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DISCLAIMER.
Song - Sister Christian by Night Ranger
Time's A Changin'.
Ages:
Dean – 19
Sam/Becca – 14
Year:
1998; Mid Spring
3rd Person POV
Becca grumbled to herself as the warm yellow light buzzed overhead, failing to illuminate much more than the brunette in front of the sink. The room smelled of lingering chemicals, even though it seemed likely that chemicals hadn't passed through the threshold in years. Yet it was the only room that guaranteed complete solitude for her to change and properly prepare herself for the night – even if it wasn't her first idea of a fun time. Her small mouth moved quickly, the quiet, angered words barely audible as she dragged a wand that dripped with sweet, sticky, clear liquid across her lips. Her face grimaced and she gagged once the taste hit her senses as she worked in the lip gloss. "Oh gross!" she chirped and held out the tube that her friend had passed along to her. "Kate actually uses this? No wonder her brothers made fun of her! My lips look like Dean put wax on them. I can see my reflection in them!" she hissed at herself, as she leaned in closer to the mirror, eyes wide with realization. She stuffed the tube back among the mess of other things and then reached up and touched her hand to the hair that was piled in delicate curls that spilled from the top of her head to the base of her neck. As she sighed, she pressed her fingers into and against the stiff curls and cracked them, much to her amusement.
Before she could stimulate and hear the crack of another curl, a harsh pounding began on the other side of the locked door vibrating it within its frame, accompanied with the shout of, "Hey, hurry up, would ya? You guys gotta go soon!" from her eldest brother.
"Yeah, yeah, calm down," she huffed out more to herself than him. Her fingers clutched around the edge of the sink, and her eyes slowly roamed over the amount of things in front of her that sat in a wide array of colors. She found it impossible that anyone could possibly know what to do with all of it – and even more impossible that her three closest friends had any idea about it at all, considering she thought she knew their lives to be like hers, and this was not in it. She rubbed her lips together once more out of habit and frowned as the gloss touched the tip of her tongue. As she dragged the tip of her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to get the gloss off, she decided that Carmex was no longer the bane of her winter time existence. Then, as she picked up a small plastic stick with a padded end, Becca took a breath and popped open the small square containing what Leah had explained earlier to be eye shadow. The shade of brown looked to dull and thick in her opinion, and to Becca, there was no possible way this would be in the same realm of "attractive" like her friend has promised. None the less, she swiped the pad along the top and judged the powder that now sat, waiting to decorate her lid. With careful movements and a wide left eye, Becca slowly moved the foam brush like she'd been taught in the school bathroom as she skipped her third hour, and did her best to mimic the exact motions of her friend. She blinked her eyes when she finished and her brows shot into the air. What she had considered to be a dull and dry, boring even, shade of brown instead shimmered in the poor bathroom light and complimented the rest of the products she'd already managed to use quite nicely. As she jutted out a lower lip and nodded her approval, she made a mental note to thank her friend in the morning – or the next time she'd see her since there was no guarantee either of them would be returning to the same school the following day.
There never was.
The gained confidence continued to grow while Becca put more powder on the brush and readied herself to apply it, using the same smooth strokes, when the bathroom door flung open and an annoyed, yet smiling, Sam walked in and announced that they had to go, "right now". Her head jerked from surprise and Becca's hand shot across her face, creating a shimmering brown line from her lid, through and past her eye brow. "Sam!" she whined, embarrassed at what had happened and immediately finding a very deep distaste for makeup. "Look what you made me do!"
Not understanding, Sam stepped forward as Becca turned around, his face quickly changed from amused to shocked, and back to amused. "I don't think you did that right," he teased lightly.
"You sound like Dean," she sighed, turning around and angrily yanking toilet paper from the roll before ripping much more than necessary. As she wetted the paper under the faucet, she fought the urge to look up and make eye contact with her twin, for fear he might see just how much he had been reminding her of Dean as of late. A fear she wasn't sure she wanted to come true. If there were two Deans, she assured herself that the day would never come when she could retaliate and be one whole Becca. "I'm almost done, I promise," she assured him as she began to wipe the mistaken line from her face.
"Here," Sam offered, sitting her down on the lid of the toilet and taking the wet paper from her hand. "Two eyes will be able to see better than one." He smiled and gently wiped away the brown eye shadow, barely even leaving a pink mark beneath. "Done."
