gwendolyngrace (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gwendolyngrace) wrote2007-12-17 10:05 pm
gwendolyngrace) wrote2007-12-17 10:05 pm
Entry tags:
Fic Post: "Rescue Me"
Title: Rescue Me
Author: Gwendolyn Grace (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gwendolyngrace)
Genre: Pre-series, Teen!Chesters
Characters: Sam and Dean, OC’s
Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual situations, drug and alcohol use
Summary: “I just…can you just come and get me?” Sam asked. Pekin, Illinois, 1995: Sam accepts an invitation to a birthday party, only to learn it’s really not what he was expecting. Dean to the rescue! Or not quite….
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Just say No to Drugs!
Author’s Notes: Did anyone else ever get presented with “contracts” in school? This is the result of that idea. Also, I’ve wanted to explore an early experience with marijuana in Dean’s life for a while, and this plot bunny offered up a good opportunity. Don’t worry: he doesn’t inhale. Much. Thanks to the betas,relli86 and especially etakyma for their feedback.
Wordcount: 5,750ish
Pekin, Illinois: 1995
Dean picked up Kelly Unger in time to get a pizza before the movie. He’d asked Kelly out twice before, and while she had been willing to see him outside school, their plans had always fallen through for one reason or another. He’d been looking forward to this Friday night since she’d accepted his invitation four days ago. Not only did the film suggest instant classic—who could resist a John Carpenter remake of Village of the Damned?—but Kelly had a great reputation in the boys’ locker room. To make matters even better, Dad had taken off that week with Caleb, leaving the car in Dean’s keeping.
The pizza was greasy and piled high with sausage. The movie was predictably creepy and had Kelly practically climbing into his lap before the end of the second reel. Dean had been very pleased to discover that Kelly was wearing a lace bra, and that she didn’t object when his fingers found their way under her open-knit sweater and the tight little camisole under that to tease the fleshy scoop of her breast. He’d been careful to keep his exploration to a minimum, so they didn’t get thrown out of the theatre, but he could already attest that her lip balm was cherry flavored and her nipples got hard when she got scared.
Which she got, right around the halfway mark of the film, right when (in his opinion) it was getting good. Or maybe, she wasn’t scared, exactly, but wanted to distract herself from the worst of the gore. Dean didn’t mind, not really. He had wanted to see the picture—anything “horror” was pretty much a laughfest for him—but given the choice between John Carpenter and Kelly Unger? Hello. Kelly smelled like peach cobbler or something similar and her eyes had little flecks of yellow that almost perfectly matched the blouse she was wearing. She liked to tug on one earring, and she giggled when he reached over to run his finger over the shell of her ear.
He never really found out whether the ending was better than the original movie, because he was too busy reaching under Kelly’s miniskirt to find out if her panties were lacy like her bra. And that was okay by him. The movie’d be on TV, somewhere, sometime. He’d be able to catch the end eventually. Kelly was right here, right now, and pretty much right for the moment. As far as he was concerned, everything was going according to plan. When she said she wanted to go to the ladies’ room during the credits, he played it cool, told her he’d stay and watch them in case there was an “extra” scare at the end, and he’d meet her in the lobby. That gave him plenty of time to calm himself down so he could drive to their next stop: Home Plate.
They were just heading out to the lake in the Impala when his pager went off.
“Uh…hang on,” he said, fishing the pager off his belt clip.
Kelly blew a bubble while she watched him read the number. “Wow. I thought only stock brokers and lawyers had those.” She gasped with excited pleasure. “You’re not a drug dealer, are you?”
“No,” Dean said quickly, then realized that she looked disappointed. “I gotta take this, sorry.” He swung the Impala around a corner to find a pay phone. Sammy had used the 99 code that meant urgent, but not emergency.
He pulled over at a gas station about two miles away from the movie theatre. Consulting the pager again, he dialed his calling card number and then the number Sam had sent, without the preceding 99, and waited for someone to pick up.
“’Lo?” a boy’s voice, not Sam’s, said groggily into the phone. Dean could hear loud music in the background. Sounded like Nirvana.
“Yeah…I’m looking for Sam Winchester?” he said.
