A/N Sorry this one took so long, wasn't quite sure where to stop.
A couple small time jumps in this one. Mostly a quiet chapter, but I think something more is brewing for the next chapter!
Enjoy! Also please do comment on this one, I'm very interested in what y'all think of the OC character, as well as the dynamic between Dean & Sam & Bobby.
Usual disclaimers apply. Also, unbeta'd except by me, please excuse any typos!
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Sioux Falls High School
Sioux Falls, SD
September 8, 2000
3:15 pm
Sam was trying to suppress his smile as he came out of the building. He couldn't stop himself from being thoroughly amused by the way his friend Rick was still shuddering from their recent encounter with what was apparently Rick's worst fear: a big, run of the mill, harmless, non-poisonous spider. On the other hand, he didn't have to rub it in completely. Still…
"Dude," Sam shook his head, "seriously. I get being afraid of stuff, but…man, there is so much worse out there, you don't even know."
Rick smacked him in the arm. "That thing was huge, man. And it's not funny. I just…I freaked out, man," Rick sighed. "Right in front of Allan Rice," he moaned and stopped, leaning against the high brick wall at the side of the stairs, closing his eyes in humiliation. "Be honest with me, Sam," Rick begged, and opened his grey eyes to look up at his friend.
"Always," Sam lied.
"Did I…I mean…shit," Rick sighed. "I did the whole freak-out, flailing limb, dancing thing, didn't I?"
Sam nodded solemnly. " 'Fraid so, buddy."
"Right in front of Allan!"
"Well," Sam allowed, "he was in the hallway when you hit the web, but…honestly, Rick, he was looking in his locker when you started. And by the time he closed it, there was that whole crowd around you, so I'm sure that he didn't see who it was. And besides," he continued, clamping a hand on his friend's shoulder, pulling him away from the wall to keep walking to the buses, "like you always say, Allan Rice doesn't even know you're alive, so…you can't go much further down in his estimation, you know? What are you gonna do, go from being not alive to….what?"
"I don't know," Rick sighed. "Zombie."
Sam couldn't stop the grin. "That is so not how zombies are made."
"You would know," Rick laughed. "Swear to god, Winchester, you're a walking encyclopedia of the weird and unnatural."
Sam's grin grew. "Honestly, you're not the first person to tell me that," he admitted, then chuckled lightly. "And weird and unnatural?" he scoffed. "That's just my family!" Sam laughed.
"I don't know, you're brother seems pretty cool," Rick shrugged, blushing slightly. "And kinda hot."
"DUDE! That's my brother. Gross!" Sam laughed.
"And you're sure he's straight," Allan smiled back at him.
"So far," he shrugged. "Honestly, Rick, I'd wish you luck, but…he's my brother," Sam repeated. "I try not to think about him in those terms."
"Do you have to try hard?"
"No," Sam said firmly. "And anyway, even if he was bi or whatever, Dean…you don't want to get involved with Dean," he said suddenly serious.
Rick stopped in the line to get on their bus — which, of course, hadn't arrived yet — and frowned at his friend. "Really?" he asked, unable to hide his surprise.
Sam looked down at him. "Yeah. Why?"
"I don't know," Rick shrugged. "You just always seem…I mean…seems like there's a little…hero worship there, or something," Rick said, looking down at his toe dragging across the blacktop.
Sam smiled thoughtfully and shrugged. "I guess there is," he admitted. "But…Look, he's an awesome big brother. The best. But…" Sam paused and bit his lip. "He…he's not up for a relationship," he admitted. "And I just…"
Rick looked up at him again. "Just what?"
"You're my friend," Sam shrugged. "You're about my best friend," he admitted, silently adding except for Dean, "and I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
"That's sweet," Allan smiled a little dreamily.Best friend? News to him, but he'd take it. From Sam, Allan would take anything he could get. Then a wicked twinkle entered his eyes. "Of course, the right kind of hurt…" he began, trying not to laugh at the look on Sam's face: some weird combination of shock, horror and nausea. "I don't know. I bet Dean could make it hurt. So. Good."
Sam burst out laughing and gave Rick a little shove. "Bastard! I have to eat dinner with him, you know. We share a room," Sam moaned, covering his eyes. "And now I've got that…that… in my head? You're such an asshole!"
Rick laughed and gave him a little shove back. It probably would've devolved quickly from there — both Rick and Sam, being the youngest in their respective families, liked some minor sparring together, even though at a newly achieved 6'-1", Sam towered over his 5'-6" friend — except that Sam suddenly froze, his head going up and cocking slightly to one side, listening intently.
" 'Sup, Bambi?" Rick laughed.
Sam shot him a bitch face at the nickname (Bambi? Why the hell are you calling me BAMBI? Because you look like a deer that just heard a wolf in the forest when you do that!). "Dean's here to pick me up," he shrugged. "Gonna be okay on the bus alone?"
It was said jokingly, but meant in all seriousness.
The pair had first met a little less than a year ago, when Wyatt Alstead, a 5'-8", 200 pounds defensive lineman on the school's football team, had been picking on (read: beating the crap out of) Rick. Sam had intervened, even though, at the time, he was 5'-6" and 100 pounds soaking wet. Sam —thanks to his extensive training and growing experience taking down creatures much bigger, stronger, faster, meaner and frankly more frightening than Wyatt — had won that first little altercation, and the majority of fights since then that Wyatt insisted on picking with Sam. And in the process of winning that first fight, he'd gained a fan. And a friend. And someone he felt responsible for. Which both boys liked — Rick because he'd been bullied most of his life; Sam because he liked being able to protect someone smaller than him, instead of always being protected.
