And Die In Thee - 1/7
And Die In Thee - 1/7
Rating: R, Het
Word Count: 3,848/26,000
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general angst. Sorry about the holes!
A/N: This started out as part of my Firsts Chart (finally an entry!) for the First Sexual Encounter prompt before it also mutated into the fourth part of the All Thy Harms Repair series. No fun or fluff here, folks. This is a dark, sex-centred, angst-laden, death fic. You have been warned. Thanks to msscullyred for the beta of the first draft, way back when.
Title Note: The title comes from If My Complaints Could Passions Move by John Dowland
Characters: Dean/OFC, Sammy, and John.
Setting: Summer. Wickenburg, AZ. July 1995.
Summary: Right doesn’t ever count the cost. Should it?
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Part 1
That summer, there were no easy answers, only questions.
The first time he saw her he couldn’t tell if she was boy or girl. Later he just wanted to drag her outside and take her up against the Chevy. The last time he knew she’d have to die.
Things just happen in threes. The good, the bad, and the downright demonic.
The situation was simple, right? Nothing like. It was the bits between that made life suck. Damn, but he really needed to get laid.
~~~
His day started out fine. By a miracle Dad had actually managed to phone in a sit-rep to say he was unhurt but stuck outside Phoenix and might not be home till Tuesday. That gave Dean all the more time to complete his plan. Three weeks of moving step by cautious step closer to his final goal. Now it was time to up the ante, and today’s class was his Landing Zone. Generally he thought history was a waste of a Thursday. He just didn’t see the point in memorising all those dates and places. Who was King, when, why or where fuckin’ ever? As far as he was concerned the past should stay buried. If only …
‘Winchester!’
Dean rocked his chair back onto all four legs. Took him long enough to react. He’ll never win against me that way. ‘Sorry Mr Jeffries,’ he smiled insincerely, ‘Cramp in my leg, just stretching it.’ He glanced around the room slipping a quick flicker of a wink to Melissa sitting in one of the coveted window seats overlooking the oval. She’d better be worth the trouble it took to forge his way into her AP History class. Melissa was hot, that was the point after all, but chatting her up under her father’s glare while cramming for a history final took a bit of doing even for him. Still, a Winchester never backed down from a challenge. And what was a hunt but a blood sport really? He just planned on it not being his blood.
‘Cramp? For the past hour? Really?’ His teacher walked down the aisle toward him. ‘So all that pain would have kept a tough guy like you from remembering last night’s homework, wouldn’t it?’
‘No sir,’ Dean bit out. Bastard. But he’d anticipated that Jeffries would try to take him down in front of everyone. He’d spent weeks watching him verbally castrate every guy who made a move on his daughter. Learn a new trick, dude. No problem, he had all the weapons he needed for this fight in place.
‘Charge of the Light Brigade, Winchester.’ Jeffries beckoned him up to the front of the class. ‘Tell us all about it. Educate us,’ he drawled sardonically.
Christ, but Jeffries was an asshole. And what was with that bowtie? How he’d ever gotten a date with anyone, let alone Melissa’s mother dressed like that he never knew. Dean deliberately kept his eyes off Melissa nudging a friend and giggling into her copy of Sweetman, eased to his feet with deliberate slowness and sauntered up to the chalkboard. Not enough to be called insolent, but just on the edge of what he could get away with. He knew exactly where he could draw the line. He’d spent his life learning how to manipulate people like Jeffries. Rigid clones that never committed an original thought or sin; minds like his, they were just so easy. This teacher’s daughter, according to reliable information, had a definite yen for bad boys. Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.
‘The Light Brigade?’ he drawled, flexing just enough as he leaned against the edge of Jeffries’ desk. Knowing he had the attention of all the girls - hell, and a few of the guys. When you’ve got it, you might as well work it. ‘History or would you like me to write you a poem, sir?’
‘Last chance, Winchester,’ Jeffries warned, glaring around the snickering class. ‘Why don’t you give us your opinion of the morality of war by describing the ethical dilemmas faced by British commanders during the battle at Balaklava.’
He blinked and smiled, just the once - wow, it was a freakin’ gift. His cue, handed to him on a nice shiny platter. Right. Show time. He might despise the endless facts and figures they were force-fed at school, but his father had spent a lot of time dissecting battles with his sons while he had them simultaneously breaking down their weapons. He taught them the difference between strategy and tactics, diagramming what went wrong and why. Showing them that sometimes wars were won despite ignorance and stupidity. So yes, he knew all about Balaklava, the awful cost, the horror and absolute stupidity of it. Dad would tell the tale, and you could see the memory of other men being blown apart - dying, in his eyes. Hear a different history in his voice. Balaklava was one of Dad’s favourite bedtime stories, never mind that it gave Sammy nightmares. Dad said he hadn’t wasted all that time saving their asses to have them grow up stupid. Jeffries had no bloody clue.
