This is a young!Winchesters-story (Wee!chesters :) ). We know from Bloodlust what Dean's first kill was like, but how did that come to be?
Brief warning about mistakes possibly to come: Where I live, one, maybe two Supernatural episodes have aired, so my knowledge of the show consists of Season 2 episodes uploaded on the internet and Youtube videos. I try my best. If you do spot a mistake, please let me know I've made one - just don't spoil anything for me, please. I'll be getting my DVD's in about two weeks time. I sincerily hope you do enjoy this, because it is definitely fun to write.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural nor anything affiliated with it either and am not making any money with this story. Just playing in someone else's sandbox.
Sam I
Warm sunlight masking the cold outside filtered through the window and drew patterns on the table, giving the room an incredibly peaceful feeling that few people safe for Sam Winchester associated with algebra tests. The twelve-year-old smiled as he calculated the last problem again, resulting – as with all problems he had double-checked before – in the same solution as the first round. He laid his pencil down and stole a quick glance at his neighbor, Ben Stine. Ben didn't look quite as relaxed and at ease at Sam did, but he returned the young Winchester's smile.
There were two small robins in the hedge outside his classroom window, chirping happily. Sam settled down to watch them with a content grin. He was doing okay. He had settled in at his new school, in his new surroundings, and he was doing okay. He always liked attending school, but here, he actually loved it. Especially Advanced Math with Mr. Leeway, the man who had just graduated and talked about his subject with a fiery passion that Sam had fallen for the moment he first heard him speak.
Mr. Leeway had seated him in the first row, at the window, as if he knew instinctively that Sam loved watching the world outside whenever he finished early, like now. He still had five more minutes to go until break time and his teacher didn't appear the least surprised to see he was already done. He rose from his seat and approached Sam's desk, speaking quietly so as not to disturb those who were still working.
"Finished, Sam?"
As he nodded, Mr. Leeway took the paper with a smile that Sam so rarely saw from his father and that made him glow with pride every time.
He contented himself with another look at the robins and waited until the teacher turned his back to him, a small smile on his face as he skimmed Sam's answers, before leaning over to steal a quick glance at what problem Ben was working on.
"X equals 5," he hissed. Ben whispered his thanks as he jotted the answer down and Sam allowed himself a small smile.
Ben was alright, Sam liked his tall, video-game obsessed neighbor. They had hit it off right away when Sam had first whispered the solution to a problem to him. Ben had bribed Sam into helping him with his homework by offering him the cookies that came with his lunch – mainly because they had almonds in them and Ben was allergic to them, but Sam pretended not to know that. Eventually, gratitude had turned into friendship, and now they stuck together whenever they were in the same class.
Ben scribbled a last line and passed the test to their teacher, winking at Sam and mouthing "Cookie". Sam smiled, his eyes returning to the birds. They seemed to tease each other, shoving and pushing each other along the branches and Sam felt oddly reminded of him and Dean. The bigger one even seemed to smirk, too.
Mr. Leeway was just collecting the tests of the last strugglers and Ben had just opened his mouth to say something when the door opened, admitting the head of the school secretary, a young woman with ridiculously curly hair and –when seen completely – legs that would have made Dean swoon.
"Sam Winchester to the principal's office," she said with her business voice and was gone just as quickly as she had appeared. Sam's cheek colored as every head turned in his direction. He glanced at Mr. Leeway who gave his assent with a small nod. Slinging his backpack over shoulder, he took his pencil, mouthed "See you at lunch" to Ben and made his way to the door, keenly aware of every pair of eyes fixed upon him.
Trudging along the still-deserted hallways, Sam felt as though he were walking his last mile. Which was ridiculous, because he hadn't done anything wrong. Quite the opposite, he was doing great, especially considering they had only moved here three months ago. He was already top of three classes, history, politics and PE – he had nearly laughed out loud when he had learned this year's subject was self-defense. And Miss Arden had offered him free piano lessons. He still hadn't told Dean about that one, though, let alone Dad.
The hallways were dimly-lit and glum, like a dungeon. It was hard to imagine that the last time he had walked through them, they had been filled with hundreds of chattering students. Students that now desperately awaited the bell that sent them off to lunch, unaware of the misery Sam suffered as he timidily knocked on the door with a frosted glass window marked Principal. A professional "Come in," was the reply and he turned the doorknob, half expecting to find himself face to face with police officers, social workers or the newest Monster Of The Day. Who he did find himself face to face with was not any less scary (at least sometimes) and only slightly less worrying. Opposite the secretary behind her desk were a row of chairs, and on one of them sat, his elbows propped on his knees, an all too familiar figure.