Becca stood and then looked in the mirror, relieved to see that it wouldn't be much more to fix than the eye. After she finished her makeup, she stuffed it all back into the borrowed makeup case she'd almost forgot was stashed in her bag. Determined to double and triple check that everything was cleaned up, put away, and that she didn't look like a complete fool, Becca turned and stopped when she saw her twin hesitantly standing in the doorway, watching her. "What?" she questioned, looking down at the pink dress that covered her, afraid she'd wrecked what Callie had allowed her to borrow.
Sam's full smile lit up both his face and hers, and she felt like the room had a brighter glow than before. "I've never seen you look like this," he told her, studying her face and taking in his sister as others finally saw her. She was right. She didn't look like him at all.
Panic built up inside of her showing in her eyes and suddenly pale complexion. "Like what? Do I look okay? Oh I knew that trying to add makeup would be dumb. Leah's dumb. I told her!" Becca worried as she turned and began pulling at the roll of toilet paper once more.
"No, Becca, I mean all dolled up," her twin answered her, shaking his head at her overreaction and stepping over to take the toilet paper from her small hands and pile it back on top the roll.
She couldn't help but to look away with both curiosity and a slight blush, and then made sure to avoid her brother's eye. The pink fabric clung to her in areas that her clothes normally did not, and her hair was never this intricate. What made her blush further was that the woman who'd allowed her daughter to share the dress and offered to do her hair – didn't even know Becca. She smiled when she'd been introduced to the young girl, welcoming her into the nurse's office and hearing her daughter's concern about her "friend" not being able to go to the dance without a proper outfit. She'd shook her head at it all and Becca finally laid her hands in her lap and sat down once more – overwhelmed at all the compliments everyone had been giving her. "I am not," she argued quietly, feeling as though it were a habit more than anything else, but praying deep down that it were true.
Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his sister up to face him. "You look good, Bec. I mean it. I'm ready when you are," he told her before squeezing her hand and walking into the main area of the motel room.
"Jesus, come on, Becca. Christ, you ever plan on getting your prissy, painted ass to this thing or not!? Doors close in twenty and I still gotta pick up the date and the thing," Dean groaned from where he continued to sit on the couch in front of the television. As quickly as the confidence and belief came in, it faded back into doubt, deep within her chest.
Becca heard Sam chuckle from somewhere beyond the wall and bit her own bottom lip while taking a last look in the mirror. She did have a painted face, and compared to normal – she supposed this would be considered prissy. Still, it had been a while since someone had picked on her solely from looks. Her large eyes lowered and zipped the makeup bag shut, a heavy feeling of sadness settling in her chest. Sam's previous words no longer hung with her, but instead faded away – along with his laughter. Dean hadn't even seen her, and he already knew what she looked like. It was the same as normal. She did something for Sam to make him happy, and when she became happy in the event as well, Dean was always there to destroy it, bringing Sam to laughter each time. She couldn't remember when she stopped enjoying Dean as a big brother and found him to be more of a bully and what she supposed was a normal guy, but she was sick of it. Rolling her eyes and pretending to ignore him could only last her so long before they'd have a blowout – and she knew at this point there were no chances to turn back towards not having one.
"He's not a thing, Dean," she sighed, finally stepping into the main area of the motel room, earning both her brothers' eyes. "And you're gonna be nice," she tried to sound like it wasn't a question, but the rise of intonation gave her away, along with the hopefulness that fell from her like water.
It took a moment of her looking at him with large eyes, blinking, and waiting for his agreement. Dean took in his sister's appearance, stunned at the way she was holding herself, and to how clueless she was towards her appearance. A clearing of the throat from his brother who stood at the end of the couch caused Dean to shake his head and allowed for his eyes to return to their normal size. "Yeah," he slowly spoke, standing up and turning off the television. "Sure," he finally chuckled, gaining back the momentum and attitude that he normally held. "You're just lucky I'm even letting you go. Good thing you convinced Sam or you'd be sitting here making bullets for me. Now, let's go!" he finished, barking as he mumbled about having to meet up with Dad in less than so many hours.
When Dean had walk to the Impala, loading weapons, Becca turned on her twin. "What is he talking about? I didn't convince you, you practically begged me to find a date to go with you and what's-her-blonde."