‘Balaklava was a fuck-up,’ he began, smirking at Melissa.
‘Winchester!’
Dean ignored him. Floor’s mine, dude. ‘I could stand here and tell you how old one-arm was an egomaniac who set his headquarters up on the western plateau while the battle raged in the valley below. How Raglan ignored the fact that his commanders were often in a better position to make strategic decisions, and compounded that error by failing to issue clear instructions. But you don’t want to know that,’ he said looking around the classroom.
‘You don’t want to know that Lucan ignored an order to attack. Or about the rivalries between the officers, and the soldiers’ distrust of their commanders,’ Dean said with increasing anger.
‘You don’t want to know that it was one of the worst examples of military incompetence ever. Tennyson should have been whipped for glorifying it. Poetry doesn’t begin to describe the true hell of war. Screw your great heroic failure! Self-sacrifice? I don’t think so. None of them wanted to die,’ Dean said tensely. All he could see was his father telling this story.
‘118 men killed, 127 wounded, and 362 horses lost that day. All because they obeyed an order,’ he blazed with the injustice. ‘I could stand here and tell you the names of the dead; the men whose families who had to go on without them. But you don’t want to know that.’ All the families.
‘You should stand up for what you believe in. You have to fight your enemies and kill your demons. But fight your own battles. Don’t march off to war for King or country because all you will find is pain and suffering. It’s ugly and brutal and there is no justice in it. People suffer and lie screaming in their own filth until they die. If they’re lucky it happens quick. But you don’t want to know that.’
‘Into the valley of fucking death they rode!’ Dean spat out. ‘All those men died because ...’
‘Winchester!’ Jeffries slammed his hand down on the desk. ‘Outside. Now! I want you doing laps around the track until school’s out. That’ll stretch the attitude out of your head, and the cramp out of your legs. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes … sir,’ Dean replied, sweeping his books into his canvas duffel bag and stalking to the door. ‘Understood.’ He shot one look at a star-struck Melissa as he left. Looked like his words had been even more effective than he’d intended. I should let loose more often.
~~~
Around the 15th lap, before he lost their attention Dean stopped next to a bench in full glorious view of the classroom windows; unbuttoned his shirt and leisurely peeled it down his body, leaving it hanging by only the grace of God and his belt. Took a moment, decided to tie the sleeves at the front for that laid-back look, then propped up one foot and bent over to do a few hamstring stretches. Who knew that Dad’s interminable training sessions would have all these additional - benefits? He swapped legs and did a few more. Balance, that was his motto. Definitely not looking up to see whether anyone was watching. Of course they were watching. Watch him, or listen to Jeffries? C’mon! Bloody desert state; the place was a freaking furnace in July. And all the girls just stayed inside, trying to look like the air conditioning was the only thing on their minds. As if he needed any competition from the goddamn weather. Run it off. Don’t think. By the 50th circuit he’d relaxed into a rhythm and sweated out some of the irritation. But not enough. He was sick of his father insisting he stay in school with his brother. He was sixteen. He was old enough to leave and start working jobs with Dad. Old enough to kill. Had been since he was eleven and shot that bloody Sarasota Red Sox werewolf coming for his brother. Old enough.
He was always the good soldier; did whatever his father said. Jump? How high? 50 push-ups for finishing off Sammy’s kill? He gave him 100. He could take anything the old man could dish out. Always had. Always would. Why wasn’t he good enough to have by him all the time? They were partners - safer together in the thick of the fight. He couldn’t bear another job like the last one. Taos had been a nightmare. He’d been off on point like Dad ordered while his father moved in, primed and ready for the kill. He just hadn’t planned on an entire pack of chupacabra. It had been a damned close call and they’d both sustained vicious wounds before it was over. He had to be there to help and protect his father. He wanted more time to learn everything he had to teach. Dad was trying to do too much on his own. Every time he came back from Phoenix he looked more exhausted than the week before. Either the jobs were becoming harder or they were getting to his father more. He needs me, he just won’t admit it.
Sammy didn’t need his brother around all the time either. He was getting old enough to look after himself. Before too long he could be out with them full-time too. All three of them, a real team at long last. When they weren’t fighting that is. Or rather when Sammy wasn’t fighting with Dad. When had that started happening? Sammy used to look up to both of them like they not only hung the moon, but also spent all their spare time draping stars over the universe like bloody fairy lights for his entertainment. What? You want Alpha Centauri a little more to the left? Now it was all ‘Why should we? Why don’t we?’ He wasn’t even a teenager yet, and he’d turned into the family prima don’t, using that brain of his to question everything. And Dad didn’t like it one bit. No, Sir. And there he was stuck in the middle trying to keep the peace, flailing around like a stupid emo guest star on Oprah.
