The last grocery bags got thrown onto the small table with a loud thunk!
It never ceased to amaze Dean how troublesome it was to shop for more than a couple of days worth of food. Especially given how much more crowded the small market seemed than normal.
Of course, with Thanksgiving just a week away, he supposed he shouldn't have been that surprised. After all, he had not been the only one peering determinedly into the frozen food case, trying to find the perfect turkey.
That's right.
Turkey.
This year, Dean Winchester, a guy more than happy to eat jerky and Funions every day of the week, was going to attempt to cook a Thanksgiving turkey. How hard could it be, after all? Wasn't he the same Dean Winchester than shot a werewolf dead at point blank range when he was just sixteen?
Hell, yeah.
A frozen block of poultry was not going to get the better of him. It was Dean vs the overgrown chicken, ladies and gentlemen, and the bird was going down in the first.
Pulling the exceedingly heavy tom out of the warped plastic bag, the handles stretched dangerously having almost broken during the trip from car to kitchen, Dean set it down on the table, warily studying it as if it were an adversary ripe for the conquering. One of their cookbook finds had been a battered copy titled "Better Homes and Gardens: Holidays". Inside its yellowing pages, Dean had gleaned the culinary secrets of things like turkeys that needed to be thawed for a couple of days before roasting, inexplicable gelatinous creations like cranberry molds, as well as vile looking dishes like green bean casserole.
Dean wasn't sure why anyone would want to eat something that looked like a pan of green snot, and probably tasted like it too, but he had purchased the necessary ingredients for it just the same. If it was traditional, this year they were doing it. Besides, Sam was always on some kind of weirdo health kick, so Dean was sure that he would at least appreciate the attempt to put some green vegetables on the dinner table.
Not that Dean was about to start growing lady parts, no matter what Bobby said to him, but he had come to the conclusion that holiday cooking was just like any hunt. The answers lay in the research and making sure that one had the right tools for the job. The cookbooks were just like any other books holding the secrets to a successful slaying. With the right preparation, he could smack the holiday spirit into submission just like any other spirit he and his father had beaten over the years.
Yeah, that was the plan, anyway.
As he put away the bags of frozen veggies, the metal tubes of rolls, the bags of bread cubes that proclaimed themselves to be stuffing and the bizarrely shaped sweet potatoes, he couldn't help smiling to himself. Sure, Bobby had ribbed him for days about wanting to put on a big turkey day spread, but that didn't mean that the grizzled old hunter hadn't promised to be there with bells on.
On top of that, Dean had been more forceful than usual in asking his father to make the effort to be around as well. John, attuned to the shift in tone in his oldest son's voice that convinced him that it was important to both of his children this year, had promised to make it as well, regardless of where he was or what he was doing.
Yep, this year was shaping up to be the banner of all family holidays. At least, that was what it seemed like until the phone rang.
___
Sam's hands were sweating as he pressed in the buttons for speed dial number one on his phone. His heart had still been racing from the accident, even before the kids were ushered into the patrol car. Although his father and brother had both tried to teach him to be calm in events like this, this was his first time with real life experience, and he was just failing miserably at the acting cool and nonchalant part.
He must have been out of his mind to agree to the little joyride. Maybe he could claim that he had been temporarily possessed by a vengeful spirit. Sure, in other families, that kind of defense would fall flat on its face in absurdity, but, let's face it, his family wasn't like other families.
It didn't matter. Possessed or not, Sam knew that when his father found out about it, he was dead anyway. Hopefully Dean would run some interference. After all, it's not like his big brother had never pulled any stunts like this. He was bound to be sympathetic to Sam's situation. Right?
Holding the phone up to his ear, he listened as the call rang through, choking just the tiniest bit in nerves when it was picked up on the other end.
"Dean?"
______
When Dean heard the signature ring of his cell that identified the caller as his kid brother, he had been a little surprised. It was only a few minutes after eight, and Sam had until nine to study at his friend Brian Hart's house. It was one of the ways that Dean was managing to give the kid a little bit of a social life. Their father's rules didn't specify where Sam had to study in the evenings, only that he did.
Early on in the school year, Dean had looked into Brian and his family the first time Sam had mentioned him.
Classic Cleavers, in his opinion.
Dad was a professor of Native American studies at one of the local colleges, Mom was a housewife. Brian, their only child, was a straight A student, never in any trouble. Nothing strange or unusual in their pasts. As far as Dean was concerned, Brian was just the kind of friend he wanted his geeky little brother to have. Safe. Normal.
During the following weeks, Sam and Brian had developed a little bit of a routine. A couple of nights a week, Sam would spend a few hours over at the picture perfect gingerbread house where Brian lived with his parents, and a couple of nights a week, Brian could be found hunched over his textbooks with Sam at the kitchen table in the little rented house of the Winchester boys.
Dean knew that, at first, Brian's parents were more than a little wary of the two brothers and their unusual living arrangements. But then Dean had taken pains to introduce himself, turning on his megawatt charm in full force. By the time the little meeting was over, Mr. and Mrs. Hart were more than satisfied, completely buying the heart tugging story of motherless brothers, a travelling salesman father trying his best to provide for them, and an older brother who was working hard to give his sibling a better life. Couple that with Sam's shy dimpled smile that made women want to adopt and feed him and it was all over.
Hook, line and sinker.
Everything had been going so well. So why exactly was Dean finding himself driving, a little too fast on the slick roads to be entirely safe, down to the police station to pick up his soon-to-be murdered kid brother?
_____________
The minute Sam saw his brother stride into the police station, he felt a strange and immediate mixture of relief and fear. Relief that his big brother would help him out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into, and fear that once he did, Dean might just decide that it was more fun to kill him himself. His brother made his way over to him quickly, worry oozing out of every pore as he gave Sam a thorough once over to make sure that the kid was in one piece.
"Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean's voice was calm, controlled. Low volume that belied his panic over his kid brother being injured.