A small, sheepish smile crossed over Sam's lips as he grabbed her coat from the back of the chair next to the table. "Who cares, right? You're going, I'm going, we have dates – it's just like everyone else. We're finally getting a normal life," he explained, holding her jacket out for her to put on.
"Normal for you," she grumbled as she shrugged the jacket onto her shoulders. "You get to wear pants."
A muffled groan sounded in the back seat as she buried her face into her hands, not caring about the possibility of messing up her makeup. Becca's face grew hot while Dean turned up the volume of the radio and belted out the chorus to the rest of them, certainly set on embarrassing his youngest sibling. Poor Anthony, she thought, glancing up and seeing him slouch further in his seat while Becca, Sam, and his date were squished into the back.
"Mortorin'! What's your price for flight!?" Dean sung louder, drumming his hand along the rim of the steering wheel, catching a glimpse at his sister's face in the rearview mirror. "Aww, come on, Bec! I thought you liked this song?"
"I did," she moaned, dreading the rest of the ride to the school's gymnasium.
Turning his attention to Anthony, Dean smiled. "You like music?"
Becca's head snapped up at the words, questioning their sincerity. "Yeah," Anthony shrugged just as Becca opened her mouth to respond. The lack of detail caused a disapproving look from Sam and a closed eyed expression from Becca. Whimpering, Becca then smacked her forehead into the back of the seat in front of her, counting the silent seconds that then followed her date's response.
The song ended, signaling the DJ to begin his talking, and Dean's clearing of his throat. The shifting of the other two patrons in the backseat were almost deafening to Becca's feeling of awkwardness. Scratching her thumb, she looked up and caught her eldest brother's eyes in the rearview, eyes widening as his own rolled in their sockets. "Uh, what kind of music do you like?" Becca practically shouted as the silence finally beat away at her.
As almost all eyes turned to stare questioningly, Anthony continued to look out of the window to the blackened world beyond. "I don't know?" he questioned, as though she may possibly have the answer for him. "Top hits, I guess?"
"Well, this song was a top hit," Dean smiled, turning up the volume while Point of No Return played noisily at the chorus.
"No," Anthony bit, reaching forward to turn down the radio dial. Becca reached out and clasped Sam's hand at the same moment he made an audible intake of breath. The twins slowly turned their eyes to Dean, expecting a drastic reaction. "I meant good top hits." No one paid any heed to Anthony's words as the air seemed to be sucked out of the car all together. "You know, Pretty Fly for a White Guy? All My Life? Closing Time?"
Licking his lips, Sam tried to smile. "Uh," he stammered, squeezing his sister's hand reassuringly and attempting to change the topic before Dean blew up. "What do you guys think about getting food after the dance? We can catch a couple burgers at a diner or something."
Dean didn't hesitate to remind Sam of the agreed to time constraint. Becca slouched in her seat, upset with the promise that, as usual, the twins would be walking home together immediately after the dance let out. No stops, no sidetracks, no change of plans. The car remained eerily silent until it finally stopped in front of the school's filling gymnasium. Anthony clambered out of the front, slamming the door unnecessarily rough before stalking a few steps towards the doors. Sam and his own date then slowly climbed out, thanking Dean for the ride, and waited beside Anthony. Becca was last, reaching for her handle and mumbling out an apology before she swung the door open and stepped out. Before she passed him, Dean's hand grabbed a hold of her arm and stopped her.
"Hey, I don't know how long Dad and I will be on this hunt, okay?" he spoke, taking in his sister's appearance once more. Seeing the drop of her large eyes and nod of her head, he swallowed and continued. "So be sure that you and Sam be extra careful, okay? I can't stay here to watch you guys. And make sure that you call me when you guys get back to the hotel."
Sighing, Becca looked away from Dean and towards the three people waiting for her in front of the school. A small frown formed as Anthony spoke and Sam's face seemed to just grow more and more angered and upset. "Yeah," she finally answered, snapping her green eyes to her brother's almost identical ones. "I know the drill, Dean. I'm not seven."
Nodding his head, Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel, his other hand not yet letting go of her arm. "Right. I know. Okay, well… Just don't do anything with… I mean… you know… that guy? Really? Is that the only poor sucker that you could get to go with you to the dance?"
