Demon Revenge 5: Devil Spawn.
…It's Back and This Time it's Brought the Kids
He could see the irony without looking.
It didn't help. In many ways it actually made things worse – the silent thought that maybe he was the indirect cause of all his own problems. After all hadn't he been the one who'd spent literally years wishing for a normal, active social life? Praying for the same trials and tribulations as his peers and fed-up of simply hearing about them by-proxy from the excited chatter in lessons? Well, finally he had his wish. Obviously it was going to backfire on him – he envied the drama of others and so look if it hadn't come right back at him and clocked him about the face with it. You want drama kid? Great, here it is just like you asked. Never had the old adage been more true; be careful what you wish for.
He was officially an idiot, nor apparently was he the only one who thought so.
"Mr. Winchester?" he blinked as his name rang out across the class in sharp tones, watching as several heads spun grinning in his direction. Busted. "Mr. Winchester."
"Y-yes?"
Mrs. Crook was glaring at him hard over the top of half-rimmed spectacles, the chain swinging past her jaw line like shiny jowls as she folded arms across her chest, cocked her head to one side and waited expectantly for the answer she knew was not coming.
"Well?" she snapped impatiently, raising an eyebrow to emphasis the point. Sam felt the hot flush of embarrassment rise swiftly up towards his cheeks. Of all the teachers to be caught day-dreaming by, Mrs. Crook was possibly the least lenient, nor did his blemish-free homework record seem to in any way absolve the minor mental lapse. Great.
"I…" pausing awkwardly and listening to the ripple of giggles working its way around the room, Sam took a deep breath and went for the only thing he could think of. Honesty, "I – I didn't hear the question,"
The eyebrow raised further in response, the replying tone positively dripping with sarcasm,
"Really? There's a surprise," and then suddenly the narrow-eyed glare was back again, sliding into place across the levity and squaring on the squirming teenager before her, "I asked, what you thought Othello's main mistake is during the course of the play? Amber suggested letting his own insecurities of race cloud his judgement but do you have anything to add?"
Main mistake? Sam almost snorted unable to keep out the bitterness. Surely Othello's biggest mistake was assuming that after getting married he could go off and live a normal happy life – that sort of thing rarely seemed to work out, although maybe he was becoming overly cynical. Maybe he was becoming Dean. Mrs. Crook however – unaware of the building identity crisis – was still waiting for her answer and realising that unresponsiveness was probably only going to exacerbate the situation, Sam reluctantly opened up his mouth.
The bell beat him to it, students erupting at once into a burst of chatter, rustling jackets and slamming shut books.
"Well Mr. Winchester," Mrs. Crook snapped sharply, piercing the noise with a single glare, "I hope you'll have your answer ready first thing next lesson, because I will be asking again."
Nor did he doubt it, simply nodding hurriedly and heading for the door alongside everyone else.
Lindsay was waiting for him outside, leant casually against the wall watching the flow of students flooding out into the corridor. Her face lit up the second she saw him and again the butterflies did a victory lap of Sam's stomach, watching her cherry-gloss covered lips part in a wide smile.
"Hey Sam," she began shyly, crossing the distance between them and falling into step alongside him. It felt nice, it felt…natural.
"Hey,"
"So…" Lindsay was back to glancing at her feet again, the nervousness still very much in evidence despite their impending date. Sam liked it, it was cute, "…my mom wants to know what time you'll be picking me up tomorrow and my dad wants to know who's driving," she grinned suddenly, the expression vaguely apologetic and Sam picked up on the hidden message at once making a mental note and putting it to one side. Over-protective father. Right.
"Six," he offered calmly, fighting the urge to show her the timetable he'd made in order to plot the course of the next day from the moment he left school to the moment the evening ended. He'd shown it to Dean and Dean had called him anal. It was staying in his pocket, "And my older brother is driving,"
"My dad might want to meet him,"
Oh God. Disaster.
"No problem."
She smiled again, pausing on the entrance steps and turning towards him as Sam realised absently that they had somehow in the course of their conversation made it outside already. He could see the Impala from the corner of his eye, Dean leant up against the driver's side door, head tipped back, enjoying the sunshine.
"Great, thanks Sam," Lindsay didn't see him, her eyes fully forward. Abruptly she leant into him, placing a delicate hand on his arm and planting a kiss on his cheek. It was so soft for a minute Sam thought he'd dreamt it, but then as Lindsay stepped backwards, the shy smile sliding across her face again, he knew he hadn't. She waggled fingers at him gently, "See you tomorrow."