Sam just nodded jerkily, unable to find his voice, his state of anxiety still running high over the uncertainty of what was going to happen to him. No one was speaking to the kids involved about how the situation was going to be handled.
Dean stared at him for a moment, as if trying to reassure himself that Sam's non-verbal response was not an indication of a more serious problem than the one at hand. When he finally decided on an extreme case of nerves, he reached out to give the trembling teen a quick comforting pat on the shoulder before going up to the desk and inquiring about what had happened.
If Sam was feeling comforted by his brother's presence, it was short lived. During the conversation with the arresting officer, Dean's face had gone strangely red, a lot like their father's did when he was furious. Sam didn't need to hear the conversation to know what his brother was being told.
Right now Dean was hearing about how Sam and three other seniors had boosted the new BMW of one of the fathers and then subsequently skidded on early season ice and crashed it into a light pole just outside of town.
Curtis Reynolds' new BMW, to be precise.
Curtis Reynolds, swiny divorce attorney and overall local douchebag.
Curtis Reynolds, father of Trevor, the town's all around bad boy, the driver of said boosted car in tonight's little escapade and, worst of all, public enemy number one on the list of people that Sam Winchester was to stay as far away from as possible, so sayeth his big brother.
Sam just sat fidgeting in his seat, watching his brother grow increasingly more red in the face until Dean turned towards him and shot him such a heated glare that Sam was sure they would not need accelerant for their next salt and burn. His brother's rage would be more than enough fuel to get the job done.
__________
Dean was having trouble believing what he was hearing. Sam was just not the kind of kid that got himself into trouble like this. He was the goody good little book worm that stayed at home and studied, keeping his head down and not causing waves, unless it was to mouth off to their father. For some reason, his little brother had always had a talent for that. But otherwise, Sam never behaved this way.
He wasn't quite sure what to make of his little brother finding a rebellious streak this late in the game of his teen years. With a small pang of discomfort in his stomach, he had to wonder if it was because their father wasn't around to keep him in check.
Sure, Sam could go thirteen rounds in vocal battles with John before crossing the line that ended up getting his ass handed to him, but he never actually set out to cause trouble. Sam was certainly smart enough to know just how much wrath would be rained down upon him if he had.
Glancing over at the kid, Dean could see that Sam was practically to the point of hyperventilation. Sighing deeply in frustration, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. There would be plenty of time to rip Sammy a new one on the way home.
Dean knew that he could be quite a smooth operator when he wanted to be. Fifteen minutes later, he had the whole score. The kids were out joyriding and caught the business end of a light pole. Earlier, Daddy Reynolds had called in a stolen car report, only to choke on his words when he found out that his own little boy was the ringleader of the pack.
Still, by law, all occupants of the car were complicit in the "theft", so Daddy had made the magnanimous offer to drop the charges if each one of the four (including his own kid, theoretically) ponied up a share of his one thousand dollar deductible to get the car fixed.
Dean had practically spit out his gum at that part. A real sweet deal, if you asked him. Even though his kid is the driver, and the one that crashed the car, Daddy gets the other three families to fork over deductable money in exchange for a clean criminal record.
Nice. Real nice.
Especially since little boy, and therefore Daddy, would have been held liable if any of the passengers had been injured during this fiasco. Dean grits his teeth and glowers dangerously at the spike haired punk sitting two chairs away from his little brother. Reynolds Jr. is damn lucky that Sam is not hurt. A hair out of place and that boy would have found himself buried underneath the Black Hills.
A little more charm and Dean has convinced the officer to release Sam into his custody even though he legally has no guardianship over his brother. He assures them of Sam's attendance in court the day after next, money in hand, ready to sincerely apologize for his participation in tonight's drama in exchange for all being forgiven and never mentioned again on his permanent record.
Through all of this, Sam has not uttered a sound, even when his brother grabs him, none too gently, by the back of his hoodie and yanks him to his feet, propelling him out the door and into the car.
________
The first few minutes of the drive back to the house are tense. Dean is too angry to speak coherently and Sam just doesn't know how to explain what he did to his brother. He is crushed with guilt over acting so recklessly and thoughtlessly, never mind the overwhelming embarrassment of having to admit that it was all over a girl. Dean wouldn't understand. He has been attracting the fairer sex like bees to honey Sam's entire life.
It's also not just the monumentally poor choice in getting into a car he knows he has no business being in.
It's knowing that he has hurt his one really good friend by abandoning him for the promise of some cheap thrills with a girl he probably has no shot with whatsoever. The look on Brian's face when Sam takes off and leaves him behind is burned into Sam's mind for eternity. He's not exactly sure how he is found at the Harts' house, but just a few minutes into their study session, the doorbell rings.
When Brian opens the door, he is shocked into silence when the blond sex goddess Amanda Richards, from Sam's English class, is standing in the threshold. Her voice is sultry and teasing as she convinces Sam to come for a ride with some friends.
It'll be a blast, she says. Just some kicks for an hour or so.
Trevor has his dad's new beemer, she purrs, as she does that really cute thing where she sucks gently on the end of a lock of hair, making every hormone in Sam's body kick into overdrive.
No, there's only room for one, sorry Brian, and before Sam knows it, he's ditching his good friend for a joyride in a stolen car with Amanda, Trevor and another senior named Jack that Sam knows by face, but has never really met. He also doesn't realize, until the jokes start, that these three have known Brian since grammar school and wouldn't even take the time to spit on him if he was on fire.
Sam pushes the guilty flutter in stomach aside, trying hard to concentrate on the gorgeous blond sitting overly close to him in the back seat. In his own mind, he's just a geeky little brainiac that Dean has teased unmercifully his entire life and he can't believe his good fortune in being in close contact with such a beautiful creature.
He doesn't realize that, at some point, the ugly ducking became a swan.
His father's grueling training sessions have built strong muscles that peek out from underneath his long sleeved tees, his shy half smiles that earned clucking admiration from middle aged female school teachers over the years are now making girls his own age swoon, and his shaggy brown hair that, although short in the back at his father's insistence, is long enough in the front to hang into his hazel green eyes, giving him an irresistible mix of careless indifference and cute little boy.