Of course, Rick hadn't been the only kid that Wyatt beat up, so Rick hadn't been the only kid Sam protected, and made friends with. Those bullied kids, from different backgrounds with different interests, had become a pretty tight group of unlikely friends, bonded primarily by their mutual hatred for Wyatt and gratitude to Sam, but growing to appreciate each other in spite — or perhaps because — of their differences. Sam was happy to call them all his friends. And they were happy to call him both friend and protector.
But Rick was different. He and Sam had a lot in common, including a love of learning that spanned every subject they'd come across. And of all the friends in their little group, only Rick never judged Sam's secretiveness about his family, and never hounded him over the bruises, cuts and occasional breaks he would show up with after a weekend hunt.
Rick smiled at him. "Yeah, I'm good," he assured him. "I've got actual friends now," he laughed, "so I won't be sitting alone. And, well, Why-At-All is a lot less eager to mess with your pets, now that he's shorter than you."
Sam rolled his eyes at the pet reference. He hated that phrase, Winchester's Pets, given to the group of friends by Wyatt and the rest of his ilk at the school. Made him feel even more apart from his friends than he usually did, like he was supposed to be some kind of master, or something. Although, it was kind of amusing that the supposed insult had been taken up as a badge of honor among his friends. Every one of them were listed in each other's phones with PET as a last name.
"Anyway, are you sure?" Rick frowned. "I didn't see that boat of his in the parking lot."
Sam shook his head, trying not to get defensive about the less than complimentary description of Dean's baby, the only consistency— the only home— he'd had for the first 15 years of his life. "He's not here just yet," Sam admitted, "but I can hear him coming up the road."
Rick shook his head. "How? I mean…Sam, there're a lot of cars coming up the road right now."
Sam grinned. "Trust me," he reassured his friend. "I could be dead a year and I would still recognize the sound of that motor."
Rick shrugged. "You gotta tell me how, sometime," he decided. "All cars pretty much look and sound the same to me. Which is not a good look on the son of the owner of the biggest car dealership in town."
"You want to do it, be able to recognize a particular car just by sound?" Sam laughed. "Try spending 8 hours a day in it for 15 years, that'll do it."
Rick's eyes went sad for just a moment. "Someday, Winchester, you gotta tell me about your life," he said quietly. "I'd like to know. I'd like to understand."
Sam smiled at him, genuinely touched. "We'll see," he decided. "Anyway, the bus is here. Talk to you Monday."
"Yeah—Oh! There's a party at the dealership this weekend. Barbecue and all the trimmings, tomorrow and Sunday. Bring Dean and your uncle, my dad is dying to get a look at that car of Dean's!"
"I'm not sure we'll be in town," Sam shrugged, knowing that his brother picking him up from school unexpectedly often meant there was a hunt in the offing, "but we'll see."
"Okay. Call me, and let me know!" Rick waved and ran off to get onto their rapidly filling bus before he didn't get to sit with one of their friends.
"Will do!" Sam called and waved, then headed for the parking lot, where he knew Dean was now parked. He recognized the sound of the Impala idling in park every bit as well as her growl as she came down the road.
Sure enough, there was Dean, parked away from other cars, the driver's door open as he rested his arms on the roof, tapping out a beat to match the sound of Metallica coming, surprisingly quietly, from the car.
"Hey!" Sam smiled.
"Hey. What took you so long?" Dean wondered as they both got into the car.
"Didn't know you were coming," Sam shrugged, then turned to face his brother, "Why are you here?"
"Iiii'm picking you up from school?" Dean shrugged. "Would've thought you could figure that out, brainiac."
Sam huffed, and put a hand on Dean's arm before he could put the car in drive.
"You know what I mean," Sam said. "You weren't supposed to pick me up today, unless I missed something, and I know I didn't. So. Why am I not riding the bus?" He stopped and tightened his grip on his brother's arm. "Is Bobby okay? Have you heard something? Is John okay? Is something on the way?!"
"Yes, no, yes, and no," Dean told him. "Everything's fine, Sammy," he assured him and shook off his brother's hold, putting the Impala in gear and pulling out into traffic. "I was just picking up some groceries, and figured, as long as I was nearby, I might as well pick you up. It's on the way," he shrugged casually.
Sam kept looking suspiciously at his big brother, parsing out everything wrong with that statement. "We went shopping two days ago, there shouldn't be anything we need," he noted. "And the grocery store? Nowhere near the High School. Stopping here is at least fifteen minutes out of your way home. So, what's going on, Dean. I don't need you to protect me, you know. If there's something wrong, just tell me."
Dean sighed. "Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a twist, Samantha. Nothing's wrong, okay? I swear. I just…I just felt like picking you up. And Bobby's apparently having some kind of craving or something, so he sent me to pick up the fixin's for a special meal," he reported, sarcasm dripping off the last descriptions.
"Oh. You sure?"
"Positive. It's all good," Dean assured him, and reached over to pat Sammy lightly on the chest. "Still…what did take so long? I know you heard me coming."
"I was talking to Rick," Sam shrugged.
Dean laughed. "You know he's got a crush on you, right?" he grinned.
Sam laughed and bit his lower lip, wondering how Dean would respond to the actual truth. "I am not the one he has a crush on," Sam assured him.
"Suuuure," Dean nodded. "I've seen the way he looks at you. You're the sun and the moon to that kid, Sammy!"
Sam shook his head. "He's just still overly grateful that the beatings have stopped."
"Right," Dean huffed. "That Wyatt jackass isn't still making trouble for you and your friends, is he? I'll be happy to talk to him for you, Sammy. Anytime."
