Demon Revenge 4: The Mutilating.

…Someone Wants to Play

Sam had been in a black mood from the moment he'd climbed into the car, wearing a fierce scowl and answering his brother's chirpy questions in a series of single-syllable grunts, one for 'yes', one for 'no' and another – accompanied by a shrug – for either 'don't know', 'don't care' or what Dean suspected was probably both.

"Look Sammy," he'd offered finally after a few minutes of grumpy silence, "I'm sorry I'm late okay?" and he was, but only by about ten minutes which was pretty good considering, "But dude, I ran into Tammy – you remember her? From the video store?" Another grunt. It was indistinguishable from the others so Dean simply took it as a yes, "Well, she and I were – ."

The look he'd got from the passenger seat had stopped him dead and with a grumble of his own he'd reluctantly gone back to driving in the discontented silence Sam seemed to favour. Dean however, was anything but stupid and whilst he'd been a bit late collecting his younger brother he'd not missed what he assumed was the real cause of Sam's foul mood.

Sam had been waiting by the main entrance sitting on the low wall flanking the steps and swinging his feet absently through the dirt when the blue convertible had pulled up alongside him, filled to the brim with brawny guys in matching football jerseys and all wearing bizarrely ape-like grins.

Dean's hackles had risen on instinct, especially as one guy had leant out over the driver's side and appeared to hold some sort of conversation, which judging by Sam's slumped body language had been an unwanted and entirely one-sided affair. It hadn't lasted long but the exchange seemed to have greatly amused the assembled passengers, who as one had begun to cackle in hyena-like laughter before breaking out into a spontaneous round of high-fives as Sam had watched them with a look of distaste. He had solidly refused to rise to whatever bait they were throwing him, which was something of a pity for Dean who would gladly have taken the excuse to beat them all into the following week at least, but he hadn't spent eleven years sharing schools with Sam without learning which battles his younger brother could and couldn't handle. Sam hadn't gone in swinging and so neither had he, which still left one important question,

"They giving you trouble?"

A startled frown of confusion responded to his query as the sound of his older brother's voice jerked Sam from some sort of sullen reverie. A quick glance and an expressionless second of eye contact across the seats set the bewilderment straight at once and Sam sighed heavily in response, dropping his gaze towards his feet as he suddenly realised his tense little exchange with Brandon had had an audience. He didn't want to talk about it but both of them knew that wasn't an option, not with Dean Winchester in full-on protective mother bear mode and waiting expectantly for some sort of an answer,

"Sam?"

"It's fine Dean,"

The response was sharp, far too sharp to be convincing and shot-through with suddenly defensive surliness. Clearly it was not 'fine'.

"Yeah," Dean fired back, leaning heavily on bitter sarcasm, "Right."

He couldn't make Sam talk but he had other tricks up his sleeve, tricks he'd been using for years. Silence was one of them, silence and a hurt expression. Fine Sam, you don't want to talk, have it your way, reverse psychology, getting Sam to talk in order to make amends. It always worked and as he watched his younger brother's eyes flicker periodically towards his – the guilt already setting in – Dean had to try hard not to smirk in triumph.

Three, two, one…

Right on cue Sam sighed heavily,

"Brandon's coming on Friday,"

"Brandon?"

Sam nodded, completely missing the finer implications of Dean's question. Who the hell was Brandon?

"Kelly Morris is bringing him."

"Wait, back up Sam who's this Brandon kid? The one in the car?" He was rewarded with a sigh, although whether it was in response to his limited grasp of the Riley High social system or the situation at large Dean couldn't tell, "Okay, and Kelly is…"

"His girlfriend," Sam replied grudgingly, shifting sideways in his seat so that he could prop a despondent elbow against the Impala window and his lean his head against it, letting the cold glass numb his forehead into oblivion. Beside him Dean snorted dryly,

"Which I'm guessing makes her rich, blonde and probably a cheerleader?"

Sam blinked, his brother's analysis proving surprisingly accurate.

"Yeah," he shrugged, realising it would probably be a lot easier if he just came out with it, after all Dean was hardly going to let the thing alone, "Lindsay invited her to come on Friday – ,"

Thankfully he didn't need to explain the rest, his brother was already there,

"And so suddenly you're all lined up on a double date with the biggest jock in school,"

It was a pretty apt summary and Sam nodded in response, thinking back to earlier when he'd briefly been dreaming of himself, Lindsay and Kelly together alone.

"Yep. I guess three's a crowd,"

"Not in my experience."

"Dean – ,"

"All right!" came the hissed response, accompanied by an eye-roll as his brother shook an exasperated head, "You really need to lighten up you know that?"

"How!" Sam shot back indignantly, spreading his hands wide, "How am I supposed to lighten up when I'm going to be the laughing stock of the entire school on Monday morning?"

Dean blinked,

"Because of the jumping thing?"

"Yeah," Sam snapped, repeating the sentence back at him irritably, "Because of the jumping thing,"

"Well…" fumbling for an answer Dean paused to take a breath, not willing to admit he had nothing that could help, "I mean for God's sake Sam you just rented about a billion of those films from the video store, you're telling me that watching all of them doesn't give you some idea what to expect with this one?"