Over time, the short, chubby geek that Sam has known in the mirror has transformed into a Teen Beat poster pin-up, only Sam doesn't see this himself.
In the car with his brother, Sam keeps his head down, waiting for the inevitable storm to be unleashed. He's betrayed his friend, embarrassed himself in front of the girl he is crushing on by freaking out during the arrest and, to top it all off, he has disobeyed his father's rules and pissed off his big brother.
Yeah, there have been better days in his life.
He doesn't have to wait long for the explosion. Before they are even over town lines, Dean slams his hands on the steering wheel, his quest for patience at an end.
"What the hell, Sam!"
_______
Dean's hands are stinging where he hit them on the Impala's steering wheel. He hadn't meant to lose his cool like that, but god damn it! What is going on in that head of his brother's? He swears that the kid is just clueless.
"Do you know what could have happened to you tonight?"
His voice is hard and raspy. It's not really a question, more like an accusation. He looks over and sees Sam's face blush an even deeper red than it has already been and the sight of this tempers his anger a little.
Dean reaches up with his right hand and rubs his face tiredly. He doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to play bad cop. He knows his brother well enough to see how upset Sam is and reminds himself that it's the kid's first time in real trouble.
Sam is determinedly staring straight ahead and Dean knows his brother's moods well enough to know that the kid is struggling to keep it together. He reminds himself that Sam is unhurt, that the accident could have been so much worse and, as much as he doesn't like it, this will all be over as soon as the two fifty in extortion money is paid. He has the money set aside. It might make for a leaner Christmas next month than he wanted to have, but Sam's future is obviously more important.
He can't delude himself into thinking that they can keep this away from their father. Dean would never dream of doing such a thing. Sam is John's son and he has every right to know what has happened tonight. It's not going to be a pleasant conversation, he knows. Their father is going to tear into Dean up one side and back down the other for allowing his little brother to be out at night.
The unpleasant reality of this fact stings him, re-igniting his earlier anger over the kid's intentional duplicity in breaking the rules. Dean has stuck his neck out to allow Sam a little more freedom than he should have had, and this is how the little brat repays him.
"What were you thinking, Sam?" he demands, the irritation that he has been forcing himself to repress for the past hour edging its way out of him in full force.
In truth, Sam doesn't know how to answer that question. What was he thinking? He's never been the kind of person who would dump a friend to go chasing tail. Brian and his family have been really nice to him, nicer than he has ever known before outside of his very small immediate family and the handful of hunters that his father trusted enough to bring the boys into contact with over the years. Now he doesn't know if the friendship is even salvageable and that thought pains him.
"I'm waiting for an answer here, kiddo," Dean scolds in a voice that sounds suspiciously close to their father's tone and Sam can feel himself bristle from it out of sheer habit.
He finds himself forgetting that the person on the other end of this stunted conversation is the brother that has always given a hundred and ten percent of himself and not the constantly absent father that Sam can't stop himself from treating with hostility because it's easier than admitting how much he misses him when he's gone.
Sam huffs in annoyance, reminds himself of all of the trouble that his brother got into during his teen years and can't repress the hurt feelings that his brother is being a hypocrite.
"You've done worse," he mutters, mentally deluding himself into thinking that his words are not loud enough to be heard.
Dean's hearing, however, is just fine and he has no trouble either in picking up the words or the underlining petulance behind them. He is more than a little perturbed by the nerve of his little brother attempting to throw Dean's teen mischief in his face at a time like this.
Dean may not have been an angel, but his exploits were few and far between and he never managed to get himself arrested. When he was Sam's age, Dean had a much healthier fear of John's temper and his belt, both of which were overpowered by Dean's almost paralyzing fear of his father's disappointment. Topping that off with his blind devotion to his little brother's safety and well being and it didn't make for much opportunity to run amok.
"I never said I was perfect, Sammy," he warned in a low growl as he fought to keep calm, "but this...I don't know what this was. I thought you knew better than to boost a car in a town where we've put down roots."
Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek at the reprimand. He did know better than to do something so stupid. He never would have gone anywhere near the car if he knew they had it without permission, but the guilt that is weighing on him heavily from abandoning his friend and disappointing his brother prevents him from admitting it. Saying it wouldn't change anything. He couldn't prove that he didn't know when the other three obviously had.
Sam's refusal to speak any further is grating on Dean's last nerve and he is thisclose to completely losing it. His ass is on the line now with their father too and he is not real happy about it. He grits his teeth in frustration knowing that he is going to do what he always does, and that is whatever it takes to minimize the fallout for his little brother. He's run interference for Sammy the kid's entire life and he is not about to stop now, especially since Dean is not a child anymore and there is little that John can do to him.
He runs his hand through his cropped hair and lets out a deep cleansing sigh before throwing the kid another glare. Sam is still determinedly keeping his jaw set, but Dean knows that the kid is probably drowning inside.
"You don't want to talk about it, fine. We'll get this all straightened out," he finally says, hoping that the words bring more comfort than they sound. "But this is the last time something like this happens, Sam. You're grounded indefinitely. Maybe in a couple of weeks you can have Brian come over to study if Dad says it's okay, but you aren't leaving the house."
These words slam into Sam like a tidal wave and he turns a furious stare over onto his brother. It's part vicious pang that Brian may not want to hang out with him anymore and part annoyance at Dean treating him like a child. He forgets his own actions of the evening and burns in a rage.
"You have no right to do that, Dean," he hisses. "You're not Dad, you know."
Dean's annoyance trumps Sam's. The kid just does not know when to quit while he his ahead. Dean knows that if he can persuade John that he handled the situation, there is a slim chance that his father won't murder his brother for his little foray into grand theft auto and he is trying to do him a kindness here.
"You're right, Sammy," he seethes, his teeth clenched. "If I was Dad, you'd be bent over the hood of the car right now getting your butt whipped."
