3
December, 1991
Sam was in a bad mood, which even he was willing to admit was a more and more common thing these days. The Winchesters had recently moved and Sam, once again, found himself at a new school. He was actually getting used to his nomadic existence, but that didn't mean he liked it. Especially since Sam had really liked the last place they lived and had made a few really close friends.
But now, he was in a new school in a new town that either had more kids than average or smaller buildings than average – because, although he and his brother were in the same school building in the last town, Sam was in the gold brick grade school and his brother Dean was in the red brick middle school a few blocks away.
And so, here Sam sat, on the steps in front of his school, waiting for his brother. He honestly felt that nine was perfectly old enough to walk home (motel) on his own, but as usual Dad didn't see it that way – not even when Sam brought up the argument that Dean's school let out fifteen minutes after his and that walking to Sam's school made Dean's trip even longer since it was in the opposite direction of the motel (Sam knew because they passed the middle school on the walk home and Dean had pointed it out to him). They were good arguments – but, apparently, not good enough.
By nine, Sam had come to understand that there were certain givens in life, certain things that would always remain the same. Wanna short list? 1) Mom was never coming back. 2) Dad would keep hunting until he found and killed the thing that took her from them. 3) Dean would always take care of Sam (more than Dad would). 4) Sam would always be the baby in the family and therefore would never be treated like anything else. But, just because they were givens that still didn't mean he had to like them.
So Sam sat and waited (knowing full-well that Dad had some sort of special internal radar that alerted him to any disobedience – Sam honestly didn't know how the man did it) and waited and waited. The day was dreary, matching his mood. There were yellow leaves stuck all over the ground with rainy glue and the sky was grey with clouds, the sun never even trying to poke through. It was cool but not cold, which Sam was thankful for, but it was still miserable.
To make things worse, one of the school buses seemed to be running late and therefore a dozen or more kids were lined up and waiting for their ride. The company would have made Sam feel better if they were sharing his foul mood (yes, misery does indeed love company). But, no, they were all cheerfully talking about their plans for the holidays: finally the last day of school got here, no homework for three weeks, going to Grandma's to make gingerbread cookies, going skiing with the whole family, Christmas tree's so big that Dad had to cut some of the branches off, and on and on and on.
Sam felt like his head would explode. He had never been good at waiting, and he had never been good at listening to others talk about their nice and normal (and fun) lives while he was stuck with his crappy existence. It was either scream or move around to ease some of the tension he felt, or risk grinding his teeth into rubble from clenching his jaw so hard.
And, because Sam did not like to make a fool of himself (so no screaming) and he valued his teeth, the only viable option was to get up from the cold stone step and move around. Of course, pacing and sudden bouts of calisthenics would also fall into the 'making a fool of himself' range, so instead Sam looked down the sidewalk - for possibly the hundredth time! - in the hopes of seeing his brother.
At the edge of the steps, however, just as Sam was about to reach the sidewalk, a quick little ball of fur with long ears, practically ran under his foot. It took him a moment to catch his breath and balance, but was very proud of himself for not yelping or jumping a mile in the air (again with that foolish thing). Sam shook his head and smiled to himself, then stepped forward again to resume his look-out.
Then he felt someone watching him – you don't live your whole life with John Winchester and not pick up a thing or two. He looked up and met the stare of a slightly larger boy from the bus line. As soon as the eye contact was made, the other boy loudly ordered Sam not to come any closer to him. The rest of the line turned to see what the fuss was about as the boy went on to explain that a hare crossing your path is an omen of disaster.
Well, that was all it took – it was just like old Mrs. Logan had told him once about one of the characters in her stories who was apparently someone's evil twin or something. She told him that it only takes one rotten apple to spoil the pie. Actually, her version was something about an old banana and a strawberry tart. Sam would have laughed at the memory if he wasn't busy turning red from embarrassment.
He hated it when the other kids at school talked about him or looked at him like he was less-than-ordinary. Being the perpetual new kid was bad enough without being the weird new kid. But, what was done was done, and all the kids in line were either talking of the possible destruction that was waiting for him or arguing about the validity of the superstition – many discussions involving which animal is actually bad luck, if color matters, and whether time of day affects anything.
Right about now, Sam hated his brother. Hated him for being late (probably got into trouble), which made him wait, which caused the kids to start talking about him, which was too much for Sam – it was all he could do to keep the tears from falling. He started to walk away so that the bus kids wouldn't soon think of him as the weird, crybaby, new kid. He was crossing the street when the kids started yelling to him – which made his eyes threaten even more tears, which in turn made him hate his brother even more.
The idea of coming up with a way to retaliate and make his brother feel as awful as he did (maybe even get him in trouble with Dad) had just entered Sam's mind when he felt a strong and sudden shove against his back. The abrupt displacement must have knocked Sam's brain around a bit because he couldn't make sense of the sounds he was hearing – horn blaring, tires screeching, people screaming, and a short series of thumps – as his body fell forward.
When he heard someone shout Call 911!, Sam broke out of his haze (when did he hit the ground?) and looked around. There was a sporty red car and a worried driver saying something about the leaves and wet pavement and tried to stop. There was a teacher with a cell phone telling someone her location. There was a the tardy bus driver trying to keep the bus kids back. There was even a girl crying onto her friend's shoulder and a boy puking in the bushes in front of the school.
And when Sam's eyes finally made their way down to the apparent attraction that everyone had circled around, he saw Dean. His big brother was lying on the ground in front of the car (and Sam couldn't help but notice that his own backpack, that he dropped when he was shoved, was near his brother and nearly under the car's front tire). Dean was lying on his back, eyes open wide, teeth clenched, breathing hard.
Sam crawled over towards him and saw that Dean's right leg was at an angle that no leg should ever be in. Dean was looking (probably without really seeing) straight up at the sky and Sam moved so that his face was directly above his brother's. The tears Sam had been holding back were now beyond his control, one even rolled down his cheek in such a way as to splash against his brother's face.
Dean looked up at his little brother and Sam could see the way his eyes traveled around and searched for injury. He seemed to relax when Sam passed the test but still asked if his brother was OK.
Sam began sobbing, trying to tell Dean that he was the hurt one and not to worry about Sam and other random words of apology and anguish. Though none of it came out intelligible, Dean still somehow understood him and smiled and told him that he was fine, would be fine. Then, as if Sam had just awoken from a nightmare rather than sitting in the middle of the street with his brother, Dean pulled Sam down to him and held out his arm – the invitation for Sam to snuggle into his brother's side (though it was the left side today instead of the usual right) and be comforted.
Sam hesitated for only a moment, feeling guilty that his injured brother was consoling him, before making a pillow of Dean's arm. By the time the ambulance arrived, Sam's tears were only memories on his chapped cheeks, leaving him with just the occasional sniffle. Before the EMTs put Dean on the stretcher, he looked over at Sam (pleading with his eyes for his little brother to come with him, stay within his sight) and told him that Dad was probably going to be pissed.