He rose a hand back, not trusting himself to speak and praying that Dean had missed the big moment. He chanced a glance. His brother was smirking underneath his shades – yeah, he'd seen. Crap. His mortification totally diverted him from the bigger problem, however. Brandon, ten o'clock, coming straight for him flanked by two burly minders. Crap and double crap. Stay put Dean, please stay put.
"Hey, Winchester."
Brandon was grinning, a sure sign that some sort of insult was not far behind. Sam however stood his ground. He wasn't afraid, not by a long shot, after all he'd met and traded fists with more 'Brandons' in his life than was probably normal, but at the same time he couldn't deny the unease. Physical combat he could handle, it was the mental warfare he was keen to avoid, the eating alone at lunchtime, being tripped and laughed at in the corridors, the whispers, the rumours – Sam just couldn't compete on that level, he didn't have it in him and now that he didn't even have Dean to spend sympathetic break periods with him he had to try and fly just about as low under the radar as he'd ever been. He wasn't about to start anything, not intentionally anyway.
"Brandon," he replied instead, standing his ground and turning calmly towards the grinning blonde. A fist came out of nowhere, catching him across the shoulder with a bang and accompanied by a laugh. It took him a split second to work out it had been meant more as a gesture of deliberate over-friendliness rather than the beginnings of an assault and he let his own fist uncurl in response. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean twitch angrily.
Stay put, stay put, stay put, stay put…
"So," Brandon continued with something of a sneer, unaware of the leather-clad back up glaring daggers at him from the roadside, "You all ready for tomorrow night?" An elbow to the ribs, followed by a snide grin, "Fancy your chances with Lisa, huh?"
"Lindsay."
"Right," Brandon shrugged, interest fast waning, "Whatever, just don't think this makes us friends okay?" suddenly he was pointing a warning in Sam's face, "I don't want you coming up to us and hanging around all right?"
Sam blinked, his face crumpling in a mixture of contempt and confusion. Dude, you just came up to me. Instead he shrugged,
"Sure."
Staying away from Brandon was not going to be a problem.
"All right then," stepping past him the bigger boy pushed deliberately into Sam's shoulder, his mates following close behind and each copying the same irritating shove, grinning mutely. One even ruffled his hair sending Dean's foot up onto the kerb before being halted by a surreptitious hand-wave from Sam. It's all right, I got it. He stopped only grudgingly.
"Don't forget to wear extra panties Winchester," Brandon continued casually, not even bothering to turn around as he threw the insult over his shoulder, "In case all the scares are too much for you tomorrow."
Great. He was completely doomed.
As the three swaggered away, roughhousing with one another and still cackling with laughter, Sam took a deep breath and shifted his bag up further on one shoulder, heading across the grass towards his brother whose entire expression screamed murderous rage even if half-hidden underneath sunglasses.
"What gives Sam?" he demanded the second his younger brother was within hearing-range, "Why the hell didn't you tear him a new one?"
"Yeah right Dean," came the sarcastic response, Sam simply trudging past him and opening the passenger side door to throw in his bag, "And be a total social outcast?"
"It's better than being someone's bitch,"
"I'm not Brandon's bitch," he shot back hotly, clambering in and dropping his head back against the seat. Dean climbed in after him, not totally convinced,
"You could have fooled me."
"That's not hard, you're pretty stupid."
For a moment neither of them spoke and then abruptly – led by a twitch from Sam – both of them were smiling, Dean shaking his head in amusement as he sat forward and spurred the car into life, watching as Sam frowned absently, a sudden thought occurring to him.
"Lindsay said her dad might want to meet you tomorrow when you pick her up,"
Dean grinned,
"I'd rather meet her mom, you know, if all the women in her family are as 'friendly' as she is," For a second Sam didn't have a clue what his brother was getting at and then, with a lurch of vague embarrassment he remembered. The kiss. Dean read his discomfort in an instant, the squirming seemingly making his younger sibling all the more amusing to him, "Seriously Sam, nice work, a pre-date kiss? You're already halfway there!"
"Dean – ,"
"Come on Sam, you need to know these things, especially for tomorrow night if you're going to beat that jackass back there."