Dean holds Sam's stare until the boy finally turns away. His little brother knows that what he just said is entirely true. John has zero patience for this kind of defiance and he has never shrinked back from demonstrating it to either of his sons.
The rest of the trip home is completely silent and Dean finds himself wondering how long it's going to take for all of this to blow over and whether or not it will before he gives his little brother a serious beat down.
_________________
When they get back to the house, it is already late in the evening. Both of them are tired, cold and weary. Sam shuffles into the living room, carelessly tossing his backpack on the couch as he waits for his brother to come in behind him. He regrets the attitude that he gave Dean in the car and wants to clear the air a little.
It's just like it is with his father. Sam knows that he royally messed up this evening, but he just finds himself getting so angry at being treated like a child all the time by his father and brother that he lashes out. Mostly, it is John who bears the brunt of his angst. Sam is usually so wrapped up in being mad at his father that Dean is forever trying to make him feel better and Sam is ashamed of the way he has spoken to his brother tonight.
Dean stomps in behind him, his jaw still clenched and Sam winces slightly. He opens his mouth to break the ice, but his brother beats him to the punch.
"You heard what I said, Sam. Go to your room and get to bed. It's late and I have to work in the morning."
Dean had not meant to sound unkind, but he was just drop dead exhausted, truthfully tired of his little brother's crap, just wanting this whole night to be over already, and the words come out a bit more harsh than he had intended. Unfortunately, Sam does not know this and his own rollercoaster of emotions starts spinning wildly again.
"Screw you, Dean," he spits out, hurt. "Stop trying to tell me what to do!"
Sam had turned around and was holding a firm offensive stance, staring down his brother and Dean was more than a little taken aback by his reaction. His mouth is frozen open, like a fish sucking for water, wondering again what the hell just happened.
Sam mistakes the incredulous look on his brother's face for condescension and every teenage hackle in his body gets raised in fury. His voice is practically dripping in venom and Dean gets his first taste of the dark streak in his little brother that will wreak havoc upon them as adults years later.
"No matter how much you want to be, Dean, you are not Dad!" Sam growls, his face ablaze. "You're just his obedient little soldier, so stop pretending that you are my father and stop telling me how to live my life!"
When the words are out of Sam's mouth, he immediately feels sick. It was as if someone else had taken over his body and spoken vile, unforgivable things, leaving him powerless to stop it. But he knows that it's not true. He's himself and he alone is responsible for putting that devastated look on his adored big brother's face.
Dean's face has gone almost completely white and the poison that has spilled from his kid brother's mouth has hit him harder than a kick to the gut. The critically low level of self esteem that he possesses has taken a mortal hit and he is finding it hard to breathe. He finds himself drowning in the memory of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his father's looks after the Shtriga fiasco, Sammy looking uncomfortably similar to a young John Winchester.
Sam wants to say something, anything, to convince his brother how sorry he is, for everything that has gone on this terrible evening, but like a large cosmic joke, words spectacularly fail the boy that can always find something to say. He can't manage to do anything other than stare at the havoc of his brother's slumped posture as he struggles to catch a breath.
Dean has allowed himself several seconds of pain before he follows form and pushes it aside. He can't even look at his brother right now and, to prove it, he stomps up the stairs to his own room and slams the door shut with such force that the rickety windows in the kitchen rattle. Sam has watched him storm out, his heart dropping into his stomach, and when the door slams with such violent finality, he sinks to the couch and buries his face in his hands as he tries to breath.
_____________
The tension in the air the next morning is palpable and Sam is afraid to do or say anything that might aggravate the situation. He desperately wants to apologize, but the task is Herculean in size given the measure of the offense.
He is hurt, but honestly not surprised that Dean has not woken him up this morning with his usual hearty bang on the door and the cheery "Rise and shine, Sammy," that makes the boy groan and smile just a little bit. There is no wake up call this morning, despite the fact that it is well past the time that he and Dean should be taking their morning five mile run. Normally, Sam would whoop with joy over being excused from the early workout that he despises, but today it just emphasizes the gulf between his brother and himself.
Although he can hear Dean going about his morning routine, there is a disquieting absence of the goofy noises he usual makes. Since they were little, Dean is far too chipper in the morning for Sam's taste. Sam has not really slept at all during the night and he is more than wide awake when he hesitantly slinks down the stairs to the kitchen.
Things are off there too. Breakfast is usually just cereal or toast on a school day and, without fail like he has every day of Sam's life, Dean will set a place for his brother at the table, putting out the cereal box or the butter dish. This morning, as Sam spots the empty table, a sharp pain of hurt bursts in his chest and he sadly reminds himself that he has demanded that his brother stop treating him like a kid. So, be careful what you wish for, kiddo, because big boys get their own damn cereal.
Dean is standing at the counter with his back to Sam as he drinks one of several cups of morning coffee. Sam pads slowly over to the cabinet and pulls out the box of Lucky Charms, trying to catch a surreptitious glance at his brother's face. He wants so badly to talk to his brother.
"Dean..."
His brother doesn't even look at him, so Sam has no idea how much it hurts Dean to hear the sad little tone in his brother's voice. All Sam sees is his brother flinching slightly right before he dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink and head towards the front door.
"I'm leaving in five minutes, if you want a ride to school."
Sam sucks in a harsh gasp of air at the rebuff and he replaces the cereal box, any trace of appetite he might have possessed vanishing. Sullenly, he goes into the living room, hoists his backpack on his shoulder and heads out to the car to face the hostile atmosphere of the long drive to school.
Sam doesn't have the courage for another attempt at communication. Taking the coward's way out, he convinces himself that it would just be better to wait until after school to try to apologize. Dean enjoys the work he does at Bobby's and has, on more than one occasion, taking the opportunity to work out anger and frustration on the cars there. When Dean pulls into the school parking lot, Sam turns to his brother, wanting no more than to just give him a little smile, but Dean is staring straight ahead, his jaw firmly set and unyielding.