"Yeah. That might be nice," Sam said drily, "if one, I didn't know that your method of talking would be with your fists, and if b, he was bugging us, which he's not, and if 3, I needed any help dealing with that idiot, which I don't."
"He probably hasn't gotten started yet," Dean decided. "Still early in the school year. He picked fights with you at least once a month all last year."
Sam shook his head. "Yeah. And the last time, I broke his wrist. Football season is starting, he's not going to risk it. Besides, I've got three inches on him now. Wyatt Alstead doesn't have the guts to go against anyone bigger than he is."
"Never should've gone against you, then," Dean decided and shot Sam a proud glance. "You're the biggest man I know. Even if you're shorter than me."
"Which I'm not," Sam pointed out.
"Yes you are," Dean assured him as they turned onto the road home, and he opened his baby up a little more. She just loved to stretch her legs. "You'll always be shorter than me," Dean promised. "Even if you're taller. 'Cause I'm the big brother."
"That…that made no sense."
"Of course it did," Dean assured him. "I said it. It has to make sense."
"I rest my case," Sam laughed, then frowned when Dean just grinned widely at him and popped his eyebrows up and down a few times.
"I bet you do!" Dean laughed and pulled into the Salvage Yard, driving slowly down the narrow drive to the back of the house where his baby lived in pleasant weather.
"What does that mean?" Sam wondered and Dean just grinned and shrugged.
"Go on in, Sammy," Dean suggested, "I'll get the groceries."
"You sure?" Sam checked, grabbing his backpack from between his feet.
"Yeah, it's just one bag, anyway," Dean assured him and Sam shrugged and headed into the house.
"Bobby!" he called as he came inside. "We're home," he said, grinning at the phrase that was still as new and joyful to him after two years as it had been the first time he'd said it.
"Hey, boy," Bobby smiled, stepping out of the library to greet him. "Good day at school?"
Sam nodded as Dean came in behind him, carrying a grocery bag with what Sam thought was an extraordinary amount of care.
"Get everything?" Bobby nodded to Dean as the older brother came in and kicked the front door shut behind himself.
"Everything you asked for," Dean grinned and headed into the kitchen.
"You got much homework, Sam?" Bobby wondered.
Sam shrugged. "A couple hours," he admitted.
"Well, why don't you go upstairs and get that done while I finish making dinner. I may need your help with some research later."
Sam frowned. "I could help now," he offered. "I've got all weekend for the homework. Unless there's a hunt?"
"Nope, no hunt I know of," Bobby assured him. "You go ahead and get that homework done, though. I still need to verify a couple things before I can set you loose on that research, anyway, and I'm gonna be tied up cooking for a bit."
"I could verify…"
"Do your homework," Bobby insisted. "You know the house rules…"
"School comes first," Sam finished with him, rolling his eyes. "Yes, Bobby," he agreed and started up the stairs to their room.
"We'll call you when dinner is ready!" Bobby assured him.
Sam just nodded and gave a little wave of acknowledgement, his mind already turning to the history paper he had to finish.
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Singer Salvage
Sioux Falls, SD
September 8, 2000
5:53 pm
Sam looked up from putting the finishing touches on his paper when Dean knocked lightly on the door jam.
"Hey, geek boy," Dean grinned at him. "Ready for dinner?"
Surprised, Sam glanced at his watch. "It's almost 6!"
"Yeah, you were really caught up in the homework tonight," Dean agreed. "Come on, dinner's ready."
Sam saved his file and closed the lid on his laptop, following Dean down the stairs.
He stopped at the bottom step, momentarily frozen, and Dean looked up at him.
"Something wrong?"
Sam tilted his head and took a deep breath. "Is that…lasagna? Vegetable lasagna?"
Dean turned away before Sam could see his smile. "I guess," he shrugged and headed through to the kitchen, Sam on his heels.
"But…I thought you said Bobby had a craving."
"So?"
"Bobby is almost as big a carnivore as you are. If he's craving lasagna, it'll have meat in it," Sam pointed out and stopped at the archway between the library and the kitchen, looking back and forth between his brother and the man he considered another father. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" Bobby wondered as he took the lasagna and a loaf of garlic bread out of the oven. "Dean, get the salad out of the fridge."
"Just 'cause I take it out, that don't mean I'm eating it," Dean reminded and pulled the bowl of lettuce and veggies out, setting it on the table.
"Tell us something we don't know, boy," Bobby scoffed.
"What's. Going. On," Sam repeated, crossing his arms and putting on his best bitch face.
"Still don't know what you mean, boy," Bobby shrugged. "Wash your hands."
Sam frowned as he crossed the sink to do as he'd been told. "Vegetable lasagna is my favorite."
"Is it?" Bobby asked, his voice dripping innocence. "Huh."
"You know damn well it is," Sam snapped, drying his hands with the towel hanging on the handle of the oven. "And I know that neither of you really like it, so I ask again: What. The Hell. Is Going. On! It's not my birthday, I wasn't hurt on a hunt," he snapped, his voice growing a little louder and more agitated with each word. "So…why? What's happened? You guys are keeping something from me, trying to…what? Butter me up? Soften the blow? What is this!" he demanded.
"Jesus, Sammy, chill," Dean laughed. "You're gonna blow a gasket, you keep on like that. Just…sit down, will you," Dean urged, pulling out Sam's chair.
Sam slowly sat, looking back and forth between the other two men. "Something's happened," he said quietly. "Something bad and you're trying to make it easier."
