he'd been sleeping on a bus stop bench.
When Dad got back, Sam was going to talk to him. He wouldn't mind if Dean was there too since Sam knew Dean wanted to hunt with his father. Sam was pretty confident Dean would back Sam's arguments. From here on out, Sam would say, Dad, you gotta take us with you on these hunts. They'd fight it but he bet he'd win in the end.
Sam's gaze hadn't moved from clock ticking above the classroom door but his mind turned back to the time, registering three twenty-five. He tried to look lazy as he took his textbook and legal pad off his desk and packed them into his backpack.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Walsh?"
Sam looked up like a deer in headlights, squinted in confusion, then vaguely pointed to the clock.
"It's like... three minutes 'til-"
"That's three minutes of class which is still in session, Sam. Get your things back out."
Sam's jaw clenched as he fought against rolling his eyes. While everyone else subtly started packing their things away now, Sam was forced to pull his book and notes back out onto his desk. The problem with being a straight-A student was that some teachers would get to a point of insecurity where they felt like they were playing favorites with him. As a consequence, they'd do stupid shit like this for a couple weeks just to make a point.
"See me after class, Sam," Mr. Grier said, frowning, and Sam had to resist a groan. He exchanged a glance with Kate, his lab partner, who was cringing on his behalf, as Mr. Grier resumed his lecture. Apparently the man was dedicated to teaching up to the very last second even though he was fine wasting that time to openly reprimand one of his best students. Take that, logic.
The bell rang and it seemed like the entire room lifted up as one, all students having been alerted by Sam that they were on countdown to the end of class. Sam kept himself in check as he packed up as fast as he could while everyone passed him. Kate threw him a quick soft 'bye Sam' before she took off too. Ready and set, Sam nearly tripped on the leg of his desk to get out and join the pack hurtling towards the door. He approached Grier's desk first though and made his bid for freedom.
"Mr. Grier, I'm really sorry I packed up earlier than I should've - it won't happen again. But if it's possible, could I still get going? I really need to leave-"
"Ev...ery...one wants to leave early on Fridays, Sam," Grier drawled, not even looking up to meet Sam's eyes.
"No but like I really-"
"Sam." Grier stopped and looked at his student with one eyebrow raised. Sam met the expression with wide, slightly desperate eyes. He really wanted to reply, "Mr. Grier," with the same tone of voice. Instead he took a second, trying to figure out a solution as the last kids were filtering out of the class.
"Look, Mr. Grier, if you want to give me detention, that's fine. I'll totally come in Monday morning and-"
"Sam, no," Grier interrupted, now genuinely annoyed, and Sam fell silent. If Grier wanted him to beg he would but it seemed like Grier wanted a soapbox. Sam would have to play audience to it. He had no time but...
"Sam, I'm not appreciating your attitude right now-"
"-I'm sorry, sir."
"Don't interrupt me," he replied and Sam nodded militantly, keeping his eyes fixed on Griers'. "You're an excellent student, Sam, but as my class is the last class of the day for not only you but the rest of the class it is important that everyone be diligent in keeping an eye on the clock and honoring the timetable that constitutes a full school day."
"Yes, sir," Sam nodded.
"Now. While you were watching the clock, were you honoring the timetable?"
"No, sir," Sam replied evenly, betraying nothing.
"No, you weren't," Grier said solemnly. He said no more, weighting Sam's infraction with so much silence Sam wasn't sure if he hadn't just killed a man.
Grier watched him, knowing he was wasting Sam's time, and Sam got the distinct impression that he was waiting for Sam to fuck up and look at the clock again.
Instead Sam just held his teacher's gaze, doing his best kicked-puppy impression. Dean said it always worked: why wasn't it working?!
More was needed, Sam figured.
"I'm very sorry, sir," Sam channeled his very real sense of helplessness into sounding like genuine contrition. "It won't happen again," Sam promised, trying to affect his voice with the solemnity of Grier's last words.
Grier sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"It better not," he eyed Sam.
"No, sir," Sam shook his head. He was nearly shaking - he'd been kept here for like five minutes now.
"All right," Grier sighed again. "I'm not giving you detention. Just a warning. Remember this conversation though, Samuel," Grier said and it sounded like a threat. Sam held his poker face.
"I will, sir, thank you," he replied, again his tone level and respectful. He waited to be dismissed and Grier ticked his head at the door authoritatively. Sam returned the gesture and turned to walk calmly through the door.
Once out of Grier's sight, Sam started racing past the few students still milling around the halls and stationed at their lockers, jumped every other stair to get to the ground floor (narrowly avoiding tripping again over the too-long cuffs of his hand-me-down jeans), and reached his own locker. He was efficient but frantic as he rotated the lock's dial and opened the door with a loud clang. He threw his books and binders into his bag, put his slightly large puffy mustard yellow jacket on (Goodwill, three dollars, thanks Dean), and proceeded to pull about four or five large empty plastic water bottles he'd saved from the cafeteria over the past week from the bottom of his locker. He stuffed two into his bag, kept the zipper open, and rushed over to the drinking fountain to fill them all.
Their motel, the Windy Side Inn, was on the verge of structural collapse. The plumbing was a joke but after having lived there for a little over a month, neither Sam nor Dean were laughing anymore. They needed water to drink and they really couldn't afford purchasing these new weird fad things of 'designer' bottled water that was priced at five dollars per liter.