Becca's face fell and she sucked in her cheeks, mentally pushing the comment down into the box that often sealed his words in tightly. Gently removing her arm from his grasp, she shook her head. "I just didn't want to look like a loser coming to this thing and sitting by myself all night while Sam had fun. Besides, no one else had asked me, anyway. He was all that was left."
Dean's own face fell at her words and he straightened himself out in his seat. "Oh. I didn't know."
"That's because I didn't tell you."
"Right." Neither moved as their eyes avoided one another and Sam then called for his sister to join them. "Okay, Bec, I gotta go. But, just, don't do anything I'll end up regretting later, okay? I don't want to have to come back from killing one asshole just to kill another."
"Dean – " she started to respond, her voice edging along annoyance.
"I'm serious," he looked at her pointedly. "You look good, Becs. Really. Pretty even. Just make sure that creep keeps his hands to himself."
Becca smiled through a deep blush. "Thanks, Dean. We won't be gone late, I promise," she told him, receiving a nod. The silence seeped in once more before a car behind them honked and she laid a small hand on his forearm. "Don't die, okay?" she recited.
Smirking, Dean shifted the Impala into drive and allowed his sister to step away so he could pull away safely. "I won't," he winked before waving to the car behind him and pressing on the accelerator.
Stepping safely onto the curb, Becca watched as the car drove away and made it through the light at the top of the hill before continuing on. Sam was suddenly at her side, his hand clasped in hers. "You okay?"
"He told you to watch my date, didn't he?"
"Yeah. He gave full 'permission to pummel' if I think it's necessary."
"…He said I looked pretty."
"You do."
"I think he meant it," she trailed off, blinking back a few tears that had started to build on the rims of her eyes.
With a squeeze to her hand, Sam smiled. "He did," he told her before directing her towards their dates and following her into the dance.
Spinning with her arms stretched out into the air, Becca smiled as the skirt of her dress flared out around her. Stumbling over a dropped shoe, the world quickly started to tilt and her arms began to flap in an attempt to save her. With a buckle to her ankle, her body suddenly dropped – ready to become a heap of satin and tulle on the carpet when a pair of hands caught her, pulling her upright. Hazel eyes appeared in front of her.
"Sam!" she shouted over the music that continued to vibrate the walls of the retro decorated basement. "When did you get here?" her breaths were labored, and she seemed shocked at how winded she'd become.
"Not that long ago. When did you get here? I looked all over school for you! Bec, do you know how worried I've been? I almost called Dean!" Sam admitted, annoyance and disappointment in his face. Much to his dismay, however, his sister wasn't able to register his expression and only shrugged.
Scrunching her brows as she tried to remember when she'd actually left, she clutched her twin's arms. "I don't know… Oh! Anthony! He might remember. Come on, Sam! Anthony!" she called, dragging Sam behind her as she pushed past people and tripped through the doorway into the next room. "Hey, Antho – oh! Sam, look! Isn't that what's-her-blonde? Man, they are really going at it. Wait, wait, I'll stop her. Hey! You, blonde girl who is being mean to my brother!" Becca began calling, pulling up on her skirt to charge the blonde who pulled away from Anthony and looked up in surprise at the commotion that was drawing the attention of the others in the basement.
Sam stood rigid in the doorway, not exactly sure what his eyes were locked on. It wasn't until Becca fell on her face and the crowd around him laughed – causing Anthony to stand up and move toward his sister with a fed-up expression, that Sam finally snapped back to reality. "Don't touch her," Sam growled, coming to stand in front of his sister's date, his hands forming fists at his sides. Without another word, Anthony held his hands up in surrender, looking surprised to see the rage behind Sam's eyes.
"Get her out of here, Sam. Before she gets us caught."
"She isn't the one you gotta worry about getting you caught – I am." Turning around, Sam looked over his shoulder before bending down and helping his sister as she struggled to her feet. "Come on, Bec," he spoke quietly. "We gotta get you home." Helping her stand, he kept an arm around her and walked her to the stairs where she then started to protest.
"I don't wanna go home, I wanna stay here!" she whined, trying to pull away from his hold. "Sam, I don't wanna go!"
"We gotta get back and call, Dean, remember? Do you want us to get into trouble?"
"Ugh, why not," she finally pulled away. "We live boring lives, Sam, I don't wanna be stuck in the motel anymore. Let's have fun!" She then stumbled her way over to the concessions that sat on a table and filled a large plastic cup with the sweet red liquid in the punch bowl.
