Demon Revenge 2: Lake Terror.
…The Summer Just Got Deadly
Dean's back was killing him, the combination of stiff library chairs and big dusty volumes of research having done him next to no favours. They'd been there for hours but after groaning in pain for what must have been close to the twentieth time John had taken pity on him and finally sent him home, albeit with more articles to scan but at least a semi-comfortable sofa from which to do it from.
His father's expression had been one of vague amusement as he'd looked up from his own silent study, eyes taking in the slumped teenager and the hand tenderly pressed to the small of his back,
"Hey Dean?" he'd begun smiling across fondly, seeming totally at ease with the stuffy environment unlike his eldest son, "Want to head on home with that?"
He'd not needed to ask twice.
The little apartment sat in complete darkness as Dean swung open the door, the gloom all the more intense as he stepped in out of the brightly lit hallway and slowly let his eyes adjust. He could hear the television on in the lounge, following the pale glow of the screen as he carefully negotiated his way there, stumbling over a pair of Sam's discarded shoes as he went and stifling a curse. Sam didn't seem to hear him and as Dean came to standstill in the doorway he realised why.
Sam was engrossed, sat cross-legged on the sofa with a pad of paper propped on one knee. In his hand he gripped tightly to a pen that didn't seem to be doing much writing and he was leant so far forward towards the tiny little set that for a moment Dean thought he might tip off the seat altogether.
Grinning wickedly he reached out a hand and flipped on the main light, succeeding in his main task; frightening the life out of Sam. As the pad of paper jerked from his lap and thudded onto the floor, Dean watched his younger brother jump, fumbling desperately with the remote control for the pause. He spun around wide-eyed as the room fell into silence, gaze falling on a familiar and grinning figure,
"Dean!" he breathed, moving swiftly through shock, annoyance and confusion, "You scared the crap out of me…I thought you were at the library."
"I was,"
A furtive glance around the room betrayed Sam's continuing concerns and Dean knew instantly who he was looking for although the younger boy tried to keep his tone casual,
"Where's dad?"
"Still there,"
The sigh of relief was audible, not much fancying the stern frown he knew would have followed if John had seen Dean managing to sneak up on him undetected. You know better than that Sam, vigilance. With everything else he had to worry about, he really didn't need his father's disappointment as well, not that he seemed to inspire a whole lot else lately. Straight A's were all well and good – and to his credit John did make an effort of congratulating his son for them – but for a Winchester that just wasn't good enough, not unless combined with a bloodlust bordering on ruthless and an unquenchable thirst for the hunt. Sam had both in short supply.
Across the room Dean lowered himself down into one of the battered old armchairs, propping one leg across his opposite knee and drawing out a pile of research to rest on his lap with a weary sigh. Glancing up absently in the direction of the television screen his brow abruptly drew into a frown,
"You're kidding me right?"
Sam blinked, looking backwards and forwards between them and seeing nothing,
"What?"
"That's the demon?" he asked incredulously, flapping a leaf of paper in the direction of the set, "That?"
Sam looked back at the screen from where a red, horned monstrosity stared out at them from underneath the juddering pause-ribbons, eyes the colour of blood and streaks of the real thing – well, 'movie real' anyway – dripping from pointed white teeth. It was pretty absurd, but then again it had come directly from Hollywood and the less-prestigious part at that, frankly the entire thing was pretty absurd. All the same, it didn't stop Sam from gazing down awkwardly and heaving a non-committal shrug in response,
"Yeah. His name's Max."
Dean's incredulity only grew,
"Max? It's called Max?" he snorted disparagingly, dropping his gaze and opening up the first page of his research, "Sounds like someone's pet retriever, looks about as frightening too,"
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat,
"Uh, Dean?"
"Yeah?" he didn't look up as he answered, eyes steadily flicking from side to side across the text before him, "What?"
"Are you…staying here?" came the hesitant question, Sam sounding less than happy as he fidgeted about uneasily on the well-worn cushion, "To research I mean, because, you know, I'm kinda…" a limp gesture towards the TV, "…watching something."
Raising his gaze but not his head, Dean took Sam in with a long and expressionless look before finally blinking as if in silent challenge,
"So? I'm not stopping you."
He dropped his head again almost as quickly and Sam nodded slowly from the sofa, still sounding less than convinced.
"Right."
The sound kicked in again after a brief pause and Dean glanced up in response, watching silently as Sam settled back into the cushions and carefully repositioned his pad of paper with a preciseness that made Dean smirk. The kid was borderline anal even when kicking back with a movie on, unbelievable, or actually in Sammy's case, totally believable. Although what the hell he could have to write about mid-monster marathon was a whole other mystery, especially since the on-screen action seemed to comprise entirely of some high school jock racing blubbering around the locker-room banging hysterically into the strung-up bodies of his team mates and…whoa, that was more like it, three smokin' hot cheerleaders who seemed to have at some point been stripped of most of their outfits.
One, apparently, was called Britanni – the token blonde he assumed – backed up by the quintessentially raven-haired tomboy – Terri? Kerry? Probably Terri – and finally Amber, a breathy and wide-eyed nod towards sexy black America. Maybe the film wasn't a total loss after all, even if the 'suspense' was laughable, one big cliché of screaming, shadowy corridors and sudden loud noises.