Sammy. Dean frowned as he rounded the next curve, looking over towards where Sammy usually sat, head buried in books, waiting for him to finish class and walk home together. It was after four. Sammy should have been there by now. Unless … he’d been rattling on the day before about some new video game down at the arcade that he wanted Dean to try with him. Damn!
Dean had let it all wash over him, too caught up in thoughts of his father’s hunt. He’d had enough of the ‘vulnerable age’ crap from his father. Since he’d been ordered off this weekend’s hunt, he’d been determined to get very lucky indeed. He’d show him. He’d make sure he wouldn’t ever be that susceptible again. He knew he could handle any of the succubi responsible for all those deaths in Phoenix. Besides, he’d be the perfect bait for a sexual sting if only Dad would see it. He caught sight of Melissa sauntering towards the cafeteria with her girlfriends. They travelled in packs too; strength in numbers, always. There she was giving him the eye - he was so in with her. Dad had better make up his mind on that bait angle REAL soon now … Just give me a chance, Dad.
Dean veered across the track, making for his belongings. He knew his brother; he might be every teacher’s perfect disciple in class, but he had a stubborn streak that could outlast either his father or Dean.
~~~
He’d been right. Sammy was there; hunched intensely under the hood of a glossy black Western cabinet, blue lightgun blazing away at an unseen enemy. Totally focussed on the game. Dean felt his tension ease as he entered Diego’s Palace of Doom. Time to yell at his brother for breaking Dad’s strict after school rule, and then slaughter him on that thing.
He saw Sammy straighten slightly as the door swung closed. Watched proudly as Sammy, oh so casually, glanced towards the front of the shop. Automatically checking out whoever entered. That was Sammy. Dad might yell at him for always dreaming about other things. But in the end Sammy knew exactly what he was doing. He just didn’t always choose to do it according to his father’s orders.
‘Hey, Sammy,’ Dean said as he went over and propped himself up against the wall next to his brother. ‘You’re busted. What’s this, cowboys and Indians now?’
‘Lethal Enforcers II: Gunfighters,’ Sammy said shortly.
Dean peered at the screen, ‘Cool, a saloon showdown, has it got any bar girls? Ought to have chicks.’ Everything was better with chicks. Naked chicks were even better. ‘Oops, don’t shoot the townfolk! So, have you got all the bad guys yet?’ he continued calmly as Sammy gave him a discrete warning look.
‘Only a few to go. I’m so good at this,’ Sammy answered with a strained smile as he continued firing at the outlaws.
‘Dude, that’s just bull,’ Dean fired back as he started scanning the other players. Which one was his brother worried about? The old guy over there killing time after work? Nah. Those two jocks laughing themselves sick in the corner? That skinny boy playing one of the cheap machines down the back? Or that group of kids off to Sammy’s left? Nope, all looked pretty normal to him. Wait. That boy …girl … hey! Dean angled his body against the machine, twisting just that fraction necessary to focus on her. He knew he’d got it right when he felt Sammy relax slightly.
Old clothes. Clean. Mended, but not very well. Looked like she did it herself and hadn’t been taught by a marine. Cool Doc Martens, scuffed, slightly too big, obviously second hand but stuffed with thick socks. Sensible choices. Things that’d go the distance no matter what you did in them. Overdressed for the daytime heat, but not for the streets at night. Knitted cap pulled down too far over roughly tucked up dark hair. Not Barbie-doll pretty, but cute in a scared kind of way. Yup. Not a boy, and not as young as she’d looked at first or even fourth glance. Not Sammy’s age at all, closer to his own, maybe even a little older, but not by much. Likely missed too many meals recently by the look of her, if he knew the signs. And he did. But most importantly there was that slight tapered mass down her left hip, showing every now and then as she spun one of the controls. A weapon. Not very bulky, probably a K-bar. Not uncommon even among the so-called delinquents at their school, but this was a lot bigger than your average bluff blade. Huh!
Dean moved forward, jokingly jostling his brother. ‘Hey, Sheriff. Now you’ve killed that thing why don’t you show me how good you really are? These new machines, hell, they do half the work for you. Bet you couldn’t keep up with me on one of those babies.’ He pointed over at his all time favourite near their target. ‘What do you say, video geek, are you game?’
Sammy just snorted derisively at him as he holstered the gun on the console, grabbed his knapsack and followed his brother across the room. ‘I guess I could slow down enough to take you, Dean. Even on one of those antiques.’