"Sammy…"
"What? What's happened? Tell me," Sam begged. "Is it Pastor Jim? Caleb? Dean. Is it John?!"
"No, you…" Dean rolled his eyes and took his usual seat. "I swear, Sammy, you're the only person I know who takes somebody doing somethin' nice for 'im as a sign of impending doom. Jesus…just, give it to him, Bobby."
"Give me what?" Sam asked anxiously, twisting to look at Bobby who was standing over his other shoulder. "What's…"
"This came in the mail, today," Bobby said gruffly and dropped a plain white envelope on his plate.
A plain white envelope addressed to him.
A plain white envelope addressed to him from Stanford University, according to the return address.
Stanford University Admissions Department.
Sam stared at the envelope, leaning back in his seat with his hands clenched in fists on his lap.
"Breathe, Sammy!"
Sam jumped and looked quickly at his brother, before staring at the envelope again. "I…" he started, but the words got caught in his throat.
Dean half stood and leaned across the table to put his hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Sammy. Look at me."
Sam raised wide, slightly-panicked eyes to meet his brother's gaze, and his breathing evened out a little as his tense shoulders relaxed.
"It's okay," Dean said softly. "Whatever's in that envelope. It's okay. Really."
Sam nodded and looked again at the envelope waiting on his plate.
"Stanford's the best law school in the country," he breathed.
"I know," Dean agreed, and pushed the chair back so he could move closer to his brother.
"It's my first choice."
"I know." Dean crouched beside him, and shifted his hand to the back of Sam's neck, giving a slow, gentle squeeze that eased a little more tension from his brother.
"What if…"
"It's okay," Dean assured him. "Any answer is okay. I promise."
Sam looked at his brother again.
"I promise," Dean whispered.
Sam nodded and picked up the envelope, as Dean stood up beside him, keeping his warm hand on the back of Sam's neck.
Bobby stepped up on the other side of him, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.
A deep breath, and Sam grabbed the butter knife from his place setting and slit the envelope open. He pulled out the stack of folded papers stuffed inside and set them on his plate, putting the envelope aside.
The top paper was a letter, folded so he could see the letterhead, the date, and a salutation.
He picked up the paper and carefully unfolded it. Dear Mr. Winchester…
Sam scanned the letter quickly and let it drop, face down, onto his plate, as he leaned back in the chair, swallowing convulsively.
Over his head, Dean and Bobby exchanged worried glances.
Dean shook his head at Bobby, and Bobby shrugged back.
"AND?!" Dean urged, making Sam jump a little.
Slowly, Sam stood, looked at Bobby, then faced his big brother.
"I...I'm…" Sam began, then broke into the widest smile Dean had seen on his baby brother's face since the kid was 6 and he'd taken him to the zoo for his birthday. "I'm going to Stanford!" Sam told him and laughed. "I'M GOING TO STANFORD!"
Dean laughed and pulled his brother into a tight hug, putting one hand on the back of his kid's head. Sam leaned into the hug, nestling his face against Dean's neck.
"I'm so proud of you," Dean whispered and kissed Sam's temple. "My college boy. I'm so fuckin' proud of you," he told him again, not caring in the slightest that his voice was breaking and tears were falling down his cheek.
"Wait, wait!" Bobby interrupted and put his hand on Sam's back. "It gets better!" he laughed and waved the letter in the air.
"HOW?" Dean laughed and Sam pulled away grinning through his own tears.
"You want to tell him, or should I?" Bobby grinned.
Sam took the letter back and stepped backwards to lean against the counter, facing both of them.
"Dear Mr. Winchester," he read, trying to sound solemn and pompous and failing as he started to laugh again. "We have reviewed your application for admission to our Undergraduate Law program and we are pleased to offer you a place in our Law School…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know that, what else?" Dean demanded.
Sam raised his voice over his brother's and continued, "..a place in our Law School Program beginning with the Fall Quarter, 2001."
"I know that!"
"IN ADDITION," Sam continued, "we have reviewed the financial circumstances you explained in your application, as well as your outstanding test scores and your stellar grade point average,"
"Stellar!" Dean beamed.
"…achieved during what we can only surmise was a difficult time, given the number of schools you attended. That you were able to maintain this academic excellence throughout your schooling to date is testimony to your commitment to your education and determination to succeed, two qualities which the Stanford School of Law greatly value."
"Damn straight!" Dean nodded.
"THEREFORE, we are delighted to tell you that we will be awarding you…" he stopped and looked up at Dean, eyes glistening.
"What? Awarding you what?" Dean admitted. "Dammit, Sammy, tell me! Awarding what? A date with the Dean's daughter? The Nobel Peace Prize? Come on, bitch, just fucking TELL ME already!"
"We will be awarding you A FULL SCHOLARSHIP, to include tuition, books, room and board for the full four years of the Undergraduate Law Program, provided that you maintain…"
"Full Scholarship?" Dean plucked the letter out of his brother's hand and skimmed it himself before dropping it on the table and wrapping his arms around his brother's waist and lifting Sammy off the ground. "YOU DID IT!" he shouted and swung Sammy around, laughing, and dropped him back to the ground, pulling back slightly and waving his hand enthusiastically at Bobby. "Fuck the lasagna, Bobby, get the thing, the other thing!"
Bobby laughed and crossed behind the pair who were about two seconds from jumping up and down, they were so excited, and pulled a box out of the refrigerator, carrying it carefully over to the table, where he set it in the center of the table, and turned to face his boys.
"What…" Sam shook his head and walked back to the table, still grinning from ear to ear, arm and arm with Dean who was fairly sure he hadn't smiled as much since the day he'd first held his baby brother in his arms.