Streams escaped at the corner of her lips and created small red rivers as they moved towards her chin and a few drops landed on the skin above the neckline on her dress. She lurched as a hand took the cup from her, and she almost choked on the liquid that came spilling between her mouth and rim of the plastic. "What are you doing," she coughed, keeping her body bent so that her mouth was away from the rest of her, in fear that the dress would stain.
Sam didn't speak as he swigged some of the juice. Spitting back into the cup and dropping it into the plastic lined trash, he turned on her. "There's alcohol in here, Becca!" He turned to look at her, waiting for her to explain, when instead he found her in the middle of the crowd, dancing, a smile on her face. The anger and annoyance from within suddenly dulled, becoming nothing more than a small tinge in his stomach. He hadn't seen his sister smile like that in a long time and Sam's face showed the sorrow he felt for her. He knew she didn't like being locked away in the motel like some princess or damsel in distress; especially with the numerous hours she had to put in when they practiced. He remembered that on more than a few occasions, she had expressed how she didn't understand why she had to put in the extra work and prove herself able if their father just kept her caged like an animal. He smiled as he watched her appear almost free. Then the voice of his older brother came to mind as if they were a warning as to what would happen if Sam didn't take charge and take care of his sibling. Stepping into the crowd and shooting apologetic glances to the people he moved, he finally came face to face with Becca.
Out of breath once more, she smiled and hugged him. "Sam!" she laughed, stumbling backward but using him as a way to catch herself.
"Becca, come on, we really gotta get home," he told her, taking her by the wrist and pulling her after him towards the stairs.
He was moving too fast for her to nimbly follow, and therefore, she stumbled behind him, unable to break her wrist free from his hold. It wasn't until they were at the top of the landing and working their way through the kitchen and towards the front door that she was finally registering what was happening. "Sam," she tried to call, using her free hand to try and pry his fingers away. "Sam, stop!" she yelled, gaining the attention of others around them. Sam's grip on her wrist only tightened until they were on the concrete porch outside of the house.
Letting go of her, Sam watched as she snatched her arm into the air and made an attempt to step around him to walk away. Catching the edge of the step, Becca fell forward, her arms bracing her for the hard fall she made into the grass and mud of the yard. He stepped forward to help her, taking in the green and brown streaks that now stained the light pink material. Refusing his help, Becca groaned and looked down at herself, pushing a few stray tendrils back from where they'd fallen to frame her face and neck. He heard the mutters she shot at him about "having to call Dean" and "He's not even here and he's still ruining my life" while she picked at and swiped at the stains that were level with her knees, trying to hide the tears that rimmed her eyes.
Sam looked around them and frowned, trying to keep from letting her comments bother him. Instead, he tried to occupy himself with figuring out how they were going to get back to the motel before it became too late. There were plenty of cars, sure, and breaking into one wouldn't be the issue. He had extensive knowledge on the how-to of hotwiring one – but he was more concerned with the curious eyes and gossiping mouths that would surely point a finger to him once their parents began to ask questions. Pointed fingers only spelled worse troubles for the Winchester family; especially when all the legal adults were away on business. Casting his sister a side glance, Sam rubbed his hand over his face, knowing they would have to walk the number of miles it took to get to their front door.
It was close to forty-five minutes since they'd left the party and were on their way back to the motel when Becca finally began asking her brother if they could stay out longer. Refusal after refusal met her questioning, until finally Sam wanted to know why she would rather swing at the park.
"Because it's so nice out!" she yelled, throwing her hands above her and spinning on the spot, grinning widely. She continued until more than just she was the thing to be spinning. Clutching her head, things around her continued to move and Becca found herself unsteadily leaning closer to the ground beneath her feet.
Sam quickly linked his arm through hers and stuck his free hand in his pocket. "Let's just walk together, all right?"
Shooting him an overly exaggerated smile of thanks, Becca then leaned her head on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh. "Sammy… can I call you Sammy?" A few stumbles continued to interfere with her stability, but she was eternally thankful that Sam was there to catch her.
There was a chuckle as he listened to her breaking voice transform into one that was often reserved for when she was around children or adorable animals. "I would prefer you didn't," he answered her sincerely, keeping his own eyes open and forward, watching for anything that could cause harm.