Dean laughed. ‘Yeah right, dude. You’re gonna take me down. Just remember that I taught you everything you know.’ He fed some coins into the slot and took over the red controls closest to the girl. ‘Okay, Sammy, you’ve got green. Show me what you’re made of.’
They settled easily into Blasteroids, trading taunts as they transformed their ships and raced each other to the vortex.
‘Dodge those leeches! Give it some thrust, you’ll need more momentum, but watch your fuel.’
‘You mind your own … shields, Dean.’
‘Yes! Only two hits and I nailed that popcorn asteroid.’
‘Huh! Just watch your rotation. You can’t do a handbrake turn in a spaceship, Dean.’
‘You might have better armour, Sammy, but your Warrior is just too slow. Fast and dirty gets it done all the time,’ Dean said salaciously before grinning over at the girl.
‘Not bad, huh? God, I love blowing up the volcanoes.’ He could so work this. She was just a girl. If there was one thing he had in spades it was the Winchester charm. Thanks, Dad. She wasn’t as pretty as … well, just not. But there was something. What? Concentrate. Analyse the signs, work out a plan, and do the job. Just like a hunt. One track at a time. ‘Man, this really is a classic.’
‘Reject,’ coughed Sam into his fist, snickering as his brother thwacked him up the back of his head.
Smartass. Leave the cute lines to me, dude. ‘Ignore him,’ Dean advised. ‘He doesn’t believe anything decent was created before 1994. Techno geek, that’s my brother.’ The girl was still nervous, but equally obviously trying hard not to laugh. Hooked, time to reel her in. ‘I’m Dean. This idiot is Sammy. Don’t mind him, he’s kind of a know-it-all, but he sometimes comes in useful.’
‘Sam,’ Sammy muttered moving over to the girl. Focussed. Worried. Dean would destroy anything capable of putting that look on his brother’s face.
‘Annie,’ she said quietly, looking down at Sammy. ‘You’re pretty good, and your brother isn’t bad either.’
Sammy bounced up and down next to her, close enough to block any move for the knife if necessary as he burbled enthusiastically on about the new game. Easy, don’t blow it. Dean had learnt when it was time to drop it back a notch. Don’t scare the fish. ‘Come on dude, we’d better go. Don’t want to miss out on all those hours of extra credit homework do you?’ He laughed as he saw his brother’s attention snap back from Annie to school. That one got him every time.
‘See you around, Annie,’ he said casually, as Sammy almost dragged him out the door in his rush to get to the public library.
~~~
‘Good call,’ he told his brother later that evening as he was heating up some leftovers for their dinner. ‘Definitely something wrong.’
‘I heard one of the other kids say that she’d been there all week,’ Sammy said with a worried look. ‘She looks too quiet. Scared quiet. And she had a knife. She’s afraid of something … someone.’
‘I know Sammy, I know.’ Dean said. ‘We’ll check it out, okay? What say you and I spend a little more time at the arcade tomorrow? Afterwards we’ll see where she goes. She’s got to be dossing down somewhere nearby. But it doesn’t seem like she’s been on the streets very long. She’s still a little too clean. Probably no longer than we’ve been in town, so not more than a few months.’
‘She seemed nice, though. Really nice. She wasn’t so scared while we were talking to her.’
‘That’s because you were there, Sammy,’ Dean answered with a smile. ‘No one’s afraid of you. And besides, she totally dug me.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Sammy snapped back quickly. ‘Dream on, Dean. Besides, I thought you were interested in that Melissa girl? You’ve been talking about her almost as much as you talk about Dad’s Chevy. You said cheerleaders were hot.’
‘That’s not all I said about them,’ Dean replied with a smirk. ‘Get with the programme, Sammy. ‘Sides, Annie looks like she might be a lot more exciting when you get to know her. Got to love a girl with a knife.’
~~~
Dean lay on his side watching the light flicker on and off the ceiling, as his right hand clicked his Zippo in time with his thoughts.
Dad yelling … Melissa flirting … screaming for Sammy … driving, always driving … watching families through lit windows … kissing girls … firing that first shot … Mom … running … burning …
‘Dean?’
Needing, wanting … shtriga killing Sammy … Annie … hold me … why, Dean? … leaving … love me … Annie … don’t let me burn …
‘Go to back to sleep, Sammy.’
Bleeding … ‘Take your brother’ … no more pain … Annie … the deepest scars are inside … someone to love … ‘Outside as fast as you can’ … why does she need a knife? … ‘Don’t look back’ … anyone to love … Mommy? … ‘Now Dean, go!’ …
Sammy relaxed, letting the sound of his brother’s nighttime lullaby do its job, as always.