Bobby flipped the cover of the box open with a flourish as he and Dean joined together in a celebratory yell.
"Congratulations!" they shouted and Sam stared at the sheet cake in front of him, grinning even more broadly — if that were possible — even as tears began to fall
It was a beautiful cake, with what he knew would be his favorite buttercream frosting, and a small spun sugar building that could be any college hall in the world, as well as a frosting diploma scroll and a candy cap and gown. Large blue letters spelled out two words: Congratulations, Squirt, with the "t" in Squirt replaced by an icing water pistol that was shooting drops of icing-water at the diploma.
Sam laughed and threw his arms around Bobby's neck. "Thank you!" he whispered, too choked up now to make more noise.
"Proud of you, boy."
Sam nodded and pulled back to stand between his two proud dads, wiping the tears away.
"That was why you went to the store," he laughed, glancing at Dean, who shrugged and smiled. "But…how did you…the letter was sealed."
"Well, everybody knows a thick letter from a college means you got in," Bobby said gruffly, and rubbed the back of his wrist against his eyes.
Dean threw an arm around Sam's shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. "Ah, the hell with that. There was never any doubt. They'd've been crazy to let you get away!" he laughed and gave Sam a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek, before turning to counter behind them. "Now," Dean clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "let's have cake!"
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Singer Salvage
Sioux Falls, SD
Saturday, May 26, 2001
9:18 pm
Sam sat at the familiar kitchen table, still in the two-inches-too-short blue dress pants from his old suit and the Led Zeppelin t-shirt he'd stolen from Dean to wear under his cap and gown, staring grimly at cardboard.
His high school graduation had not gone unnoticed by his friends, even his Hunter friends, and he'd already opened boxes containing a hand-tooled leather messenger bag, padded to keep his laptop safe (from Caleb), a new suit that actually fit his newly acquired 6'-4" frame (Pastor Jim), a leather bound book of The Complete Works of Shakespeare (Winchester's Pets), and The Encyclopedia of the Strange, Mystical and Unexplained (Rick).
One last box remained unopened in front him. A plain cardboard mailing box, 12x12x12. No return address and — somewhat worryingly — no postmark. It had to have been hand delivered to the front porch while they'd been at Sam's graduation, or at the party that Rick's dad had thrown at the dealership following the ceremony.
Dean sat down at the table in his usual place, watching his brother watching the plain cardboard box as Sammy had been doing for almost 20 minutes, now.
"Has it moved yet?" Dean wondered. "Ticked? Shook? Breathed? Does it smell like sulfur at all? Is it producing a cold spot? Maybe we should just dump salt on it," he suggested, nodding to himself. "That'll teach the cardboard."
"Leave 'im alone, Dean," Bobby said firmly. "Sam, you just take yer time, boy."
Sam looked up at them. "I'm not afraid it's going to blow up or anything," he assured them. "I mean, it's from John — I'd know that crappy handwriting anywhere — and I know he hates me, but he'd know Dean would be with me, and he'd never risk your safety."
"Then what's the hold up?" Dean wondered and reached for the box, fully prepared to open it himself.
Bobby slapped Dean's hand away.
"I'm just trying to decide," Sam admitted softly.
"Decide what? Where you're gonna plant it? If you're gonna let it sleep on the bed?" Dean scoffed. "It's a box, Sammy. You open it."
"I'm trying to decide," Sam repeated, "if I want anything from John or not. If I even want to know…"
Bobby sat down opposite Sam, and Sam raised his eyes from the package to look at the elder Hunter.
"I figure there's two ways this can go," Sam explained, and Dean frowned, listening carefully now. "The first way is, it's a…a book or a notebook or pen set or a…a…I don't know, something academic. And I'll know that John knows that I'm leaving the life, that I'll go to college and have an actual, real, paying job. A good career. And I'll know that maybe, in some small way, he respects the decision even if he can't understand it. The second way is, there'll be something in the box that's…I don't know. Another weapon or a book on lore, or…something. Something Hunter-ish. And I'll know that's what he expects, even if I'm not with him, that I — that we," he corrected, glancing at Dean, "will keep hunting. And I'll understand," he added softly, "that that'll be the end. If I go to college, he'll never forgive me, and…there's no chance at all. For anything," Sam added, sighing deeply.
"Aw, Sammy," Dean said quietly and rested a hand on his brother's arm.
"Thing is," Sam continued, his voice a bare broken whisper, his eyes glistening with tears waiting to fall, "until I saw the box….until I knew he'd sent something, it never even occurred…I don't think I realized I…I still…after everything…" He shook his head and gave a small sniff.
"I can put the box away someplace," Bobby offered. "You don't have to open it, boy."
Sam nodded, then reluctantly shook his head. "No," he decided, and stood slowly, pulling his pen knife from his back pocket. "I need to know. It'll just eat at me otherwise," he realized, and nodded again. "It's better to know, once and for all…"
He cut the box open with his knife, then put the knife back in his pocket, before lifting the flaps of the lid and digging into the crumpled newspapers stuffed inside the box.
His hand found something, and he stiffened, went utterly still for a moment, before pulling his hand out of the box, holding…nothing.
Sam straightened up, and nodded at the box. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay," and with a sigh, he turned and walked out the back door into the night.
Bobby watched him go, and put a hand on Dean's arm when the elder Winchester stood to follow. "Leave him be," Bobby advised. "He'll come to you when he's ready."
Dean nodded and turned his attention back to the box. He glanced at Bobby who just shrugged. Dean sighed, then reached into the box.