"I'll be back at three," Dean says, his tone empty and void of any emotion, and the smile on Sam's face slips completely off as he gathers his things.
"Okay. Thanks for the ride."
The words are hard for Sam to get out and with a heavy heart he slides out of the squeaky heavy door. He barely has the time to close it before Dean guns the engine and tears away at a speed that is much too fast for a school zone. Sam sadly watches him go before trudging towards the door, not looking forward to more fallout from the previous night's events.
___________________
As Dean speeds away from the school, his head throbs menacingly. He didn't sleep at all during the night, unable to breathe properly from the pain he is feeling. It has always been his way. Since he was a little boy charged with the responsibility of caring for Sam, he has sworn to never let his little brother see him weak. He has hidden a multitude of hurts and injuries from Sam over the years, physical and mental. He is finding it hard to accept that the overwhelming ache that is smothering him has been caused by the person he least expected it from.
From the moment he carried Sam out of the burning house, he has dedicated his life to caring for the boy. Their father never even really needed to tell him to do it. It was just an instinct ingrained into his every concious and subconcious thought. If he is honest with himself, he will admit that part of the job is to be overbearing at times out of necessity. Sam has truly inherited their father's determination to always do things his own way, regardless of who gets stepped on this process.
He hears Sam's accusations reverberating in his mind. "You're not Dad, you know." Dean laughs humorlessly to himself.
Yeah, that's right, Sammy. If I was Dad, your little ass would still be sitting in the police station, waiting for someone else to come and take care of you.
He slams his hand on the wheel again in frustration and presses harder on the accelerator, making it to Bobby's in record time. Last night, he had decided on a course of action and he only has until three to set everything in motion.
School is just as difficult as Sam expected it to be. The town is small and everyone has already heard all of the gossip regarding the joyride. Amanda has made two attempts to talk to Sam, but he is just too furious to even look at her. As he expected, Brian is giving him the cold shoulder and is going out of his way to avoid him.
He hears gossip in the halls about Trevor's absence from classes and it doesn't take long to understand that this is not an isolated occurrence. His father is known to have a temper that he takes out on his son with his fists. Although Sam is still furious at him, he feels real sympathy for Trevor and gratitude that his own father, although strict, has never beaten him. In his resentment of John and their lifestyle, he sometimes forgets that there are kids who have it much worse and he feels an unexpected swell of emotion for his father and especially his brother.
When the last bell of the day finally rings, Sam practically jumps out of his chair and makes a beeline for the parking lot. He is relieved to see the Impala making the turn to pull in and releases a breath he doesn't realize he has been holding. He sprints to their usual meeting place, the familiar growling idle of the muscle car bringing a smile to his face. As he opens the passenger door, he vows to do whatever he can to make things right with his brother.
Without paying attention he slides into the leather bench seat, startled when his hip brushes against something. Looking down to his side, he is momentarily confused to see his duffle bag resting between him and Dean. He looks up at Dean and his brother shoots him a quick glance before returning his stare to the windshield. He watches his brother take a deep breath before putting the car in gear and pulling out of the lot.
"I talked to Dad this morning," Dean states without any preamble. "He's coming here tomorrow afternoon to go to court with you."
The statement, and the coldness in which it is delivered, stuns Sam. He doesn't know how to respond and, as it turns out, Dean is not waiting for him to do so.
"He's leaving the hunt in Des Moines as soon as I get there to replace him."
Sam's eyes flare in disbelief. John has been doing research in Des Moines in preparation for a suspected annual haunting of an old school. He has been holed up with Caleb for the past four days and the boy can't believe that his father would leave before the ghost makes its expected appearance. Even more disconcerting is the idea that John would allow Dean to take his place. Dean has never been allowed to go on a hunt by himself.
"You're staying with Bobby until he gets here."
So that's it then. Dean is now truly following in their father's footsteps. He's off on a hunt, and leaving Sam behind. The day that Sam has always feared would come is finally here and it feels like a kick to the head. As much as their father's absence has always hurt, angered and occasionally terrified Sam, there was always the comfort of his big brother's steadfast presence to keep him feeling secure. Be careful what you wish for, kiddo.
"You're right, Sam," Dean mutters quietly, never looking at his little brother. "I'm not Dad."
No. You're not. You're a better father than he is.
The unhappy thought drifts through Sam's mind and paralyzes him. The rest of the ride to Bobby's is silent, both boys lost in their own dark thoughts. When Dean pulls up to Bobby's house, they sit in the driveway for a minute, neither one of them knowing what to say. Dean keeps his stare straight ahead, knowing that if he turns and lets himself see the puppy dog eyes that Sam is surely sending over to him, his resolve will waiver and he will back down.
Another minute of uncomfortable silence and Dean can't take it anymore.
"I have to get going. Dad's waiting on me."
Sam begs with his eyes, but his brother isn't looking at him, refuses to acknowledge him. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he tries to make amends before it is too late and Dean is gone.
"Dean...please.."
The mournful tone in his little brother's voice and the slight hitch in his throat almost undoes Dean completely and it takes every ounce of strength he has in him to stop himself from pulling the kid into a hug. Sam has made his choice, defined his line in the sand. When the chips are really down, he just sees Dean as their father's puppet, nothing more. For years Dean has been deluding himself into thinking that they are closer than this and, as much as it hurts to admit, he has been wrong.
"Goodbye, Sam."
And that is the final nail in Sam's coffin. He hears his brother's flat voice and knows that he has destroyed their relationship. He's not Sammy anymore, he's Sam now. All of his life he has taken everything from Dean and finally his big brother has nothing left to give. And why should he, after what Sam has said to him? He grabs his bag from the seat and slowly exits the car, closing the door. He is hesitant to release the handle because he knows that when he does, his brother will be gone and there is no telling when he'll be back.
Dean doesn't wait for him though. He guns the engine and Sam has to jump back to avoid getting pelted with the rocks that the extra wide tires kick up as the Impala roars out of the salvage yard and back down the drive. Sam watches the car vanish, feeling dead inside and unable to move. He stands there motionless for several minutes until Bobby finally comes out to collect him.