Ashes to ashes, Father … everything burns … burn me …
~~~
Part 2
Rating: R, Het
Word Count: 3,848/26,000
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general angst. Sorry about the holes!
A/N: This started out as part of my Firsts Chart (finally an entry!) for the First Sexual Encounter prompt before it also mutated into the fourth part of the All Thy Harms Repair series. No fun or fluff here, folks. This is a dark, sex-centred, angst-laden, death fic. You have been warned. Thanks to msscullyred for the beta of the first draft, way back when.
Title Note: The title comes from If My Complaints Could Passions Move by John Dowland
Characters: Dean/OFC, Sammy, and John.
Setting: Summer. Wickenburg, AZ. July 1995.
Summary: Right doesn’t ever count the cost. Should it?
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Part 1
That summer, there were no easy answers, only questions.
The first time he saw her he couldn’t tell if she was boy or girl. Later he just wanted to drag her outside and take her up against the Chevy. The last time he knew she’d have to die.
Things just happen in threes. The good, the bad, and the downright demonic.
The situation was simple, right? Nothing like. It was the bits between that made life suck. Damn, but he really needed to get laid.
~~~
His day started out fine. By a miracle Dad had actually managed to phone in a sit-rep to say he was unhurt but stuck outside Phoenix and might not be home till Tuesday. That gave Dean all the more time to complete his plan. Three weeks of moving step by cautious step closer to his final goal. Now it was time to up the ante, and today’s class was his Landing Zone. Generally he thought history was a waste of a Thursday. He just didn’t see the point in memorising all those dates and places. Who was King, when, why or where fuckin’ ever? As far as he was concerned the past should stay buried. If only …
‘Winchester!’
Dean rocked his chair back onto all four legs. Took him long enough to react. He’ll never win against me that way. ‘Sorry Mr Jeffries,’ he smiled insincerely, ‘Cramp in my leg, just stretching it.’ He glanced around the room slipping a quick flicker of a wink to Melissa sitting in one of the coveted window seats overlooking the oval. She’d better be worth the trouble it took to forge his way into her AP History class. Melissa was hot, that was the point after all, but chatting her up under her father’s glare while cramming for a history final took a bit of doing even for him. Still, a Winchester never backed down from a challenge. And what was a hunt but a blood sport really? He just planned on it not being his blood.
‘Cramp? For the past hour? Really?’ His teacher walked down the aisle toward him. ‘So all that pain would have kept a tough guy like you from remembering last night’s homework, wouldn’t it?’
‘No sir,’ Dean bit out. Bastard. But he’d anticipated that Jeffries would try to take him down in front of everyone. He’d spent weeks watching him verbally castrate every guy who made a move on his daughter. Learn a new trick, dude. No problem, he had all the weapons he needed for this fight in place.
‘Charge of the Light Brigade, Winchester.’ Jeffries beckoned him up to the front of the class. ‘Tell us all about it. Educate us,’ he drawled sardonically.
Christ, but Jeffries was an asshole. And what was with that bowtie? How he’d ever gotten a date with anyone, let alone Melissa’s mother dressed like that he never knew. Dean deliberately kept his eyes off Melissa nudging a friend and giggling into her copy of Sweetman, eased to his feet with deliberate slowness and sauntered up to the chalkboard. Not enough to be called insolent, but just on the edge of what he could get away with. He knew exactly where he could draw the line. He’d spent his life learning how to manipulate people like Jeffries. Rigid clones that never committed an original thought or sin; minds like his, they were just so easy. This teacher’s daughter, according to reliable information, had a definite yen for bad boys. Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.
‘The Light Brigade?’ he drawled, flexing just enough as he leaned against the edge of Jeffries’ desk. Knowing he had the attention of all the girls - hell, and a few of the guys. When you’ve got it, you might as well work it. ‘History or would you like me to write you a poem, sir?’
‘Last chance, Winchester,’ Jeffries warned, glaring around the snickering class. ‘Why don’t you give us your opinion of the morality of war by describing the ethical dilemmas faced by British commanders during the battle at Balaklava.’
He blinked and smiled, just the once - wow, it was a freakin’ gift. His cue, handed to him on a nice shiny platter. Right. Show time. He might despise the endless facts and figures they were force-fed at school, but his father had spent a lot of time dissecting battles with his sons while he had them simultaneously breaking down their weapons. He taught them the difference between strategy and tactics, diagramming what went wrong and why. Showing them that sometimes wars were won despite ignorance and stupidity. So yes, he knew all about Balaklava, the awful cost, the horror and absolute stupidity of it. Dad would tell the tale, and you could see the memory of other men being blown apart - dying, in his eyes. Hear a different history in his voice. Balaklava was one of Dad’s favourite bedtime stories, never mind that it gave Sammy nightmares. Dad said he hadn’t wasted all that time saving their asses to have them grow up stupid. Jeffries had no bloody clue.