Dean pulled his hand out of the box, frowning and shook his head, staring at it. It was beautifully detailed, obviously hand made, personalized with SW on the outside.
"Crap," Dean breathed and set the butterfly knife down in front of Bobby, before he sat again. He rested his elbows on the table, wrapped his right hand around his left fist, and rested his chin against his hands to stare at the knife.
Gingerly, Bobby picked the knife up, flipping it open, then closed, then open again to run his thumb carefully over the blade. "It's a good knife," he noted, and set it back on the table. "Good action, good balance. Blade could probably split a hair in half. Looks like there's a latch to lock it closed or open. Could probably throw well. Pretty sure it's silver."
Dean nodded. "Dad never half-assed the weaponry, not even for Sammy."
"No," Bobby agreed. "He never did."
"Do you…" Dean glanced at the other Hunter, then returned to his contemplation of the knife. "Do you think Sam's right? About what it means?"
"Knowing your daddy," Bobby sighed and hesitated. "Yeah. Probably."
"Son of a BITCH!" Dean spat, his hand slapping down hard on the table. "Ow. You'd think…One time! Not one time. He couldn't even give Sammy the slightest bit of encouragement, couldn't even acknowledge what he's been able to do. Graduates top of his class, valedictorian, full ride to one of the toughest schools in the country, even after being dragged all over the country his whole damn life. 37 schools in 12 years. And still that…he can't manage a single 'nice job, Sammy.' It's just — if it's not the Hunt, it's nothing. I just…BASTARD."
"Dean," Bobby began, reaching a comforting hand towards his boy and froze when a familiar sound rent the air.
It was the sound of shrieking metal and breaking glass, of tortured steel giving way under heavy plates, and windows being blown out by the pressure.
It was the sound of the car compactor in the salvage yard.
The car compactor that hadn't worked in a month, because a motor blew out and Bobby was still waiting on a part.
Dean and Bobby shared a quick glance, and sprinted onto the back porch, looking towards the salvage yard.
Dean's draw dropped, and all he could do was stand there, staring like an idiot, watching in stunned amazement as one of the cars at the top of a stack somewhere in the middle of the salvage yard raised up into the air and collapsed inward like a piece of paper being crumpled by a giant — and invisible — hand.
The car flipped over and flew across the salvage yard, ending up in the back yard with an impact that shook the ground and left a crater six feet across.
Another car flew up and was crumpled, thrown, landing next to the first.
A third car. This one flipped end over end and came down nose first somewhere in the stacks of cars with a great whump that set piles of cars shaking.
A fourth car….
"Maybe you should go after him," Bobby suggested quietly. "He seems…upset."
Dean turned to look at the elder Hunter. "Ya think?"
Dean shook his head, ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "Son of a bitch," he muttered and sighed before starting across the grass towards the gate that led to the salvage yard.
Another crumpled car landed five feet to his right, and Dean scrambled closer to the fence that separated house from salvage. "SAMMY!" he yelled over the sound of another car being thrown into the ground somewhere out of his sight. "I'm comin' in!" Dean shook his head and stepped cautiously into the salvage yard. "Don't drop a car on me, or nothin'," he muttered.
Cautiously, Dean worked his way through the dark and twisting maze of metal. Another car landed, trunk first, in the path twenty feet in front of him with enough force to bury itself almost up to the windshield. It was a '77 neon yellow AMC Gremlin. Dean nodded to himself, and took the first right turn he came to.
There was, contrary to appearances, an order to the piled-up cars rusting slowly into decay, and he guessed — he hoped — that Sam was near the cars he was throwing around, so he worked his way cautiously to the section of Singer Salvage reserved for god forsaken automotive abominations that never should've seen the light of day, according to Bobby Singer.
At least Sammy was destroying cars that they'd probably never consider getting parts from.
"Sammy!' Dean called again. "Sam. It's just me," he said reassuringly as he turned the last corner to where he expected Sam to be.
He threaded his way carefully through a jumble of crumpled up and half-buried cars, until he saw a figure ahead.
Dean stopped and watched his brother, lying on his side, in the middle of the grass of the overgrown path, crying silently.
Sam flexed one hand, relaxing a fist, only to make it again, and another car from the pile next to him flew up and crumpled into a misshapen ball, then flew over the salvage yard towards the house.
Dean heard the distant sound of impact and swallowed nervously, wiping his hands on his jeans as he took a tentative step forward. "Sam, it's me," he said and moved to his brother's side.
"Sammy?" he said quietly and knelt on the grass next to the crying boy who somehow seemed impossibly small and fragile and achingly young. His Sammy.
He reached a hand out and gently carded his fingers through his kid's messy hair. "It's okay, little brother," he assured the crying boy and wasn't at all surprised when Sammy pushed himself up onto his knees and grabbed Dean in a fierce hug.
"It's okay," Dean promised, gently stroking the matted hair with one hand, and running his hand gently up and down Sammy's back. "You're okay. I'm right here. I've got you. I'm here. Big brother's got you. You're okay. I got you, little brother. I've always got you," he vowed and rocked them gently, like a thousand times before.
Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way, but eventually Sammy's tears slowed to shuddering breaths and little hiccups.
"It's okay," Dean repeated and gently cupped Sam's tear streaked cheek as the younger boy pulled back.
"I'm all right," Sam said quietly. "I'm okay now."
"Okay," Dean nodded. "Okay."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" Dean wondered, honestly puzzled by the comment.
"I don't know," Sammy shrugged, wiping his tears roughly away. "Bawling like a five year old?"
