Demon Revenge 6: Bikini Blood-Fest.
…Anyone Want To Go Skinny Dipping?
When Sam had hit his teens funny things had started to happen. Nothing major – except the enormous growth spurt and growing rebelliousness – no change in how he looked, dressed, thought or talked but little differences that spoke volumes in a family like theirs, tight-knit and often reliant on their ability to read one another.
Kicking at the front door instead of knocking was one of them, a small but sullen statement usually made with his hands thrust deep into the bottom of his pockets. It had backfired on him bitterly once when he'd put one of his ever-growing feet through the cheap wood of a motel room door but even John's furious explosion hadn't stopped him from carrying the practice on – if anything it had probably encouraged it and perhaps sensing the same thing John had chosen not to mention it again.
The brisk and chirpy knock that jolted them from their research at just gone ten therefore gave both he and Dean something of a shock, both heads snapping up from the books lying open between their elbows, John glancing across at his eldest, a pen frozen mid-sentence in his grasp,
"Think that's Sam?"
Leaning back with a sigh Dean lazily checked the gaudy 70's clock suspended and ticking loudly across the other side of the room.
"Already?" His face crumpled abruptly in response, drawing something of a smirk from John.
"That wrong?"
A vaguely awkward largely off-hand shrug worked as the bulk of Dean's answer, a mumble providing the verbal portion of the reply.
"It's just sort of…early, that's all,"
Eyes sparkling in amusement John sat back heavily, clearing his throat to quell the tickle of laughter. Instead he simply quirked an eyebrow at his son and tried to keep his tone disapproving.
"Lindsay's from a nice family Dean," he responded casually, shutting the book before him and clambering to his feet. That was undeniable, Dean had seen it himself when he'd picked them up earlier. Nice big house, neatly manicured lawn, typical businessman-type father who'd looked both boys up and down for a full minute before grudgingly letting them in and a vivacious blonde for a mother who he could have sworn winked at him. Still, nice neighbourhood, nice daughter and just every inch the 'nice' all-American family. John's smirk widened, "There's a difference,"
"From what?"
"The girls you usually date," turning to slide the book onto the rickety little shelf with the others John chuckled, listening to the knock sound around the room as Sam tried again. Dean didn't argue, the accusation was fair enough and they both knew it, "Now are you going to get the door or not?"
"Yeah, yeah," came the weary reply, followed by the sound of Dean reluctantly rocking onto his feet and pushing back his chair. He raised his voice as he trudged into the hall, dogged by yet more knocking and making John smile anew at the indignant tone, "All right will you Sam? I'm coming!"
The truth of the matter was that John would have loved to be the first one at the door, the first one to greet his son and the first one to judge on sight whether the big date had been a success or not, but the strange loggerheads he and Sam had been moving towards for the past couple of years had forced him to reassess his relationship with the boy and in doing so he'd discovered that a hands-off approach seemed to satisfy his youngest best. It had hurt him to first realise it and all but killed him in the application but that was where Dean came in, solving any problems, any issues, any needs. His big brother had always been Sam's first point of call and returning from what was probably his first big date was no exception, Dean would know instantly how to act and however grudgingly Sam would let him. It was just the way of things.
"Dude," it was his eldest son's exclamation coupled with the click of the door latch that broke his thoughts, "What the hell? Why are you back so early and why are you knocking?"
It was a good question, although it had its own answers; Sam was knocking because he was happy, cheered enough from teenage sullenness to briefly ignore his own self-imposed little rules – like door kicking. His smile told the rest of the story. It had gone well.
"It's a door Dean. You're supposed to knock on them," stepping in past his older brother Sam's smile gave way to an exaggerated eye-roll accompanied by a general sigh of long-suffering, "And I'm not home early, it's ten."
The innocence of his response drew only a snort in return,
"Sam, dude – ,"
"Dean," raising an article up to his face in the pretence of reading as his sons wandered into the lounge, John quickly moved to cut off his first-born, neither wanting Sam tainted by his brother's bizarre and frankly unexplainable sexual appetite or embarrassed by his own lack thereof. Luckily a lifetime of growing up with Dean Winchester had pretty much hardened them both to such things,
"I told Lindsay's dad I'd walk her home after the movie," Sam offered slowly, moving across to the kitchen and reaching into the creaky and loudly whirring fridge to pour himself a glass of juice. A shrug accompanied the statement, casual and indifferent, "That's what I did,"
"As you should," John interjected before noticing the hot blush starting to spread across his younger son's cheeks at the realisation he was talking date-stuff in front of their father. He knew what that meant and took a deep breath instead as if he were changing topics, watching Dean's head swing in his direction ever-perceptive, "I uh…think I'm going to check out the warehouse we marked earlier. See if there's any trace left from last night,"
"Want me to come?" It was a hopeful offer, it always was. When it came to helping him out Dean was eternally hopeful, constantly desperate to be of use. It was almost as heart-warming as Sam's rejection of him were breaking and he mustered a smile in response,
"No, you stay here with your brother," Find out if everything went okay, "I'll be back soon."
Dean nodded at him solidly. Message received and understood. Sam stayed quiet, not even looking up until the front door had slammed shut behind their father's battered and familiar jacket. When he did Dean was staring at him expectantly,
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"How's the price of gold doing?" Dean fired back sarcastically before rolling his eyes, "What do you think? How'd the big date go?"