‘Balaklava was a fuck-up,’ he began, smirking at Melissa.
‘Winchester!’
Dean ignored him. Floor’s mine, dude. ‘I could stand here and tell you how old one-arm was an egomaniac who set his headquarters up on the western plateau while the battle raged in the valley below. How Raglan ignored the fact that his commanders were often in a better position to make strategic decisions, and compounded that error by failing to issue clear instructions. But you don’t want to know that,’ he said looking around the classroom.
‘You don’t want to know that Lucan ignored an order to attack. Or about the rivalries between the officers, and the soldiers’ distrust of their commanders,’ Dean said with increasing anger.
‘You don’t want to know that it was one of the worst examples of military incompetence ever. Tennyson should have been whipped for glorifying it. Poetry doesn’t begin to describe the true hell of war. Screw your great heroic failure! Self-sacrifice? I don’t think so. None of them wanted to die,’ Dean said tensely. All he could see was his father telling this story.
‘118 men killed, 127 wounded, and 362 horses lost that day. All because they obeyed an order,’ he blazed with the injustice. ‘I could stand here and tell you the names of the dead; the men whose families who had to go on without them. But you don’t want to know that.’ All the families.
‘You should stand up for what you believe in. You have to fight your enemies and kill your demons. But fight your own battles. Don’t march off to war for King or country because all you will find is pain and suffering. It’s ugly and brutal and there is no justice in it. People suffer and lie screaming in their own filth until they die. If they’re lucky it happens quick. But you don’t want to know that.’
‘Into the valley of fucking death they rode!’ Dean spat out. ‘All those men died because ...’
‘Winchester!’ Jeffries slammed his hand down on the desk. ‘Outside. Now! I want you doing laps around the track until school’s out. That’ll stretch the attitude out of your head, and the cramp out of your legs. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes … sir,’ Dean replied, sweeping his books into his canvas duffel bag and stalking to the door. ‘Understood.’ He shot one look at a star-struck Melissa as he left. Looked like his words had been even more effective than he’d intended. I should let loose more often.
~~~
Around the 15th lap, before he lost their attention Dean stopped next to a bench in full glorious view of the classroom windows; unbuttoned his shirt and leisurely peeled it down his body, leaving it hanging by only the grace of God and his belt. Took a moment, decided to tie the sleeves at the front for that laid-back look, then propped up one foot and bent over to do a few hamstring stretches. Who knew that Dad’s interminable training sessions would have all these additional - benefits? He swapped legs and did a few more. Balance, that was his motto. Definitely not looking up to see whether anyone was watching. Of course they were watching. Watch him, or listen to Jeffries? C’mon! Bloody desert state; the place was a freaking furnace in July. And all the girls just stayed inside, trying to look like the air conditioning was the only thing on their minds. As if he needed any competition from the goddamn weather. Run it off. Don’t think. By the 50th circuit he’d relaxed into a rhythm and sweated out some of the irritation. But not enough. He was sick of his father insisting he stay in school with his brother. He was sixteen. He was old enough to leave and start working jobs with Dad. Old enough to kill. Had been since he was eleven and shot that bloody Sarasota Red Sox werewolf coming for his brother. Old enough.
He was always the good soldier; did whatever his father said. Jump? How high? 50 push-ups for finishing off Sammy’s kill? He gave him 100. He could take anything the old man could dish out. Always had. Always would. Why wasn’t he good enough to have by him all the time? They were partners - safer together in the thick of the fight. He couldn’t bear another job like the last one. Taos had been a nightmare. He’d been off on point like Dad ordered while his father moved in, primed and ready for the kill. He just hadn’t planned on an entire pack of chupacabra. It had been a damned close call and they’d both sustained vicious wounds before it was over. He had to be there to help and protect his father. He wanted more time to learn everything he had to teach. Dad was trying to do too much on his own. Every time he came back from Phoenix he looked more exhausted than the week before. Either the jobs were becoming harder or they were getting to his father more. He needs me, he just won’t admit it.
Sammy didn’t need his brother around all the time either. He was getting old enough to look after himself. Before too long he could be out with them full-time too. All three of them, a real team at long last. When they weren’t fighting that is. Or rather when Sammy wasn’t fighting with Dad. When had that started happening? Sammy used to look up to both of them like they not only hung the moon, but also spent all their spare time draping stars over the universe like bloody fairy lights for his entertainment. What? You want Alpha Centauri a little more to the left? Now it was all ‘Why should we? Why don’t we?’ He wasn’t even a teenager yet, and he’d turned into the family prima don’t, using that brain of his to question everything. And Dad didn’t like it one bit. No, Sir. And there he was stuck in the middle trying to keep the peace, flailing around like a stupid emo guest star on Oprah.