"It was an emotional day," Dean shrugged it off. "And our father's an asshole. I think I can give you a pass this time."
Sam chuckled. "Thanks, Dean."
"Sure," Dean smiled. "Ready to head back to the house?"
Sam shook his head. "Not yet."
"Okay. Whatever you need."
Sam nodded, gratefully and looked around, finally realizing where they'd ended up.
His eyes grew wide as he saw the broken and smashed cars around them. "What…Dean, where…?" His wide, frightened eyes flew to Dean's concerned one. "Did I do that?"
Dean shrugged it off. "We were never going to use those cars, anyway," he assured him. "And on the bright side, we now have a backup for the next time the compactor goes down."
"Dean!" Sam half-laughed. "That's not…" Sam sat back on his heels, looking at the destruction in amazement. "I really did that," he whispered.
"Yeah," Dean said quietly. He took a breath and decided that he might as well get the whole thing out there. Better to deal with it all upfront, than to spread the agony out. "You threw some of 'em around some, too," he admitted, watching his brother closely for a reaction. Sam's attention flew to his brother's face, and Dean nodded a confirmation. "There are a bunch of cars half buried in some of the pathways. And there's about half a dozen of the…car…balls," Dean frowned at the phrase. "Balls of car…those things," he decided and pointed at one of the crumpled messes behind him "in the back yard by the house."
Sam started to pant and shake. "I…I could've…"
Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and bent forward, putting himself in front of Sam's glazed eyes. "You didn't," he assured and gave his brother a slight shake, pulling Sam's attention to him. "Nobody got hurt, Sammy. You didn't hurt anybody."
"I could've," Sam whispered. "I could've hit you, or Bobby. I could've thrown one on to the road. I could've hit the HOUSE! I didn't hit the house."
"No," Dean said. "You didn't hit anybody or anything. Just created the mother of all divots, but… we can fix that. You can, I'm guessing," he added. "The same way they got there, you can move 'em back."
Sam nodded. "I will, I will," he promised.
"I know," Dean assured him. "I know. It's okay. Really. It's okay, Sammy. I'm not mad. Bobby's not mad. We just…we're sorry…" Dean trailed off, looking down and took a deep breath before forcing himself to look at his brother again. "I'm sorry I didn't consider that John would be such an asshole. Today of all days. I should've…" he shook his head. "I should've known he'd hurt you. Again. Should've thrown that box away."
Sam shook his head. "No," he sighed. "Like I said when I opened it, it's better to know. You got nothing to be sorry for, Dean. I'm sorry. I shouldn't let him get to me. I just…I don't know. I think…I didn't even know it, but…I guess some part of me still hoped..." He shook his head and chuckled softly. "Stupid, huh?"
"Nah," Dean assured him and shifted until he was sitting next to his brother. Dean draped an arm around Sammy's shoulders and pulled the tousled head down to rest against him. "I get hopeful about him, too," Dean admitted. "Keep hoping he's gonna realize that both his sons are awesome, instead of just me."
Sam laughed. "Jerk."
"Bitch."
They stayed that way as the stars came out above, just quietly absorbing the themness that was, as always, the center of their world.
Dean figured it had to have been a solid half hour — maybe more — since Sam had left the house, and decided it was time to get back.
"My ass is getting wet," he said by way of a conversational opener. "And cold."
Sammy laughed softly. "Mine, too," he admitted and pulled away to watch Dean stand up.
"Ready to head back?"
Sam nodded, and reached up to take the offered hand, letting Dean help him to his feet.
"Listen," Dean said, holding his brother's face in his hands. "It's gonna be okay. We already know we don't need him. Now we know where we stand, and…just makes it that much easier. You and me. Just heading out to California. We'll go out a little early, find someplace…." Dean's voice trailed off as Sam pulled back and looked down. "Sammy? What's goin' on?"
Sam closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, before looking up and meeting Dean's gaze again, shaking his head slowly.
"I'm not going to California," he whispered and bit his bottom lip hard to try to keep back the tears.
"Of course you are!" Dean frowned. "Stanford is in California, Sammy. You have to go to California."
"I'm not going to Stanford," Sam said quietly, and stopped fighting the slow fall of tears. "I can't. I can't go to any college," he shrugged helplessly, and gave a sad little laugh as he wiped the tears away. "Son of a bitch, the bastard was right," he chuckled.
"Sam…"
"The only thing I can be is a hunter. He was right all along," Sam realized and looked at his feet, avoiding both Dean and the destruction he'd wrought.
"What are you…Of COURSE you're going to Stanford!" Dean frowned. "Dammit Sammy," he grabbed his brother's shoulders and gave him a shake. "You can't let him make you…"
"John's not the problem!" Sam snapped. "I am!"
"What are you talking about?!"
"THAT!" Sam yelled and pushed Dean's shoulder until he spun around to face the crumpled cars behind him. "Look what I did, Dean! LOOK. What I did. I got a fucking present that upset me. It hurt me and it made me mad, and I…did…THAT!"
He turned his back on the cars and Dean, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can't go to college," he said quietly, and tilted his head to rest his cheek against the familiar soothing hand that came to rest on his shoulder. "It's not safe," he sighed, and leaned back against his brother when Dean put his hand on the other shoulder and pulled Sam to him. "I'm not safe. We should just…lock me in an attic or something, before I kill somebody. I'm going to call Stanford tomorrow and tell them to give the scholarship to somebody else."
Dean turned his brother around and grabbed Sammy's chin, forcing the boy to look at him. "You will do no such fucking thing," Dean said firmly.
