Genre/Pairing: Sam, Dean, gen, teen!chesters (Sam is 13, Dean is 17)
Wordcount: cca. 6.000 words
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
His brother's voice was a distorted whisper, crackling on the phone line, but he heard it loud and clear as if Sam'd been standing right beside him screaming the name into his ear.
He clutched the phone tighter in his hand, making the plastic all but cave into itself. Something was wrong.
There was something in his little brother's voice; something sad. Something lost. Something that send shivers down his spine.
"Gimme that, man..." was heard from somewhere in the background and he clenched his jaw, already preparing himself to strike like a snake at whoever said that.
After some rustling that broke the eerie silence another voice was heard over the phone. A voice that was certainly not his brother's.
Anger started to replace the worry and he held the phone in his hand all but crushing the damn plastic. It was a new phone too, Dad went all out with buying it, just so that it would've been easier for him to keep tab on his kids.
"Listen man, dude here's totally wasted. Like dead."
"Listen ... dude ...," he snarled, "gimme Sam back on the phone."
"Can't ... he's like zoning out, dude."
What the hell was happening? Zoning out? Wasted? What?
"Where are you?"
Even before the words left his mouth, he was sitting in the Impala with the tires eating up the asphalt like a starving man eats steak.
"Dunno. Just got here and found this nerd here on the steps clutching his phone 'n fuckin' drooling all over the place."
The party, he murmured beneath his breath. The damn party. Sam wanted to go, said he'd been invited, said he wanted to go to be normal, because didn't all normal teenagers go to parties? He wanted to make friends there, some people he'd spend however months they'd stay in this town with. And who was Dean to say no to that? He could never say no to Sam.
"Listen kid, can you stay with him?"
He wasn't angry anymore. He was full on pissed. What he didn't know was who he was pissed at. There would be plenty of time to figure that out once he'd have Sam in his line of sight. Right now, Sam was still in danger, still somewhere out there alone and fuckin' drunk - damn it, Sam – so he had more pressing matters to attend to, than figuring out who he needed to punch.
"Ain't his babysitter and the dude's like..."
That was a definite growl that came out of his mouth but he took a breath, before he'd scare the kid away which was the last thing he wanted: "Stay with him or I swear I'll kill you. Don't let anything happen to him, or you won't gonna be able to drink or smoke anything ever again."
He was seeing red. Or maybe that was just the traffic light that he ignored and sped up the car. He needed to get to Sam like an hour ago. The town was small, but still big enough for two crossroads and three traffic lights; one was red, two green and even if they'd been red, he wouldn't have had stopped, because the town was empty of traffic. At two am, it was a given.
"Alright, alright, jeez, chill dude."
The kid on the phone was starting to get on his nerves again, but he tried to calm down. Crashing the car would do no one any good and the kid said he'd stay, so points to him.
"Stay with him!" he ordered in that voice, the one his Dad would be proud of. The voice he inherited, apparently, from his Dad and that made even Sam do a double take. He hoped it would make the kid think twice about going against him too.
"'kay, fuck, chill!"
He almost threw the cell phone on the passenger seat, but stopped and cussed under his breath: "'m gonna kill him. Sammy you're a very dead, dead little brother."
He was pissed, he was worried and he just wanted to get Sam back to their motel room and beat the living shit out of him; drunk or not drunk.
Fuck Sam and fuck Sam for trying to be normal. There was no normal for them. There were no friends for them; just people they knew and met and left behind. Parties weren't Sam's thing, why ... why did the kid insist on going there? Doing this? Fuck.
"Gimme Sam on the phone and you just stay there. I'll be right there."
Some more shifting and rustling and the next thing he heard were Sam's breaths in his ear.
There was no answer.
"I don't," a wheezed breath, "feel so good, De-."
And that was when all anger floated out of him. He'd heard Sam breathe like that before; when Sam was either hurt on a hunt or while doing ordinary things, or when he was sick and trying to breathe through nausea.
"Sammy, listen. I'm coming to get you, 'm close. Okay?"
"Mad?" the word was a timid whisper, but he heard it just fine and it made his heart plummet down into his heels. With just that one word, Sam sounded so young.
"No man, no 'm not mad, alright? Just hang on."
"'m gonna hang up now, I'll be there in a sec."
And this '''kay'' stuff was making his gut churn. Sam wasn't just drunk. This wasn't all that. Something else must've happened. Something really, really bad. All of this wasn't Sam's fault. It was his. He never should've said yes to Sam's pleading. He should've said no. They didn't know anyone in this town, and going to a party at some stranger's house, a stranger Sam casually met in school ... what was he thinking? He was in charge when Dad was away, he should've said no.
Stopping the car at the curb with a really nice looking house across the lawn, he could already see Sam's slumped figure on the third front step. The house was lit up like the fourth of July, no close neighbors as he could see, and some faint music coming from the open front door. Kids here were having fun, but in a volume that wouldn't disturb anyone. Huh. How nice of 'em. Parents out of town probably, so that meant booze, drugs and rock'n'roll. He wasn't that old; he could appreciate a good party. Hell, he'd been to some really wild ones in the past, but this was Sam.