“Dude…you got the wrong number,” said the kid. Before Dean could stop him, he hung up.
“Shit,” Dean grimaced. He held up the calling card and punched in the sequence again, then the phone number.
“’Lo?” said the kid.
“Look, Sam paged me from this number. Is he there?”
“Oh…I dunno. Hang on.” He heard the receiver clack against a table. The music blared into the earpiece. A few seconds later, it dulled.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice cracked on his name.
“Sammy, what’s wrong?” Dean used his “Dad” voice without even thinking about it. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Were Sam and his friends in trouble? Had someone tried to hurt him?
“Dean, I need to get out of here,” Sam said, a bit panicked.
“Okay, Sammy, just calm down, man. Where are you?” Sammy rattled off an address. “Hang on, hang on….” Dean dug through his pockets for a pen and something to write on. He cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder. “Okay, Sammy, gimme that again? Slowly.” Sam repeated the address and Dean wrote it on his hand. “What’s going on?”
“I just…can you just come and get me?” Sam asked.
Dean made a noise into the phone without meaning to. He looked over through the car window. Kelly was popping her gum, hands running over her blonde hair and readjusting the banana clip holding it up off her neck.
“Please?” Sam pressed.
“Yeah, sure,” Dean relented. With any luck, he could pick up Sam quickly, drop him off, and get back to the lake with Kelly before the evening was a total loss. If not…well, maybe he could play the Big Brother Hero card and get a rain check. Still…. Massively not fair! his brain told him. “You okay to wait there a little bit, or what?”
“Uh…I’ll just…I’ll wait on the porch. How long do you think?”
Dean glanced back at the Impala, where Kelly was fixing her lip-gloss and pulling her bra strap back onto her shoulder (it was baby blue, Dean saw with a jolt). “I’m not sure how far this place is. May take me a bit. Can you hang on for half an hour?”
Sam sighed loud enough to be heard over the music. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m on my way, okay, Sammy? Just chill out and I’ll be there soon.”
Dean cursed a silent stream as he hung up and walked back to the car. “Everything all right?” Kelly asked when he opened the door.
“Yeah, but….” Kelly smiled and leaned in as if to kiss him. She was wearing long, drippy earrings made of rhinestone and paste, and they brushed his arm when she leaned over. Dean cleared his throat. “Kelly, I hate to do this, but I gotta go pick up my kid brother. He was supposed to go to this party tonight; I guess it didn’t go so well.”
“Oh, at the Roberts place?” Kelly piped up. She sat up in her seat, pulling her light sweater down over her thin yellow spaghetti-strap tank.
“Well, yeah—How did you know?”
She shrugged, fiddling with the second earring in her right ear. It was a star-shaped stud. “Oh, Gina and Zack were going there tonight.”
Dean’s brow furrowed. “Sam said it was a birthday party for Jake, in his class.”
Kelly grinned. “Well, it might be somebody’s birthday party, but believe me, the Robertses are always going out of town. This is like the third party Jake and Mark have had in two months.” She leaned over to put her hand on his thigh. “Actually it’s a good idea. They’ve always got beer. Probably some good pot, too. We should go.”
“Do you know how to get there?” Dean asked.
“Sure, they’re up by the lake.” She popped her gum with a lascivious tongue.
He pulled out of the gas station and followed her directions to a huge Colonial with all its lights on. Music pounded out of speakers on the roof loud enough to vibrate the seats in the Impala as they turned up the long gravel driveway. Teenagers in various states of sobriety – and undress – wandered through the yard and draped themselves on the patio furniture. Through the open door and lit windows, Dean could see at least another twenty kids dancing, drinking, and making out.
Sammy was leaning on the porch banister, trying to avoid a couple who were macking on each other on the swing. He was obviously trying not to look, but his determination didn’t last for long, and he kept shooting them glares over his shoulder as if his thought daggers would make them stop.
“Doesn’t this town have any cops?” Dean asked in awe.
“Sure. But you need neighbors to complain, and besides, Mr. Roberts is on the town council. Mrs. Roberts…I think she’s sleeping with Judge Watkins. Maybe even Sheriff Tate, too,” Kelly commented.