"You saw what I did," Sam argued. "I got mad at John and I started throwing cars around. I didn't even know I was doing it, Dean! What's going to happen at Stanford? My roommate steals my food and I throw a bed at him? A professor gives me a grade I disagree with, or humiliates me in class, am I going to throw him through a wall? Some drunk asshole almost hits me, am I going to crush their car, with them in it? I'm not safe, Dean! Hell, maybe John was right, and somebody should kill me before I can…"
Dean didn't think, just reacted and the next thing he knew, Sam was staring at him in shock, holding his jaw and Dean's knuckles felt like he'd hit a cement wall.
"OW!" Dean shook his hand out. "Damn, Sammy. I've heard of a glass jaw before, but you got a brick one. That fuckin' smarts, man."
Sam pushed Dean's shoulder once, knocking his brother back a step. "You fuckin' hit me," he marveled. "You deserve to have your hand hurt, dammit. You hit me! Don't hit me."
"Well, you were saying stupid shit," Dean defended. "I'm not going to stand here and listen to you spouting the same going Dark Side bullshit that I've had to take from Dad all these fuckin' years."
Sam sighed. "Dean, I…"
"I know what you did, Sam," Dean assured him. "You have the Winchester Temper. Just like Dad, just like me…Hell, just like Mom. You got a temper. That's not news, Sammy."
"Throwing cars around is more than just a temper, Dean. You get me mad enough, and apparently I could kill somebody, and not even know about it! Law school is a high-stress environment, Dean. I cannot go there, knowing that if I lose my Winchester Temper, somebody could die, and I won't even know I've fucking done anything!"
"Then we work on it," Dean countered. "We have the whole summer, Sammy. You and me. We figure out how you can control it. We make sure you always know what you're doing, what your powers are doing. You've always been a control freak, Sammy," Dean half-smiled, "this should be right up your alley."
"You think?" Sam said softly, a little desperation tinging his voice.
"I know," Dean assured him. "You and me, Sammy," he said gently, and pulled Sam into his arms. "There's nothin' we can't do together, Sammy, you know that. We got away from John. We can do this. I know we can."
Slowly Sam nodded. "Yeah. You and me."
"Okay?" Dean wondered and placed a kiss on his kid's temple, as if Sam were six years old instead of six foot four.
"Okay," Sam agreed and slowly pulled back, wiping roughly at his eyes before the tears could fall again. "Hell, if we have to, we find a way to short circuit me. There's gotta be something. I know I've read about spells that bind a witch's powers. Bobby must have one some place."
"Last resort," Dean nodded reluctantly.
"Maybe we should just do it," Sam suggested. "It's the safest way…"
"No," Dean shook his head. "There're things still after you, Sammy. I can't follow you to every class and study group, and I won't leave you unprotected, not unless there's no other way. Okay? We'll consider it, if we have to. But it's the last, the very last resort. Okay?"
"Okay," Sam nodded and sighed deeply. He turned to face the cars he'd destroyed. "I should clean this up."
"Tomorrow," Dean decided as he put a hand on Sam's arm, and started moving them back towards the house. "There's plenty of time tomorrow."
Sam nodded and casually draped an arm over his brother's shoulder, pulling Dean next to him, under his arm in a reversal of the positions of a lifetime.
Dean tried to throw his arm across Sam's shoulders, now that they were both standing and frowned as he had to reach up to do so.
"Don't remember giving you permission to get this tall, Sasquatch," Dean grumbled.
"Don't recall asking."
"You're still a little bitch."
"You're still a jerk."
They continued walking, their strides in synch in a way they didn't notice but that was endemic to them, coded in their DNA.
"You sure this'll work, Dean?"
"We'll make it work, Sammy."
Silence and they could see that Bobby had turned the attic light on for them, to show the way.
"Mom had a temper?"
"Oh, yeah! I remember once, I was, I dunno, three, maybe, and I'd figured out where the cookies were kept. They were in a cabinet right about the stove. I pulled a chair over, and was about to step onto the stove…didn't even care that there was a pot of soup or something boiling…and Mom comes swooping in like some avenging angel. Yellin' at me, man. She put me over her knee."
"Seriously?!"
"Oh yeah. Hit me with a wooden spoon. I remember I had to literally stand up to eat dinner that night. Slept on my stomach for a while."
"Huh. To hear John talk about…when he talks about her, you'd swear she was a saint."
"Yeah. I guess it's like that, when somebody dies. You want to remember the good."
Sam stopped at the entrance to the back yard, staring at the crumpled cars in their craters.
"I'm scared, Dean."
"I know, Sammy. It'll be okay."
"Promise?"
"Promise. Come on," Dean smiled. "I know where Bobby hides the cookies. And you don't need a chair."
=====SPN======SPN======SPN
A/N yeah…I know I normally explain a bunch of references, but there is no way I'm going to try to explain U.S. high school football, or the U.S.'s methods of higher education to anybody unfamiliar. Just in case anyone (besides me) is wondering how much that full ride scholarship Sam got was worth, the total scholarship for all four years would have been right about $150,000.
The character of Rick just popped out of my weird brain as I was writing this. He wasn't originally interested in guys, but then the whole thing about Dean being hot jumped showed up on the page and, well…there you go.
Not sure why it was suddenly important to Sam that he be seen as a protector, like Dean had always been, but once the thought occurred to me (If Dean has always protected Sam from bullies, what happens now that Dean left school?) it just seemed so obvious that Sam would step into that role for kids that were being bullied around him.
nightrider67 - I love listening to those two argue and support each other, mostly at the same time. The way family should be! I think there's a few good moments of Brotherness in this one. Thanks for commenting.