"Hey Sam? What – ," stopping short with one hand pointed lazily in the direction of the screen, Dean watched in amazement as Sam leapt a clean foot in the air, spinning round accusingly and breathing hard. Dean blinked at him in astonishment, "Dude? You're not…" he paused, "Are you scared?"
"No!"
"Sam – ,"
"I'm not scared, okay Dean?"
"Right," came the reply, heavy with sarcasm, "So I guess you hit the roof just now because you sat on something…" he got his answer when Sam's face quickly began to change colour, passing through several shades of red in a hot blush across his cheeks. Dean frowned, offering across a clueless shrug, "I don't get it Sam, we deal with things twice this scary in real life and yet some guy painted red freaks you out?"
Clowns, he thought suddenly as he said it, trying to piece it together in his own mind, it was probably along the same lines as the whole clown-thing, although Sam had all but grown out of that now he was old enough to slip under children's entertainer radar frequency. He watched his little brother grit together angry teeth,
"I'm not scared Dean, I just…" he stopped short, refusing pointedly to make eye contact as he tried to explain without making himself sound like a complete wimp, "…it makes me jump, all right?"
Too late. He was a wimp. Besides Dean was right they did face scarier things, all the time but that was different, that was in real life when he was hunting with his family and in part responsible for the continued safety of his father and brother. Load, aim, shoot, it was simple and hanging on to a gun gave him a sense of power and control that helped guide him through. Sitting on the sofa literally waiting for something to leap out of the gloom every thirty seconds – as well as the damn creepy music ramping up the tension – was another matter entirely. He was not scared, but if that's what it looked like…
"I'm going to look like a loser aren't I?" he muttered suddenly, drawing a look from Dean.
"You always look like a loser," he was going for humorous but judging by the desolate expression on Sam's face his attempt fell far short, and so instead he heaved a sigh, pushing his research to one side and sitting up wearily, "All right. When? When are you going to look like a loser Sam?"
"On friday," came the sullen response, "With Lindsay."
Ah, now Dean understood. Sort of.
"Because you're scared?"
"I am not scared!"
"All right, all right," putting up his hands defensively, Dean leant back appealing for peace. Almost as quickly as it had flared however, Sam's ferocity died away to misery once more.
"I don't know," he shrugged dejectedly, "Maybe I should just cancel – ,"
"No," Dean interrupted swiftly, shaking his head determinedly from side to side, "No way, trust me that's the worst thing you can do."
"She'll laugh at me Dean! Everyone will laugh at me!"
"No one will even see you," Dean offered by way of reassurance, hating how wretched his younger brother looked. He should have been over the moon at scoring a date and yet there he was practically inconsolable. Heaving a sigh he tried again, "The movies are usually pretty dark, dude. It's how you see the screen."
Sam shot him a withering glare in response,
"Everyone at school," he clarified tersely before letting his shoulders slump, "Everyone at school will laugh at me."
"How will anyone else know?"
"Because," he hissed in exasperation, "It's Friday night, everyone will be there."
Dean blinked silently, okay, that was probably true but still it didn't have to be the end of the world and sighing as if the whole thing were a fuss about nothing, Dean pulled the research back and gazed across at his younger brother with a deliberate air of calm,
"So? It's simple Sam, you bag a seat at the back, it's more romantic that way too," he winked, waggling a suggestive eyebrow. Sam rolled his eyes in response but a vague flicker of hope flashed across his face, his tone more hopeful than cross.
"What about the jumping thing?"
Dean shrugged,
"Come on, are you kidding me? Chicks love a guy who can show off their 'sensitive side'," he snorted, making full use of air quotations and quickly vowing never to use them again as he realised how gay they made him look, luckily Sam was too interested in his brother's date-advice to notice. Lucky break, "I bet you everything I have that Lindsay will think it's super cute that you're scared…err...you know, jumpy."
"You think?"
"I know."
Only he didn't, not really, he was just guessing but judging from how cute Lindsay had seemed in the brief moment Dean had seen her and knowing Sam's taste in girls – well-educated, well-behaved and generally wholesome – she was bound to be a firm believer in the showing of manly emotions. Sam would be fine, which reminded him absently that hestill had the video-store blonde to call, if only he could remember where he'd put her phone number. Damn.
"Hey Dean?"
He blinked, Sam was gazing across at him, eyes flickering up and down awkwardly as he waited for a response,
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
Dean smiled, trying to crush down the warm fuzz that came with the gratitude. Once upon a time Sam looked to him to solve all his problems but as the years had gone by he'd increasingly started to take his big brother's offered help as an insult. Still, some things it seemed were still Dean Winchester specials and Dean for one was happy to help.
"Sure," he nodded, turning back casually to the papers bundled on his lap and trying to sound nonchalant through waves of pride, "Now do me a favour Sam, put your pen down, sit back and watch the damn movie."
Ok, ok, so the chapter titles are going to get wackier as we go along (would it be wrong for me to admit I enjoyed writing them more than the actual story?) Anyway, as ever please let me know what you think and happy reading.