"Dad," he exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
His father forced a small smile onto his face.
"Hey, Sammy."
Sam glanced at the secretary who looked like she was trying to appear busy while listening in on their every word, at the second door that he supposed the principal's office was behind, and then at his Dad again.
Shutting the door gently behind him, he went to stand next to him, lowering his voice.
"What are you doing here?"
His father glanced at the secretary as well, tilting his head so Sam blocked most of the sound from reaching her ears with his body.
"Dean's been injured," he said softly.
"Is he okay?" Sam asked immediately, worry drowning out the small voice at the back of his head that screamed "He wouldn't be here just because of that!"
Dad nodded.
"Strained his shoulder, but other than that, it's just cuts and bruises."
Something was off here. Seriously off. Why would his Dad come to school just to tell him that Dean was fine? Something in his head screamed the obvious at him, but he refused to even acknowledge the possibility. He looked down at his hands, suddenly ridiculously aware he was still holding his pencil and slid it into his backpack, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
"Dad…"
His question was cut short as the door to the principal's office opened and the man stepped out, holding out a large envelope for Dad to take.
"Ah, I see Sam has arrived," he said with a smile in his direction.
"Here you go, Mr. Winchester. This should be everything."
Sam glanced from one man to the other suspiciously. Everything what?
Dad nodded.
"Thank you for everything, Mr. Tanner."
The principal smiled at Sam in a way that the boy couldn't quite place.
"Well, we're sorry to lose such a fine student."
He shook Dad's hand, smiled at Sam again and shut the door behind him.
Realization hit Sam as if it were his father's truck speeding towards some nasty supernatural critter.
"We're moving?" he asked a little too loudly, his voice cracking.
"Sam…"
His father's voice had a warning tone to it, low yet hard to miss. It was the "Make a scene and you'll regret it"-tone which, more often than not, had no effect on Sam whatsoever. It worked on Dean, yes, but Dean hadn't even heard it half as often as Sam because Dean followed orders.
And Sam didn't.
He wouldn't even have allowed Dad to usher him out of the office into the hall had not his entire body refused to function. They were moving. Again. He had to start from scratch once more. Only it wasn't 'once'. No, as soon as he got settled in, they moved away. Every. Single. Time. Well, not this time, not if he had any say in the matter.
"I'm not moving!" he said loudly.
"Sam."
His father glared at him and Sam could feel his defiant expression falter. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't leave. He couldn't. There was Ben. There was Mr. Leeway. There was Jake, his chem lab partner he'd been friends with ever since they set their table on fire by accident. And then there was Zoe Cassidy, the girl who beat him on every single Latin test and had only yesterday smiled at him in a way that made his stomach fuzzy and his brain shut down.
"I'm not moving," he repeated, holding fast onto the anger that threatened to evaporate under his father's threatening gaze.
His face darkening quickly, Dad opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of his cell phone ringing saved Sam. Dad dug it out of his pocket quickly, snapping it open to grunt an irritated greeting.
Sam stepped back, safely out of Dad's reach as the man tried to take him by the upper arm, his usual no-nonsense grip. Distracted by the phone, he unintentionally allowed Sam to escape as he grunted into the speaker.
"Jason, this is a bad time. Yeah, I know. I'll be there."
Angry butterflies fought in Sam's chest. His father couldn't even pay attention to him in a situation like this?
"I'm not moving," he said for the third time, his jaw tightening with anger.
His father made a wild grab for him but Sam danced out of his way, screaming this time.
"I'M NOT MOVING!"
Somewhere along the corridor, a door opened, but Sam was too angry to care.
"I'll call you back," Dad ended his conversation, his tone cold and deadly. They stood in silence for a moment, Sam trying very hard not to blink, swallow or somehow else let his father know that he was scared out of his wits. Then Dad moved, so quickly Sam barely even saw it before the hand tightened around his arm in a vice-like grip. Dad said nothing, just gave him a very, very angry look, the kind that even Sam knew better than to defy, and steered him towards the exit. Sam bit down on his lip so hard he could feel the copper taste fill his mouth as he stumbled along. They were moving again, and it was sheer willpower that stopped the tears from rolling down his face.
Thank you for reading! Loved it, hated it, found something I should improve? Please let me know.