Sam had taken the chore of keeping them hydrated, knowing Dean didn't really carry his backpack around these days as part of his whole 'cool badass senior' routine. That was a joke too but they were in dire straits - coming down on Dean on that whole thing now would just be mean. Plus Sam was taking every opportunity to help their situation - help Dean - where and when he could. Barring making my own lunch though apparently, Sam thought, rolling his eyes but a small smile played on his lips. Reluctant affection seemed to be Sam's most consistent sentiment towards his brother lately...
But now thinking of his brother reignited his anxiety to get out. He'd started filling the last water bottle when his thoughts turned back to Grier, who had been renamed in Sam's head to, 'Fucking Asshole.'
He thought about Fucking Asshole's last words to him - the strangely menacing vibe he'd given off as he'd told Sam to remember their conversation. He even used Sam's full name at the end of his sentence.
Sam mouthed, "what the fuck was that," his thorough bafflement over Fucking Asshole's behavior would've been comical were his circumstances different. Sam wiped the hair out of his face as the last bottle filled to the brim. He capped it, threw it into his bag, and jogged out into the lobby. When he got there he realized he was already overheating in his jacket. Glancing around, he saw the front desk's lights were nearly completely turned off, one lone receptionist wearing her jacket, standing up and grabbing her purse with her keys in hand. Sam admired the speed with which shitty public school teachers and administration could shut a school down so fast when it was a Friday night. He squinted through the office's glass to see what time it was on the clock inside - three fifty-five.
Sam swore and ran for the doors, feeling himself starting to sweat. He burst out of the lobby, braced himself against the freezing wind and rain, and made a running bee-line for the bleachers.
The cuffs of his jeans were getting muddy as they pounded across the field. Sam tried to glance up a few times to spot his brother but he really couldn't without risking slipping or tripping on the cold, wet, uneven ground. He had to keep his eyes down and focused on his footing.
That was, until he got close enough to finally see Dean.
His brother.
Dean, his brother... whose normal demeanor when waiting for Sam to get out of school was that of a living, smoking (literally) gargoyle perched on the topmost bench of the bleachers.
Instead, he sighted his brother standing on the ground in front of the bleachers doing jumping jacks.
"Dean!?" Sam shouted, wondering what the hell was going on. As he got closer he noticed Dean didn't have his jacket on. It was windy and raining and Sam knew he was running on fumes - what the hell did he think he was doing?
Dean just continued doing jumping jacks, his back to Sam, and Sam realized the wind had muffled his call to his brother. He let it go and continued his jog out, more and more intrigued as he spotted what looked like a small bundled-up child sitting on the lowest bleacher watching him.
Sam called, "hey," once, out of breath, a few yards away from Dean.
Holy shit, Sam thought, looking at the kid, is he wearing Dean's jacket?!
"SAM!"
The kid shouted, jumping off the bleacher and barreling towards him. Sam stopped dead, stunned, and Dean whipped around in time to see the kid ram into Sam and wrap his arms around him.
"Oscar! Whoa, Heyyy... buddy..." Sam drew the greeting out into a question at Dean as he patted the kid's head.
"He knows you?" Dean asked, pleasantly surprised, as he took a couple more steps towards them. Sam winced at his brother's appearance: Dean looked both sweaty and ill, eyes hollowed out, lips dry and cracked. Dean ignored Sam's transparent concern in favor of casually glancing at his watch. He gave it a double-take, eyes widening with his own worry.
"Oh shit," he muttered.
"Sam, I made a friend," Oscar said, pulling away and working his hand out of Dean's jacket's sleeve to grab onto Sam's. Sam went with it limply, still somewhat shocked. Oscar pointed at Dean. "Look!"
"Yeah, man, we know each other too," Dean replied to Oscar. He lifted his gaze up to Sam, "Sam we got a problem," he added in an undertone.
"How do you know each other?" Oscar asked, excited.
"Hold on a second, Oscar," Sam tugged Oscar's hand for emphasis and looked to his brother, "What's going on?"
Dean walked a few paces closer to them as he spoke.
"Um," Dean eyed Oscar, who'd begun swinging Sam's arm contentedly, "Oscar's aunt hasn't shown up to pick him up. Can you take him back to the school?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Thought she was just late. Lost track of time."
"You serious?" Sam asked, frustrated.
"Whatever man," Dean blew him off, "just take him back to the school. Let 'em call his aunt at the front desk. No big."
"Dean, it's too late. I saw them closing up the office when I left the building."
"Shit," Dean murmured. He washed a hand down his face and rubbed his eyes. Sam didn't say anything, not knowing what to do and willing to let Dean call the shots. He watched his brother slowly lull his head down to look at Oscar who was still holding Sam's hand and was now looking up at them with wide, trusting eyes.
Dean rolled his.
Writer's Note: Okay this is definitely not a two-shot. It's going to be short though. Kind of similar to The House Edge. Also just fyi I'm not going to pull any weird What's-Eating-Gilbert-Grape crap & refuse to ID Oscar's condition. It'll be revealed eventually - but only when one of the characters mentions it explicitly. I can't pinpoint exactly why I'm doing it like that - it just feels right for whatever reason. Please comment/review if you can spare the time! Thank you so much for reading! ~ Alex