Sammy. Dean frowned as he rounded the next curve, looking over towards where Sammy usually sat, head buried in books, waiting for him to finish class and walk home together. It was after four. Sammy should have been there by now. Unless … he’d been rattling on the day before about some new video game down at the arcade that he wanted Dean to try with him. Damn!
Dean had let it all wash over him, too caught up in thoughts of his father’s hunt. He’d had enough of the ‘vulnerable age’ crap from his father. Since he’d been ordered off this weekend’s hunt, he’d been determined to get very lucky indeed. He’d show him. He’d make sure he wouldn’t ever be that susceptible again. He knew he could handle any of the succubi responsible for all those deaths in Phoenix. Besides, he’d be the perfect bait for a sexual sting if only Dad would see it. He caught sight of Melissa sauntering towards the cafeteria with her girlfriends. They travelled in packs too; strength in numbers, always. There she was giving him the eye - he was so in with her. Dad had better make up his mind on that bait angle REAL soon now … Just give me a chance, Dad.
Dean veered across the track, making for his belongings. He knew his brother; he might be every teacher’s perfect disciple in class, but he had a stubborn streak that could outlast either his father or Dean.
~~~
He’d been right. Sammy was there; hunched intensely under the hood of a glossy black Western cabinet, blue lightgun blazing away at an unseen enemy. Totally focussed on the game. Dean felt his tension ease as he entered Diego’s Palace of Doom. Time to yell at his brother for breaking Dad’s strict after school rule, and then slaughter him on that thing.
He saw Sammy straighten slightly as the door swung closed. Watched proudly as Sammy, oh so casually, glanced towards the front of the shop. Automatically checking out whoever entered. That was Sammy. Dad might yell at him for always dreaming about other things. But in the end Sammy knew exactly what he was doing. He just didn’t always choose to do it according to his father’s orders.
‘Hey, Sammy,’ Dean said as he went over and propped himself up against the wall next to his brother. ‘You’re busted. What’s this, cowboys and Indians now?’
‘Lethal Enforcers II: Gunfighters,’ Sammy said shortly.
Dean peered at the screen, ‘Cool, a saloon showdown, has it got any bar girls? Ought to have chicks.’ Everything was better with chicks. Naked chicks were even better. ‘Oops, don’t shoot the townfolk! So, have you got all the bad guys yet?’ he continued calmly as Sammy gave him a discrete warning look.
‘Only a few to go. I’m so good at this,’ Sammy answered with a strained smile as he continued firing at the outlaws.
‘Dude, that’s just bull,’ Dean fired back as he started scanning the other players. Which one was his brother worried about? The old guy over there killing time after work? Nah. Those two jocks laughing themselves sick in the corner? That skinny boy playing one of the cheap machines down the back? Or that group of kids off to Sammy’s left? Nope, all looked pretty normal to him. Wait. That boy …girl … hey! Dean angled his body against the machine, twisting just that fraction necessary to focus on her. He knew he’d got it right when he felt Sammy relax slightly.
Old clothes. Clean. Mended, but not very well. Looked like she did it herself and hadn’t been taught by a marine. Cool Doc Martens, scuffed, slightly too big, obviously second hand but stuffed with thick socks. Sensible choices. Things that’d go the distance no matter what you did in them. Overdressed for the daytime heat, but not for the streets at night. Knitted cap pulled down too far over roughly tucked up dark hair. Not Barbie-doll pretty, but cute in a scared kind of way. Yup. Not a boy, and not as young as she’d looked at first or even fourth glance. Not Sammy’s age at all, closer to his own, maybe even a little older, but not by much. Likely missed too many meals recently by the look of her, if he knew the signs. And he did. But most importantly there was that slight tapered mass down her left hip, showing every now and then as she spun one of the controls. A weapon. Not very bulky, probably a K-bar. Not uncommon even among the so-called delinquents at their school, but this was a lot bigger than your average bluff blade. Huh!
Dean moved forward, jokingly jostling his brother. ‘Hey, Sheriff. Now you’ve killed that thing why don’t you show me how good you really are? These new machines, hell, they do half the work for you. Bet you couldn’t keep up with me on one of those babies.’ He pointed over at his all time favourite near their target. ‘What do you say, video geek, are you game?’
Sammy just snorted derisively at him as he holstered the gun on the console, grabbed his knapsack and followed his brother across the room. ‘I guess I could slow down enough to take you, Dean. Even on one of those antiques.’