_____________
John ambles along the cracked cement walkway between Caleb's room and his own at the Sleep-EZ Motor Lodge. From Dean's last phone call, he knows that his son will be arriving any minute and he wants to be waiting for him. Dean must be hauling ass as he is making the trip in less than four hours and John knows better than to think it is because his son is anxious to be on the hunt.
When Dean called him that morning and explained what had happened, John had lost his temper with his oldest and verbally flayed the boy alive for allowing such a thing to happen. Furthermore, he was entirely put out by Dean's insistence that John himself pack up and go to Sam's court appearance with him. But it didn't take long for John to catch the note of defeat in Dean's voice as the boy took full responsibility for Sam's actions and begged his father's forgiveness for failing him and John kicks himself for his earlier rebuke.
He knows first hand how difficult his youngest can be, knows how much he has failed his children himself time and again. Dean has unfairly been forced to grow up well before his time, almost unfailingly rising to the occasion without hesitation or complaint, and John admits that he has placed an unfair burden on his oldest son's shoulders. Something has gone horribly wrong between his boys and he knows that it is time for him to put aside the hunt for a minute and take care of his children.
The distinct rumble of the Impala's engine heralds his son's arrival and he rises from the battered sofa to open the door to his room. It takes just a few seconds for Dean to spot him and John guilty observes the hesitant and cautious way that his son approaches him. While it is true that he has always thought it best to instill a healthy sense of fear of himself into his sons in his bid to keep them obedient and, subsequently, safer, it has never been his intention to make them scared to death of coming to him. Watching Dean's blatant unease, he realizes that this is exactly what he has done.
When his son is standing directly in front of him, John easily sees the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and Dean's posture, usually as rigid as any Marine in formation when he is standing in his father's presence, is slumped in defeat. But most telling of all is the haunted look in the hazel green eyes that are the only physical characteristic that his oldest inherited from him. Once glance and John knows instantly that there is something decidedly broken in his son.
In a small gesture of affection to his son, John reaches out and cups the back of Dean's neck, his thumb almost imperceptibly gently rubbing just underneath his hairline. He's afraid to do anything more, knowing that Dean is not partial to physical affection, and any further attempt might result in the boy having a complete breakdown. He tugs Dean inside the room, releasing him to grab the neck of a bottle of El Sol, Dean's favorite beer. He pushes the bottle into his son's right hand and a thick folder of research on the haunting into the left.
Through this, neither have spoken a word, but as Dean sips the pale ale and peruses the file, he shoots his father several grateful looks. John is actually not the heartless bastard that many of his fellow hunters and, from time to time, his youngest son believes him to be. On occasion, he does have a sense of what his children truly need.
______________
Sam is lying on the small bed in Bobby's guest room trying to sleep. Even though he is teetering on the brink of exhaustion, he sees the hurt look on his brother's face every time he closes his eyes. It doesn't help that Bobby has ripped him a new one over his behavior and his ears are still ringing from it. It is Bobby who reminds Sam that John has probably laid the blame for the entire business at Dean's feet and Sam, knowing how much his brother values their father's approval, feels even lower than he already did.
Normally, the older hunter would never dream of interfering in other people's affairs, but this is different. Bobby is the only one who sees Dean's low self esteem, sees every day how the kid busts his ass to give his little brother the stability that he has been craving. While he is fond of both of the Winchester boys, it is Dean that he is partial to, giving the younger man the praise and recognition that John is stingy in handing out. Bobby loves Sam as well, but there are definitely times when he thinks the boy is getting a little too big for his britches and needs to be taken down a peg or two. Certainly his father and brother never do it.
Sam finally succumbs to sleep a little before two a.m. and the morning comes far too quickly for his taste. It's not going to be a good day.
________
It's just after six in the evening when John's truck pulls into Singer Salvage. He's left Dean with Caleb in Des Moines, confident that his son can handle his part in tonight's salt and burn. It has not escaped his notice that Dean is becoming just as capable of a hunter as John is himself, but old habits die hard and it is difficult to let go of his grip on his eldest child. What's more, John could easily see that the hunt is something Dean needs to be doing right now.
Bobby answers the door when he knocks and the two exchange quick perfunctory pleasantries. It's hard to tell that they are actually friends from looking at their body language, but there is no doubt that they are. They just don't always care too much for each other at times. Bobby is one of the few hunters who has never actually come out and accused John of bad parenting. It's the only thing that has salvaged their friendship over the years. John has already had more than one "falling out" with a fellow hunter who has questioned the necessity of raising his boys on the hunt. He doesn't take kindly to interference.
Sam is standing nervously by the couch, biting his lower lip when his father comes into the room.
"Let's go, Samuel," John commands, his words stern and unyielding.
Sam immediately obeys, grabbing his backpack and hurrying over to where his father is standing. He has no desire to infuriate John more than he has already by giving him any attitude. John jerks his chin in Bobby's direction and stares at his son meaningfully.
"What do you say?" he demands and Sam blushes at the prompt.
"Thank you for letting me stay over last night, Uncle Bobby," he replies as politely as he can. He knows what is expected of him. Good manners have been drummed into their heads since they were old enough to speak.
Bobby watches them uneasily as John snags Sam by the back of the boy's jacket and roughly pushes him towards the door. He knows that John would never do anything to really hurt either of his boys, but he knows that Sam is in for it when his father gets him alone. He reminds himself of the mental beating that Dean took from his little brother and he keeps his mouth shut as he watches them leave.
"Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Bobby," John mutters. His words are quiet and gruff, but they are genuine and Bobby knows this. Bobby's not a religious man, but he's praying that everything will work out for the little family.
____________
Strapped into the passenger seat of his father's big black truck, Sam keeps his eyes glued to the floor as John yells. Sam doesn't actually have to pay attention to the words to know what his father is saying. He knows perfectly well how many Winchester family rules he has smashed and, for once, his father's chastisement doesn't inspire him to go on the offensive. He's too broken up about what he has done to his relationship with his brother to care about anything else.