"Sammy," she practically cut him off with an exaggerated breath. "I'm real sorry your date ditched you. And I'm even more sorry she ditched you for my date," she told him tripping on a crack and having him catch her.
"It's okay, Becca," came his quiet reply, lying to both of them.
Becca shook her head against the side of his arm while swatting at the few tendrils that tickled her cheek. "It is not!" she argued. "And do you know why it's not?! Because. They're both jerks. Big ugly jerks. I hope they get married and have ugly babies."
Through another chuckle, Sam tried to remain upset at her. "Becca," he lightly scolded with a shake of his head to clear the hair from in front of his eyes.
"Well I do!" she grumbled, allowing her brother to continue to lead them back to the motel, passing the park without a second glance. As her head remained on his shoulder, a smile crossed her face and she looked through her lashes towards his chin. "Sammy, this is a good height for you. I think you should stay this height forever. Don't grow like Ms. Ragnor said you're gonna. Stay the same height as me, cause then we'll be equal forever," she yawned.
Sam looked down at her from the corner of his eye, using his arm to pull her in closer to him. "I'll do my best." Seeing the smile spread a little further and settle a little deeper on her mouth, he smiled himself.
Nodding and rumbling through an almost inaudible "good", Becca froze as a tremor emitted from her stomach. "Oh!" she chirped, releasing Sam and placing her hands on her abdomen. "I think I'm hungry. Let's go get the burgers like you talked about earlier!"
It took a moment for Sam to realize that his sister was walking away from him, in hopes of food. "Bec? Becca!" he called, running after her. "It's late, restaurants aren't going to be open now."
A pout formed on her lips and she shifted her stance to her left foot. "But, I'm hungry, and I don't wanna go back and see Dean yet, and my feet hurt, and they're cold, and they're dirty, and –"
"Wait," Sam stopped her and stooped down as she continued her complaints about her feet. Lifting the bottom hem of her dress, his eyes widened when tanned, dirtied feet met his eyes. "Where are your shoes?"
Scrunching her face and throwing her torso forward, Becca lifted the dress up to see she was barefoot. "…Did I even have shoes?" she questioned, facing him with an uplifted brow and confused eyes.
Dropping her dress and standing up, Sam ran a hand through his hair and stared at her. "Great," he mumbled, watching his sister poke at her toes while she wiggled them.
"Sam, I think they're dead."
"Who?" he quickly snapped, looking around for a corpse of some sort.
"My toes," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "They're cold, and I can't feel them. Oh no, what if we have to cut them off, and then when we get back to Dean, he's gonna see I'm missing my toes, and he's gonna yell at me, Sam. He's gonna keep yelling, and then I'll never get to leave any of the motel rooms again, because I won't have toes, and I just really don't wanna be locked up anymore…"
The night was turning into a mess. They were still a few miles away from the motel, and it was beyond the time he'd agreed to call Dean. It was as though he could feel the minutes getting heavier and heavier with something that he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. Her words were pounding against his skull, a throbbing mass of reminders screaming that he was letting his brother down. "Becca, stop!" he finally yelled, pulling at his hair. "Dean only yells at you when you mess up, okay? He doesn't just fly off the handle for nothing, so stop pretending he's some giant jerk."
Her mouth hung open while the material of the dress slowly left her hands and swung along the ground. Not knowing how to respond, Becca swallowed and stood up to be eye level with her twin, a rare moment of fear behind her eyes when looking at him. "You don't know what you're talking about, Sam. He yells at me all the time. And he doesn't want to deal with me, so he keeps me locked up cleaning guns or making bullets, or doing his laundry. You don't know, because you're not stuck there."
She expected a short, curt response – something to push her further for explanation. She silently begged for him to ask her to explain so that she could finally break the dam that had been keeping all these feelings at bay to save face. "So, what? Are you sayin' you're some kind of Cinderella?" he asked instead, smirking and bringing a taunting gleam to his eyes.
Becca's heart began to beat harder in her chest, instantly recognizing the face in front of her as Dean's. She could have sworn the words even came out in her eldest brother's voice. Then the grief came like a torrential rain, raging inside of her. Her suppressed fears screamed in to her – saying that her life had suddenly turned into her nightmare. Dean was slowly pulling Sam further and further away from her, and it seemed like she was the only one to be holding on keeping him near her. It was in her heart that she believed once Sam was fully Dean's, she would be alone in those motel rooms and forgotten, with no one to remind anyone that she was left behind. Her chin trembled at the thought that from here on out it would only be a matter of time before she became completely and utterly broken and left to stay that way forever.