A grin of elation was his reward for asking, Sam's expression lighting up like a bonfire.
"He threw his drink over her!"
Dean blinked,
"Who? Brandon?"
"Yup,"
Dean still wasn't following,
"Threw his drink over Lindsay?"
Sliding onto a barstool and listening to the old lino crackle underneath his weight, Sam sighed and let his shoulders slump in exaggerated frustration.
"What? No, Kelly."
"Ah," abruptly Dean was all caught-up, flashing back to their earlier conversation and managing to piece together the Riley High social scene for just long enough to make sense of things, "Bitchy cheerleader girlfriend," he nodded once, "Got it."
Sam however was barely listening, the tale tumbling from his mouth in excitement,
"There was this one part in the movie where the demon – ,"
"Max?" Dean added helpfully, watching his brother pause uncertainly,
"Actually no, he's kind of Max's great-great grandchild,"
"You mean grandspawn," the elder added, using Sam's careful thoughtfulness as an excuse to snake his orange juice without him noticing.
"Right…anyway, there's this one part where the demon – ,"
"Max the third,"
"Dean!"
"Okay, okay…"
Settling back with a smile, hands held up in surrender, Dean fell into silence, watching the animated retelling of events with a sense of satisfaction. It was good seeing Sammy so happy. It certainly made a change that was for sure.
"Anyway, whatever it is jumps out from behind the wall during a blackout – ," Figures, "And it totally scared the crap out of Brandon – ,"
"Who threw his drink over Kelly," Dean could guess the rest, well, most of it anyway.
"Uh-huh and the couple in front who went and complained to the staff."
"How much did he get to see?"
"Twenty minutes,"
Nice.
"Anyone see him leave?"
"Yeah, everyone did."
Even better, although as far as Dean was concerned only one thing could top that particular part of the story. It was only right he asked,
"And uh, you and Lindsay…?"
The blush that hardened across Sam's cheeks pretty much gave him the answer, but it was worth having asked just to watch him squirm awkwardly on the other side of the counter. He refused the high-five point blank, but he was still smiling. He was pleased with himself, Dean was pleased for him and why the hell shouldn't he be?
"Way to go little brother," he grinned wickedly, a sudden thought occurring to him, "Hey, if you two lovebirds get married it's still legal for me to do her mom right?"
Another eye-roll, doubling as Sam finally noticed the empty glass where moments before orange juice had been,
"Dean – ,"
His older brother ignored the whine pointedly, nodding instead,
"You're right, I'd do her anyway,"
"She's married Dean," and although he was trying to sound deeply disapproving Sam was smiling, enjoying the banter and the sense of relief that had come with the end of the evening. Dean had completely saved his life – in teenage, social-terms of course. Throughout the entire length of the movie he hadn't jumped once, not so much as flinched, every second of film memorised from constant repetition.
Lindsay however had been terrified and spent much of it buried underneath his chin with a ball of his shirt in her fist. She'd called him cute for letting her do it, and her apparent gratitude had led to a kiss, a proper kiss just down the street from her house. Her father had been twitching at the blinds as they'd drawn closer and saved a parting glare for Sam to head home with. Clearly no one was good enough for Lindsay, especially not someone whose older brother drove a dilapidated car, wore copious amounts of leather and made eyes at his wife. Sam didn't care though, it wasn't important because Lindsay still liked him. Nor did it matter that her dad didn't like Dean, some people just didn't. Sam did though, Sam owed him, had always owed him. Probably always would.
"You saw her Sam," apparently they were still on Lindsay's mom – the topic that was, "I'm telling you man, she wanted me."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a narcissist?"
A brow quirked at him in partial amusement,
"Not if they wanted to live."
Sam stared back, laying down an all-out challenge. Do your worst.
"You're a narcissist."
Dean gazed over at him, face unmoving, eyes matching each other across the counter-top, each waiting for the other to break.
"Strike one Sammy,"
"You're a pervert,"
"Strike two."
"I guess you're not so bad at being an older brother though," a smiling admission, offered with an awkward shrug and a downwards glance. Dean took it anyway, he'd always take it as long as it came from Sam.
"So I hear,"
Sighing and pushing himself to his feet with a grunt of exertion, Dean turned and headed for the couch, by-passing the books still lying on the table and grabbing the remote as he went. Flopping down into the well-worn cushions he watched from the corner of his eye as Sam set about re-filling his glass, waiting until the boy had turned before adding one final point,
"Well I'm glad you had a good night Sam, and oh, by the way," he watched the shaggy head swing towards his, the expression both patient and expectant,
"Yeah?"
"You still need to pay me back for the DVD."
Poor Sammy.
The kid never could catch a break.
Well there you have it, my first and possibly only foray into the teenage lives of the boys (never say never though!) Next we're back to business with what is shaping up to be my longest story ever, but it's firmly back on familiar ground again; grown-up boys, plenty of action and a lot of unravelling to do!
In the meantime however I hoped you liked this one, thanks for reading and feel free to drop me a comment. Cheery-bye everyone (sometimes I'm too British for even myself!)