"How can they?" Sam fired at him sarcastically, finishing the sentence slowly as if Dean were some sort of moron, "It's – a – different – movie."

"They all looked pretty crappy to me. That's one thing they've got in common."

Sam sat back against the leather with a thump, arms folded across his chest and his tone still bitter if not defeated-sounding.

"Yeah, thanks Dean,"

"Look Sam – ,"

But Sam wasn't in the mood, besides which they were finally pulling up outside the tiny little apartment they rented which meant that he was spared having to go through the torment of talking about it any longer. Dean couldn't help him this time, no one could.

"Forget it," he said simply, grabbing his bag and swinging open the door. Dean looked at him sharply, confused by the sudden change. First the kid wants to talk about it, then he doesn't. Teenagers. He began again, calmer.

"Sam – ,"

"I said forget it Dean,"

The slamming door seemed to stop things dead, except that where his younger brother was concerned nothing short of a full resolution of the problem would be good enough for him and so taking a steadying breath, Dean counted to ten and then clambered out after him.

Sam was already a good half-a-staircase ahead by the time Dean caught sight of him, the tall lanky legs of the rapidly growing teen carrying him quickly to the fourth floor in a determined trudge. Dean smirked, deliberately taking his time in the knowledge that there was no hurry, the apartment only had two sets of keys and he had one of them in his pocket. John had the other and short of knocking on the door for their father to answer – which Sam would never do – he was just going to have to wait for his older brother, which was what Dean rounded to corner to find him doing, leaning with his back to the wall and staring straight ahead in an all-out avoidance of eye-contact. Dean snorted wryly in response, if Sam wanted it that way then fine, wish granted, he wasn't going to say a thing. Yet.

He turned the key in the lock with a click, swinging the door inwards and letting his little brother stomp sulkily past him across the threshold. John was sitting at the table as they crossed through the lounge, books and papers marked, annotated and scattered around him in a sure-sign of research in progress. He looked up as his sons entered, mustering something of a smile for his youngest,

"Hey boys, how was school?"

It was a question he'd always asked, addressing them both so frequently that he still had to train himself out of the habit.

Sam paused awkwardly by the doorway to their bedroom, not sure what to say and offering up only a single shrug by way of a response. John frowned mildly, sensing something was up and looking to Dean for help or confirmation. His eldest son was happy to help, dropping keys down onto the counter and crossing his arms with a smirk at his younger brother's back,

"Sam's got date trouble."

The youngster's expression widened at once in horror, and John watched perplexed as the scruffy-haired fifteen year old spun towards his sibling with unconcealed fury and mortification,

"Dean!"

He got only a shrug in response, his older brother managing to retain something of an angelic expression despite the anger being directed back at him in waves,

"What? You have."

"Sam?" As his youngest son opened his mouth to fire back what he expected was a none-too-friendly rejoinder John interrupted smoothly, trying to keep his tone neutral as he took in his warring children with a single glance. It was strange to see them fighting, even if it was fairly passively, it didn't seem right. Over the last couple of years he and Sam had been arguing a lot more than they ever had before, but he put that down to himself as much as anything. Seeing Sam at loggerheads with Dean however was just…strange. John sighed wearily, deciding that not prying was probably the best course of action he had and mustering a thin smile instead, his tone even, "Why don't you go and get started on your homework son."

He was still glaring at his older brother but grudgingly and with something akin to gratitude or else sullen compliance, Sam eventually nodded mutely and stomped off through the door, half-slamming it behind him as he disappeared from view. When John looked back Dean appeared to be smirking, the sight drawing an eye-roll of its own alongside a silent and weary admission.

Sometimes I just don't get those two…

"Dean?"

"What?"

An innocent-looking face swung in his direction,

"Want to tell me what that was all about?"

"I just did,"

"Yes, you did," John agreed calmly, sitting back against the rickety kitchen chair and letting out a long sigh as he realised just how long he'd been hunched over the books lying open before him, "But apparently not all of it. Why's he mad at you?"

Dean shrugged, sliding into a chair opposite his old man and pulling one of the sheets of research closer,

"Oh come on dad, he's mad at everyone these days, probably something to do with his hormones."

"Dean."

You're not helping.

It was a look that never failed, a tried and tested John Winchester expression created just for use on his eldest – and most easily swayed – child, Dean never could resist it and as he sighed heavily and waved an absent hand in his father's direction it seemed to have worked again.

"Don't worry dad," he assured quietly, sudden sincerity replacing the flippancy, "I'm working on it."

John raised an enquiring brow in response, appearing as if he wasn't completely convinced by the answer when in reality he was already sold. When it came to Sam and any problems real or imagined Dean usually had the inside track – and relevant solution – in the time it took other people to blink. There was no reason to think that this time would be any different and just to prove it his son nodded determinedly, gaze unswerving,

"Trust me. I've got it covered."