Tears pricked at her eyes and she sniffed, trying to keep them at bay and appear strong like she did in front of Dean and her dad. "Fine," she croaked, wiping her arm under her nose and shaking her head. Sam watched as part of her up-do fell to the side, making her appear as destroyed and rough as his night felt. She, like his expectations, had completely changed since that moment he first saw her reflection in the mirror. He could no longer admit that she represented the same girl the boys always whispered about and stared at. She was no longer the girl who didn't see the stares or catch the innuendos when people spoke to her. Instead she looked like a child. A spoiled child who was throwing a fit and a pang of anger coursed through him at her attitude. "I don't want you to come with me anyway," she announced. "You just always do what you're told and don't know how to have fun. Just go call Dean. Tell him I'm not there, it doesn't matter anymore. But I'm going to go get food."
Finishing her words, she turned and began to walk away, deciding to do what she wanted in an attempt to save her night. An angry tug on her arm caused her to stumble and fall, facing her brother, his grip sure to leave bruises on her skin. Hissing, reached for her knee, positioning herself to a sitting position, shocked at the site in front of her. In the pink fabric now sat a tear, clear to Becca's no longer tanned skin. Red drops began to form into larger spots, staining the fabric in the halo of the streetlight, and spreading over her palm as it pressed against the scrape.
"Becca," Sam choked out, shocked. Never had he laid an angered hand on his sister, and now he found it burned with regret and guilt. "I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry." Words couldn't form properly as the blood continued to show, blood he had never before spilt.
"Don't bother, Sam. It's too late," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks while couldn't meet his eyes.
Dropping the plastic bag onto the table and closing the door behind him, Sam leaned against the slab of wood and closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't until he heard his sister plop herself down into the metal chair and scraped it to the table that he opened one eye and glanced at her. Humming quietly to herself, she pulled and tipped over the bag and dumped the tacos onto the laminated table, looking at them as though they were a pirate treasure. Wiping a hand along his face Sam pushed away from the door and shuffled toward the phone on the bedside table, pecking away at the numbers of his brother's cell phone.
"Sam?" Dean's voice came clearly before the first ring even finished echoing in Sam's ear.
"Yeah, Dean."
There was a groan that caused Sam to wince. "Where have you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you for over two hours! Do you know how close I was to coming back there? Dad's pissed, I'm pissed, you better have a real good reason, Sammy, or so help me, God –"
"I'm sorry," Sam cut him off, sitting on one of the beds. "It's been a long night."
"Is something wrong? Did that creep try and do something to Becca?"
"No, no. She's…" Turning to look at her, he sighed, watching her drench a taco in sauce, the defeat still present in her expression. "She's fine. She's eating. I'm sorry we called you so late. Do you know when you and Dad will be back?"
It was as if he knew the answer before his brother spoke the words. "Dad is gonna head out for another case tomorrow, and I'll be coming back to you guys. We'll meet up with him in a couple days."
Sam swallowed and nodded his head as his left pointer finger twirled around in the cord attaching the base of the phone to its handset. "Okay. We'll see you tomorrow then. "
"Sounds good. All right, I gotta go, Sam. Take care of Becca – and don't leave the motel, okay? I'm serious. Just hang tight 'til I get back. I'll bring dinner."
"Yeah, okay," Sam agreed before they exchanged good-byes and hung up. Making his way back over to his twin, he slid into his chair and faced her – and watched her pick at the lettuce in her taco as she chewed. Sam shrugged off his jacket off and reached forward for a taco, peeling the wrapper back and flattening it like a place mat, careful to keep his crumbs on it. "I called Dean."
Becca nodded, continuing to chew and stare down at the pile of tacos that remained. "How angry is he?"
Sam saw his sister ball up her wrapper and toss it to the side before she grabbed her next taco but didn't open it. "He's okay. He said he had been calling for a while – wondering where we were."
"So….you didn't tell him?"
"Tell him what?"
"About me."
"What about you?"
Becca shot her brother an annoyed look, finally unwrapping her second taco and opening a sauce packet to empty inside of it. "About what happened tonight, Sam. That I left the dance and drank, and then was stupid and threw up outside and all that... other stuff"
Sam shook his head and chewed the food in his mouth. "No," he answered after swallowing. "I didn't tell him anything. I'm not going to tell him anything."