Sam blinked,
"Brandon?"
"Yeah. Just think how great it'll be when you're making out with Lindsay and all he's getting is a slap in the face,"
Sam snorted, yeah, that would be pretty great, only the chances of him making out with Lindsay were about one in a million, especially when Brandon caught sight of him jumping his way through the movie, bombarded him with insults and turned him into a laughing stock. Cute or otherwise, no girl was willingly going to want to hang around with the school's new chief-loser. He sighed heavily, tone suddenly sarcastic with despondency,
"Yeah, great."
Dean shot him a look from the driver's seat, alert to the sudden change in mood and trying to guess it's cause.
"You worrying about the whole 'being scared' thing again?"
"I'm not – ," as Sam fired up to re-hash old ground Dean flapped an exasperated hand at him, stopping his short with a frustrated sigh,
"Yeah, yeah, all right Sam. I heard you the first ten times okay?" Pulling off his shades with one hand and flinging them lazily onto the back seat, Dean swung his arm over to scrabble about in the rear foot well, his driving becoming so vaguely erratic that Sam leant over to help secure the wheel, "Take it."
"What?"
"Take the wheel Sam,"
As Dean disappeared almost bodily over the back of his seat, only his feet still in place, Sam gripped his hands about the wheel and tried to focus on the road ahead. What in the hell was Dean doing? Why was he taking so long and…uh-oh, police car.
"Uh, Dean?"
"Got it," popping up so suddenly that Sam almost jumped, Dean turned and slid his grasp back around the wheel, shifting across the seat until he was back in position again. The squad car drove past seconds later, Sam still leant half across Dean watching them slide by, "Dude," Dean was looking across at him, nose wrinkled at their abnormally close proximity, "Personal space?"
Grumbling at his ever-infuriating older brother Sam wriggled back across the seats to the passenger side, barely noticing the package Dean flung out with one hand as he went.
"Here,"
Sam blinked at him, staring at the outstretched offering in confusion,
"What is it?"
"Well why don't you open it Einstein," another thrust towards his younger sibling did the trick, Sam taking the paper bag and peering into it suspiciously, "And don't say I never give you anything either," Dean added, keeping his eyes casually forward,
Inside the package was a DVD case, black with no cover. Still addled by complete confusion, Sam reached a hand inside, pulling it free and turning it over to check the label which was an unevenly-stuck, hand-written affair with two words and one number scribbled across the strip. Sam felt his heart grind to a halt.
"Wha – but, Dean this is…"
"Demon revenge six," came the calm if not slightly smug reply, "I know,"
"But how – I mean…," As words continued to fail him, Dean cut into the babble smoothly, shrugging as if the whole thing had been no big deal. In his eyes it probably hadn't.
"Lucky for you the video store didn't call the cops on that guy outside,"
Sam blinked, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place,
"It's a counterfeit?"
"No Sam," Dean threw back sarcastically, "I just phoned the folks at the studio and asked to have a copy so my little brother could watch it before his big date and what do you know if they didn't mail me one straight out. Yes," he added afterwards, as if for clarification, "It's counterfeit."
Sam couldn't speak, didn't think he could muster the words. Dean had literally saved his life – well, what little of his life was going to be spent at Riley High that was, which in all reality was probably not too much longer. Still, Dean had saved what there was and for that he was eternally grateful.
"Thanks Dean,"
He should have known his big brother was on the case, if nothing else a life on the road with his family had taught him that much. Ask and you shall receive, it was practically Dean's motto.
"Not a problem Sammy," And Sam knew he meant that too, the sentence bringing a wide smile. He owed Dean, he owed him big, whatever he wanted he could have. "Can I take a shot at Lindsay's mom now?"
Okay, well maybe not that.
"Sorry," Sam grinned in vague sympathy, watching his brother click his fingers in mock-frustration.
"Too bad, you can't beat an older woman,"
"I think she's got a grandmother…"
"Really?" Dean grinned back, enjoying the banter because he knew it meant Sam was happy. He waggled his brows a little in response, tugging at the collar of his jacket self-consciously, "Well in that case Sammy roll on tomorrow night. Looks like we might both be getting lucky."
The grossed-out face he got in response was worth every second. Problem solved.
Of course Dean sorted it, did anyone doubt him? And hands up who guessed how he was going to do it – you win the raffle! Anyway, one more to go here and then we're all done.