Sammy had seen the car and was sidling his way through the teens to the steps. He looked miserable and awkward, focused on his feet. He kept getting cut off by kids who didn’t notice him, and he looked like he didn’t want to touch them to get their attention. Dean could see his lips moving, and he imagined Sam was muttering ineffectively to get them out of his way. His angry pout was visible from across the lawn. Dean turned off the engine, swinging the car door open. He got out and closed the distance between the car and Sammy. Kelly stayed in the car, taking a moment to fix her lip-gloss.
“Thank God—Dean, can we get out of here?” Sammy asked, making a beeline past Dean toward the shotgun seat. He pulled up short when he saw Kelly open the passenger door. She climbed out only a little awkwardly because of her platform espadrilles, and regarded Sam like he was a rather sticky and grease-stained menu. “Oh, crap, Dean—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were on a—I mean, you didn’t say you were—” Sammy sputtered.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean told him calmly. “Kelly doesn’t mind, right, Kelly?” Dean asked over Sam’s shoulder. “Kelly?”
Kelly had spotted a friend and had headed for the front door. Dean watched her go with surprise at her quick abandonment and a little appreciation for the tightness of her skirt. Recovering, he smiled back at Sam. “See: she doesn’t mind. What’s wrong?”
Sammy’s eyes and nostrils widened in a credible bitchface. “Look around! They’re tapping a keg in the kitchen, I’m pretty sure they’re smoking pot in the basement, and…and…there are…girls everywhere,” Sammy finished, losing steam. His cheeks were bright red and his eyes were darting around, unsure where to land. Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be people kissing, touching.
Dean sighed. “Sammy, give you another couple years and this’ll be the perfect party.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, I don’t care about the party. Jake said it was just gonna be pizza and maybe some video games. And his brother was going to take us home, remember?” Dean nodded; it was one reason he knew he’d be clear to go out with Kelly that night. “But right now Jake’s brother is so high I wouldn’t trust him to drive a bumper car. And what if the cops show up?” He leaned in so he could speak without yelling over the subwoofer. “After last week?” he asked pointedly.
Sam didn’t have to explain his allusion. He’d been caught by Deputy Kieffer just over a week ago when they’d broken into the school office to “adjust” Dean’s attendance records and fill out a permit for him to have the car on school property. Dean figured it was good practice for Sammy to pick the locks and decipher the school’s filing system, but he hadn’t figured on a nighttime motion detector hooked up directly to the station house. Dean had been able to convince Deputy Kieffer it was just an attempted prank to move the Principal’s office furniture into the secretary’s bullpen, but he’d been suspended and Sammy had been given two weeks’ detention, and both of them had orders to appear in Juvenile Counseling, complete with a judge and a court-appointed public defender, that coming Saturday.
“I can’t be caught someplace with lots of beer and hash, Dean,” Sam continued. “Neither can you,” he added.
“Relax, Sammy. Kelly says the cops never come out here.” He shrugged. “Something about someone bang—uh, being a judge. We’re fine. Is that what had you freaking out?”
Sam quirked his jaw, looking shamefaced. “Not exactly….” He huffed, nostrils flaring. “Can we just go now, please?”
Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. Sammy was hiding something, but Dean wasn’t sure what. And one thing was certain: Sammy wasn’t going to tell him the problem here, in front of everyone. Not that Dean really wanted to hear it under the current conditions. “Okay, Sammy. Go wait in the car, okay?” he agreed, cocking his head toward the Impala.
Sammy trotted away and Dean turned his focus to figuring out where Kelly had gone. He suspected she would want to stay, but he wanted to make sure she could get home if he left her at the party. He went up on the porch, but she must have gone inside, so he passed through the front door.
The music was deafening loud and predictably crappy, Pearl Jam at its grungiest. Dean ducked his head into the living room, which was full of boys and girls making out, and the dining room, where it seemed a little bit of pizza lingered on the table. In the living room, he paused to observe the couples’ technique, but he moved on when he felt himself getting a little more interested than he wanted to appear in public. In the dining room, he helped himself to a slice of deluxe. Then he walked back to the kitchen.