Picking up the taco and putting it down a bunch, Becca became annoyed with herself and pushed the taco away from her. She stood up and stumbled towards the beds, fatigue suddenly overwhelming her, and anger at herself with the battle of whether or not she should apologize. "He probably wouldn't care even if you did."
As he turned to keep an eye on her, Sam's face fell. "What do you mean?"
Throwing herself onto her back and facing the ceiling, Becca sighed dramatically, the dress crinkling around her leg movements, the tear and clotted blood a vibrant reminder to her twin. "Dean doesn't like me anymore, Sam. He's always angry with me, or telling me to stay put. He would rather drop me off somewhere and hang out with you all day."
"That's not true, Becca – "
"Yeah, huh. Did you know that tonight, when he dropped us off, I didn't know how to talk to him, and he didn't know how to talk to me, either? We just stared at each other like weirdos. And it's because I'm a girl."
Standing up, Sam walked over and sat beside his sister, grimacing at her. "Dean doesn't care that you're a girl."
Becca made a face. "Oh yeah? Does he ever tell you to stay back when everyone else leaves for a hunt? Does he ever tell you to 'stay with your brother so he can watch out for you'? Did he tell you tonight to not do something that would make him kill your date? Because he always tells me."
"That's because he cares about you."
"Oh yeah. That must be it."
"It is!" Sam was suddenly up and glaring down at her. "Remember when we were little and Dean would tell us stories – even though you always got scared? And then afterwards, he would let you sleep with him because you were scared? Or the times that Dean would make you feel better when you missed Dad? And what about all those times that Dean would sit and listen to you go on and on, dramatically telling stories? No one wanted to ever hear one of those – but Dean would sit and listen to them."
Tears began to slowly slip out of the corners of her eyes, trailing towards her ears and pillow while she glared at the textured ceiling. "And what about the time he broke my nose? Or the time that we got into a fight and he stopped believing anything I ever told him – because he felt like everything I said was suddenly a lie? Or the times he makes me run around and practice even though you're done? Or not letting me even near boys, but letting you by girls? Or the fact he is always picking on me or yelling at me or never listens and only cares about what you have to say, huh? What about all those times?"
Swallowing his words, Sam then went to staring at the phone. It was true. Things between his siblings had changed, bringing anger and tension that had never been there before. Each day was an intense situation – like an electric buzz hanging in the air, waiting for the next strike to occur. Sam had witnessed it all, and even though each of his siblings asked him when it had happened, he could never really give them a definitive answer. He felt like he was being torn in two, and he didn't know how much longer he could stand there and stretch.
He'd looked up to Dean his entire life, admiring the way that Dean took charge and accepted whatever it was their father had told him to do. Dean watched out for Sam and Becca, sacrificing himself to make sure that they had things. He knew deep down that his older brother acted more like a parent than he deserved to, and although Sam was grateful, he understood the annoyance it brought his sister. Becca had learned later just what Dean's role was to the two youngest Winchesters. To her, Dean had forever been that valiant big brother, saving the day, making her feel better, being someone that she respected and wanted to please. Still, she found it hard to understand just when Dean took on the role that that her father held as well. Dean became strict; harsh and demanding. He no longer listened and nodded along, but instead stiffened and crossed his arms – prepared to pounce on her first mistake. Sam had recognized the way Dean seemed to pick on her when it came to things that didn't as much before. It was true that Dean kept pushing her harder, on John's demand, during their training. He held her back from interacting with other more-so than he did with Sam. Dean had grown exceptionally well at expecting fights any time the two green eyed Winchesters where in the same room. Both of them had.
"See?" Becca muttered, her eyes still leaking and her voice breaking from both the sleep that was overtaking her and the alcohol's effects. "You can't even deny it. And now you're turning into him, too. I lost him, and now I'm losing you – and soon there will be no one here but me. Once you're gone, you're just gonna hate me and leave me behind like he does. Then, one day, you're all gonna move onto the next town, and I'll never see you again. No matter how hard I try, or how many times I take apart a gun, or how many times I try to hold in all my feelings so that Dean can't call me a 'chick' and make me feel like crap."
"I'm not turning into him," Sam quietly assured her.
"You already are."