For his part, John unloads his irritation on his youngest until he realizes that Sam is already cowed to the point of not feeling anymore. He's been expecting the usual fight that comes from his son and it never materializes. Instead, Sam has kept his head down, inserting the appropriate 'yes sirs' and 'no sirs' where required and quietly apologizing repeatedly. He wonders if Sam is really that nervous over his court appearance and lets it go. There will be time later to deal with it.
They arrive at the small town court twenty minutes ahead of schedule and join the other parties already sitting in the folding chairs in front of the table that John assumes the town justice uses as his bench. Dean has explained the situation to him in detail and John scans the room out of habit to try and get a feel for the other people present. Easily he finds the arrogant looking man in an expensive suit that is too rich for a small town like this one and knows that this is Reynolds. His son is right. Reynolds is obviously a big dick.
It's not the way that the other groups of parents are looking at him fearfully. It's obvious that this guy has a habit of intimidating people. It's the fact that a boy, who looks like he is Sammy's age and is most likely Trevor, is sitting skittishly next to the pompous air bag and is sporting a rather horrible looking shiner. He feels his lip curl in anger and has to resist the urge to go over to Reynolds and give the man a black eye of his own.
Not that John is squeamish about handing out punishment to his sons. In fact, he is fully planning on tanning Sam's behind when they get back to the house, but Hell would freeze over before he struck one of his children in the brutal manner in which Reynolds has hurt his son. John has seen his kind before on too many occasions. Not all evil is supernatural in nature and he swears under his breath, more than half contemplating the idea of sticking around in town for a while to see what Reynolds is truly capable of.
He catches Reynolds glaring at him and his face contorts into the scarily calm mask that he wears while in the field. By virtue of necessity, John's immersion into a world of real evil has changed him into something to be feared by things far more powerful and deadly than human beings. It is this experience and confidence that is conveyed in the steely harshness of his eyes. Reynolds can see this. He can tell immediately that John is not a man to mess around with and averts his gaze quickly, making John smirk in response.
The hearing goes about as well as John expects. The town justice is another smug bastard who is clearly friends with Reynolds. He allows the pompous man to strut and posture for a while, the parents of the other two kids involved obviously unnerved by his show. Finally, the kids are called up to the makeshift bench in turn with their parents. Sam is called second and John pushes his boy to his feet as they approach.
Sam knows what is expected of him and he speaks and reacts properly, throwing himself at the court's mercy. John swallows the bile rising in his throat and assures the justice that his son has learned his lesson and that they are willing to pay their share of the damages. After an unusually long minute of contemplation in John's opinion, the judge offers a condescending lecture before releasing Sam and directs them over to the court clerk for payment. When John pulls out his wallet to pay, the clerk informs them that Dean had made the payment the previous afternoon and the disclosure proves to be too much for Sam to handle. He bolts out the door and into the truck.
_________________
John threads his belt back through the loops of his jeans as he watches his son sleep fitfully. If he wasn't feeling helpless about the situation between his boys before, he definitely is now.
Sam didn't utter a word on the drive back to the house and John almost decided that the kid had had enough for one day. But his sons have had very little consistency in their lives and discipline is one of them. Sam knows what to expect from his father for his behavior and John feels compelled to follow through. He can't afford to have either of his boys question his authority and Sam already has a bad tendency towards it.
He was surprised when Sam went to his room without argument, even though they both knew why he was being sent there. When John followed him up there a few minutes later, his belt folded up in his hand, he was expecting the normal fight that had become a part of the routine since Sammy was thirteen and began standing up to his father. But this time, it was different. Sam didn't utter a word of protest as he obligingly bent over the edge his bed, his hands grabbing large bunches of the dark blue comforter.
Then everything had just gone to hell.
John had only doled out a half dozen swats when Sam burst into sobs and sank to his knees on the floor, his head buried in the blanket. John froze immediately, completely unprepared for the reaction. Sam was certainly more emotional than his brother and was not adverse to wearing his heart on his sleeve, but he was cold stoic during punishment, never letting out a sound. The tears would always come later when he had calmed down and sought John out for reconciliation.
Watching his almost grown son sob like a child on the floor of his bedroom, John knew immediately that the tears were not from the belt that he cast aside on the bed. At that moment, John knew that something was broken in both of his children and, for the first time in a long time, he had felt helpless. All he could do was drop to his knees next to his son and try to comfort him as best as he could. Mirroring the same gesture he had made towards Dean, John had begun to gently rub the back of Sam's neck in an attempt to soothe his boy.
It took a while, almost twenty minutes, before Sam started to relax. When he did, John was not ready for it. As if a light had been switched on, Sam began to ramble, spitting out every bit of what had happened during the past forty eight hours in vivid and emotional detail. When he was finally spent, John had a crystal clear picture of just what had occurred between his boys and he now knew exactly why his oldest looked like a bombing victim. In true form, he acknowledged to himself that he is more than partially responsible for this mess as well.
Eventually, he had coaxed Sam back onto the bed and encouraged him to try and get some much needed sleep. Feeling emmense sadness, he had watched over his achingly young looking son, until Sam's breath had evened out. At this point, John is smart enough to realize that what both of his boys need is each other.
As he makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen, he pulls his cellphone out and dials.
______________
Dean is feeling good for the first time in days as he helps Caleb pack up his truck.
An hour ago, the ghost of Lara Sue Mosley appeared just as she always did on the anniversary of the fall formal dance where she was murdered. Dean, dressed nattily in a rented tux and bearing an orchid corsage, had flirted and flattered her into revealing the location of her corpse. Hearing the information on the two way radio, Caleb had raced over to the rotting goal post in the overgrown football field behind the school. He manages to dig up the bones and salt and burn them before Lara Sue gets the chance to rip Dean's heart out.