Before his mind could register, he was already out of the car and walking towards the miserable form of his baby brother. The light from the open front door was throwing a river of yellow onto the porch and on Sam's hunched back. He sighed and slowed his steps, trying to gather more information about all of this. Sam's feet were on the ground, toes turned toward each other, his head hanging down, which meant that wild mop of hair was covering his face and half of his knees.
Sam looked as if he passed out and gravity made him fall forward on his thighs.
One really drunk little brother. Check.
One seriously worried big brother. Check.
One pimply perhaps doped up beanstalk of a kid standing beside his brother. Check.
At least the kid waited. Another point for him.
He didn't feel like answering; the kid wasn't his responsibility, wasn't anyone he knew, wasn't why he was here. What he was there for, was the little ball of sunshine curved in a ball right now, and smelling of – oh man - sweat and booze. This would be a nice ride back to the motel.
The kid pointed to Sam, as if Sam was a leprechaun which made his lip pull up a bit in anger. This shit hole of a town – they needed to leave it.
"Dunno, like I said. Just got here and found him flipping his shit with the phone and like drooling all over the floor."
"Well, thanks for stayin'."
"Think he's really drunk, man."
"Wow, you're a right genius, aren't you?"
The confused look he got back cemented it. The kid wasn't one of the brightest bulbs out there, but he stayed with Sam. That had to count for something.
He had fire in his eyes, he knew that, had heard that he looked downright murderous at times and this ... this was one of those times for sure. The kid was getting on his last nerve and all he wanted was to be with his brother. Alone. To assess the problem and to solve the problem. He needed to fix this.
The kid turned around, walked up the remaining stairs and disappeared into the house. There was laughter and muttered conversation coming from the house, but all he could hear was Sam's labored breathing.
Crouching down before his brother, he gripped Sam's biceps. His brother was skinny; bones and skin, but he was already starting to develop some muscles and when his fingers wrapped around the biceps he could feel the muscles jump under his palm. Well, at least his brother was still alive.
He whispered and his breath ruffled Sam's hair. Cleanly washed, soft and shining. His brother took a shower before going, saying that he didn't want to smell like stale food and whiskey. He teased back that yeah, chicks dig a man with good hygiene, but Sam just grimaced, scoffed and went into the bathroom.
The mop of hair moved slightly in a very tiny nod, but he saw it. What he also saw was a string of saliva slowly running from Sam's mouth, down between his thighs and to the concrete step.
''Shit, Sam, the hell?''
He gripped his brother's head by the cheeks - hissing when his palms connected with cold, clammy skin - and lifted. He wasn't worried anymore, he was downright freaking out. Sam's eyes were closed, head like a limp noodle that he had to support with all his strength, and his brother's lips and chin smeared with spit.
All he got in return was a groan and Sam finally getting his throat to work, because he could feel through his palms the kid swallow down whatever came up right then. Be it spit, words or vomit, it didn't matter. His brother was obviously still capable of working that reflex, so maybe it wasn't that bad.
''Damn it, Sam.'' He whispered more to himself than Sam, reaching into his pocket that still held a bandana from the last hunt he was on. Didn't yet get a chance to throw it away, or if possible, wash it, but he didn't care right now.
''You're a mess, man.'' he chuckled as he wiped the drool off of Sam's chin and neck. There was nothing he could've done about the state of Sam's clothes right then, but there would be a trip to the laundromat in the very near future.
He paused the bandana right over Sam's lips as they moved and gripped his brother's chin, raising his brother's head up.
''Yeah Sam, 's me. What do you say we go away from here, hmm?"
"Okay buddy,'' he scrunched up the bandana in a ball and stuffed it into his pocket, ''here we go."
He'd carry Sam if he'd have too, but Sam untangled his limbs all on his own and rose up on his two feet all on his own too. His head stayed down though, eyes on the ground, but Dean was okay with that. He'd give the kid time and from personal experience he knew that if Sam felt less nauseated like that, then he'd let it be.
"C'mon now, one foot in front of the other, c'mon."
"Yeah, 's me kiddo. I gotcha, c'mon. The car ain't far."
He pulled Sam's right arm over his shoulder and gripped his brother's belt loops with his left hand, getting his fingers into the loops really tight, because there was no way he'd let his brother fall to the sidewalk. Sam was starting to lose his footing a few feet from the car; getting pliant and soft like a rag doll and Dean tightened his hold across Sam's waist and on Sam's forearm and dragged his brother the rest few feet to the Impala. If anyone saw them, they'd get a good laugh, but he was far from laughing. Sam was drunk. Really drunk; alcohol was practically seeping out of every pore on the kid's body and his breath ... ughhh ... was gross. But at least he stopped drooling.
"Dude, what did you drink?"
There was no answer and to be honest, he didn't expect one.
There would be time for Q and A, but this wasn't that time.