Dean laughed. ‘Yeah right, dude. You’re gonna take me down. Just remember that I taught you everything you know.’ He fed some coins into the slot and took over the red controls closest to the girl. ‘Okay, Sammy, you’ve got green. Show me what you’re made of.’
They settled easily into Blasteroids, trading taunts as they transformed their ships and raced each other to the vortex.
‘Dodge those leeches! Give it some thrust, you’ll need more momentum, but watch your fuel.’
‘You mind your own … shields, Dean.’
‘Yes! Only two hits and I nailed that popcorn asteroid.’
‘Huh! Just watch your rotation. You can’t do a handbrake turn in a spaceship, Dean.’
‘You might have better armour, Sammy, but your Warrior is just too slow. Fast and dirty gets it done all the time,’ Dean said salaciously before grinning over at the girl.
‘Not bad, huh? God, I love blowing up the volcanoes.’ He could so work this. She was just a girl. If there was one thing he had in spades it was the Winchester charm. Thanks, Dad. She wasn’t as pretty as … well, just not. But there was something. What? Concentrate. Analyse the signs, work out a plan, and do the job. Just like a hunt. One track at a time. ‘Man, this really is a classic.’
‘Reject,’ coughed Sam into his fist, snickering as his brother thwacked him up the back of his head.
Smartass. Leave the cute lines to me, dude. ‘Ignore him,’ Dean advised. ‘He doesn’t believe anything decent was created before 1994. Techno geek, that’s my brother.’ The girl was still nervous, but equally obviously trying hard not to laugh. Hooked, time to reel her in. ‘I’m Dean. This idiot is Sammy. Don’t mind him, he’s kind of a know-it-all, but he sometimes comes in useful.’
‘Sam,’ Sammy muttered moving over to the girl. Focussed. Worried. Dean would destroy anything capable of putting that look on his brother’s face.
‘Annie,’ she said quietly, looking down at Sammy. ‘You’re pretty good, and your brother isn’t bad either.’
Sammy bounced up and down next to her, close enough to block any move for the knife if necessary as he burbled enthusiastically on about the new game. Easy, don’t blow it. Dean had learnt when it was time to drop it back a notch. Don’t scare the fish. ‘Come on dude, we’d better go. Don’t want to miss out on all those hours of extra credit homework do you?’ He laughed as he saw his brother’s attention snap back from Annie to school. That one got him every time.
‘See you around, Annie,’ he said casually, as Sammy almost dragged him out the door in his rush to get to the public library.
~~~
‘Good call,’ he told his brother later that evening as he was heating up some leftovers for their dinner. ‘Definitely something wrong.’
‘I heard one of the other kids say that she’d been there all week,’ Sammy said with a worried look. ‘She looks too quiet. Scared quiet. And she had a knife. She’s afraid of something … someone.’
‘I know Sammy, I know.’ Dean said. ‘We’ll check it out, okay? What say you and I spend a little more time at the arcade tomorrow? Afterwards we’ll see where she goes. She’s got to be dossing down somewhere nearby. But it doesn’t seem like she’s been on the streets very long. She’s still a little too clean. Probably no longer than we’ve been in town, so not more than a few months.’
‘She seemed nice, though. Really nice. She wasn’t so scared while we were talking to her.’
‘That’s because you were there, Sammy,’ Dean answered with a smile. ‘No one’s afraid of you. And besides, she totally dug me.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Sammy snapped back quickly. ‘Dream on, Dean. Besides, I thought you were interested in that Melissa girl? You’ve been talking about her almost as much as you talk about Dad’s Chevy. You said cheerleaders were hot.’
‘That’s not all I said about them,’ Dean replied with a smirk. ‘Get with the programme, Sammy. ‘Sides, Annie looks like she might be a lot more exciting when you get to know her. Got to love a girl with a knife.’
~~~
Dean lay on his side watching the light flicker on and off the ceiling, as his right hand clicked his Zippo in time with his thoughts.
Dad yelling … Melissa flirting … screaming for Sammy … driving, always driving … watching families through lit windows … kissing girls … firing that first shot … Mom … running … burning …
‘Dean?’
Needing, wanting … shtriga killing Sammy … Annie … hold me … why, Dean? … leaving … love me … Annie … don’t let me burn …
‘Go to back to sleep, Sammy.’
Bleeding … ‘Take your brother’ … no more pain … Annie … the deepest scars are inside … someone to love … ‘Outside as fast as you can’ … why does she need a knife? … ‘Don’t look back’ … anyone to love … Mommy? … ‘Now Dean, go!’ …
Sammy relaxed, letting the sound of his brother’s nighttime lullaby do its job, as always.
Ashes to ashes, Father … everything burns … burn me …
~~~
Part 2