Dean manages to slip out of the monkey suit and pull on his own comfortable jeans and tee just before his phone rings. His good mood abruptly vanishes when he sees his father's number come up and he answers it in a panic.
"Dad?"
"Come home, son."
_________________
Dean has raced back to Sioux Falls as if Lucifer himself was giving chase, the tone in his father's summons scaring the crap out of him. Although John has assured him that Sam is safe in his room back at the house and in no physical danger, he also said that Sam needs him, truly needs him, and Dean wastes no time getting back.
He pulls into the little driveway, parking behind his father's truck and practically jumps from the car and bolts through the front door. John is sitting on the sofa in the living room, the bottle of Jose Cuervo that Dean has stocked for his father open on the coffee table in front of him. His father looks bone tired as he nurses the tumbler in his hand.
"Sit down, son. We need to talk."
__________
Fifteen tense minutes later, Dean climbs the stairs and walks over to Sam's room, gently rapping on the door before entering. The room is dark, but he can make out the faint outline of his brother on the bed. Sam is lying with his back to the door and Dean slowly makes his way over, sitting on the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight and alerting Sam to the fact that there is someone next to him.
Sam doesn't turn around, thinking that it is John come to check on him. He's embarrassed by his earlier outburst, knowing how his father feels about overt displays of emotion. He keeps his eyes shut in the hope that his father will just assume that he is still sleeping and leave. He is completely unprepared for the voice he hears.
"Heya, Sammy," Dean says softly and the sound of his brother's voice makes Sam's breathing hitch.
Sam spins around in surprise and sees the gentle familiar look on his big brother's face, the look that tells him that things may be okay after all. He sits up abruptly against the headboard and winces slightly from the dull ache on his butt. Dean gives him a sympathetic smile and the affection in his eyes starts to soothe the pain in Sam's chest.
"You okay, kiddo?" Dean teases, a small smirking playing around the corners of his mouth. "The old man wasn't too hard on you, was he?"
Sam shakes his head slightly, still somewhat dazed to see his brother sitting there smiling at him. Dean holds his smile long enough to convince Sam that everything is alright and, before he knows it, he finds himself with an armful of little brother as Sam ducks his head into Dean's shoulder. Dean feels his little brother shaking and he puts extra exertion into the hold he has around Sam's shoulders.
They don't speak for several minutes until the unaccustomed closeness starts to make Dean feel uncomfortable. Not that he minds embracing his brother, especially after everything that has happened, but he is dangerously close to breaking down himself and his continuing need to keep strong in front of the kid eventually forces him to gently push Sam away.
Dean takes a long hard look at his little brother. Notices the pale face and the dark circles around his eyes. Sam's left eye is twitching slightly and Dean knows this is because his brother hasn't eaten enough lately. Sam's eye always twitches when he is overly hungry.
"Hey, when was the last time you ate, kiddo? You look like hell."
Sam doesn't respond to the question. He is still looking at Dean like little boy lost and the older brother can't take it anymore. Dean gets up from the bed and starts to head towards the door.
"I'm starving," he announces in his usual forward manner. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to go make some dinner for both of us and I'll tell you all about the ghost bitch we iced tonight."
Sam blinks rapidly, seeing yet another chance to apologize to his brother slipping from him, and he opens his mouth to speak only to be silenced by Dean holding his hand up in protest.
"Don't, Sammy," he says quietly, recognizing the look on Sam's face. "It's over. Everything's okay. I swear."
Sam recognizes his brother's unwillingness to discuss the tempest of emotions between them and nods briefly, just grateful for his forgiveness. Dean nods back at him and for the first time in days, both brothers feel the tension slip away.
"And make up with Dad, okay? You know how wrecked the old man gets when he has to kick your ass," Dean says over his shoulder as he leaves Sam's room.
_______________
When Sam quietly makes his way down into the living room, he sees his father sitting on the sofa in front of the old television, the telltale bottle of Jose a third empty on the coffee table. For all of John's fuss and bluster, both of his boys knows that it pains him to come down hard on either one of them, the guilt usually being harder on them than whatever punishment he has administered.
As he has done since the Christmas he was eight years old in Broken Bow, Sam shuffles forward towards the sofa and lays down on it, tucking his long legs up on the end and resting his head in his father's lap. John doesn't say anything, but there is an audible sigh of relief as he begins to card his fingers through Sam's dark hair while they watch some nonsense on TV. Dean sees them from the kitchen and he begins to hum Ramblin' On contentedly as he flips the grilled cheese sandwiches he has on the stove, a genuine smile of happiness on his face.
All is back to normal.
____________
On Thanksgiving Day, John surprises both of his sons by not being as hopeless in the kitchen as they have previously suspected him to be. He is only a little out practice and proves this by helping Dean stuff the twenty pound turkey and get it into the oven. It is a strangely comfortable time in the little household as all three Winchesters work together to prepare the meal.
No Boston Market this year.
The sounds of the Macy's parade are coming from the television in the living room as they go about their various tasks. Sam is sitting at the table putting together the tissue paper turkeys that Dean picked up from the dollar store for decoration. Dean is trying not to choke on the bile in his throat as he assembles the green bean casserole that his little brother has assured him he will eat, and John is peeling several pounds of potatoes with a dizzying speed that impresses his boys as they watch the skins fly off.
A knock on the door heralds Bobby's arrival carrying a pumpkin pie in one hand and an apple pie in the other. Three disbelieving stares has the older man on the offensive as he informs them curtly that yes, they are homemade, and the glare on his face dares one of them to make something of it. When John gets a mental image of the grizzled hunter baking in a ruffled apron, he lets out a full belly laugh that his boys have never heard from their father before.
Finally, the meal is put on the table, looking every bit traditional and smelling much better than Sam had imagined that it could. He looks to his father and sees, for the first time, John's eyes soft and relaxed as he carves the turkey with precision. He looks to Dean and grins as he watches his good natured brother mock gag on a forkful of green beans.
He knows what he is truly thankful for.