They did have a keg, he saw, and someone was currently chugging directly from the tap. The kid finally gave up, beer splashing onto the floor, and handed off the tap to the next kid in line. Dean realized with surprise that these boys were Sam’s age.
“Hey, aren’t you Tommy Hunt?” Dean asked a kid standing in line, waiting for a turn at the tap.
“Huh?” the kid looked at him, glassy-eyed. “Yeah, so?”
“You’re in seventh grade,” Dean said, as if his reason for asking was obvious.
“What’re you gonna do, man, call the cops?” Tommy challenged. “Fuck off, dude.”
Dean shook his head. No wonder Sam was unhappy in the extreme, if this was what the kids did around here for fun. He crossed the back hallway and saw two staircases. One led down to the basement; the other up, to what must be the bedrooms. Grinning at the thought of what the older kids must be doing upstairs, Dean put his boot on the first step leading down.
He heard the unmistakable sound and smelled the unmistakable smell of one of the chuggers throwing up behind him in the kitchen. Dean moved more quickly.
Halfway downstairs there was a wall of smoke. Dean felt it hit his eyes first, then his nose. Just walking down into it was enough to get a contact high, but through the haze, he saw Kelly Unger wedged between Jill Harkness and Matt Foreman. Jill passed Kelly a joint, Kelly threw out her gum and took a puff, and then she and Jill started making out. Dean stood and watched appreciatively.
“Dean!” someone called. “Hey, glad you could make it, man…here, have a drink.” Dean looked to his left; Jake’s brother Mark Roberts was holding out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Mark was two years older than Dean, a senior, but most of the kids here were either in Dean’s class or a year ahead of him. He recognized Gina and Zack, too, wrapped in each other’s arms and lying together on top of the pool table on the other side of the room.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dean said. He took the bottle. It was a little strange and…a little cool to be welcomed, to think that people knew who he was and wanted him around. He didn’t want to reject that. He knew what he was supposed to be doing down in the basement, and it wasn’t drinking, but the sight of the debauchery in the room took his breath away. He stood fixed to the spot, jaw slackening at the sight of his date going to town on another girl’s mouth. It was like the best Playboy channel movie ever, only it was real, and less than ten feet away.
Dean had been in other towns where the teens—and some of the tweens—had nothing better to do than drink, smoke, and have sex. His father didn’t know, for example, that he’d tried a joint a couple years ago, but didn’t care for the way it made him feel muzzy and light-headed, and he’d been too afraid of getting addicted to ever go back for more. Plus, the high wasn’t worth the drop, he thought.
His father also didn’t know—at least, he didn’t think he knew—that Brenda Jacobs had given him his first blow job when he was only a little older than Sammy, in the middle of Batman Returns, before they got thrown out of the dark movie theater. He was pretty sure his father knew about Chelsea Granger (his first), Nadine Rogers, Marcia Geller (her first), and Brittney Pulaski, though not necessarily how far they’d gone or how often they’d gone there. He was coming to realize that there were “bad girls” in every city, every town, every hamlet where they stayed, if he knew what to look for.
He’d asked Kelly out based on her reputation as a bad girl, after all.
But most of the time, even if there was a “bad crowd” to hang out with, he either wouldn’t, couldn’t (because of Sam), or wasn’t around long enough to become trusted. He was the “new guy” and thus subject to suspicion. Would he squeal to teachers? Parents? Would he be cool about the bong and the pipes circulating at the party? Would he freak out like Sammy at the sight of a couple doing what they were made to do?
Much more importantly, though, there was hunting. These kids…they really had nothing better to do. They were just kids. Dean could already see his future. He knew what it meant to bring down evil and most times, the promise of illicit beer or drugs couldn’t come close to the high he felt when he torched a ghost or planted a silver bolt into a shifter. His life had purpose and direction that these kids would probably never know.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to stop and smell the roses, as it were, when presented with the opportunity.
’Cause yeah, he’d heard of this kind of party, but he’d only been to one or two, and none quite this openly erotic. Kelly kissed like she couldn’t get enough of the taste of Jill’s mouth. Dean felt pressure against his jeans zipper and forced himself to look away. He turned toward the wall, where he could tug his waistband to readjust, and sipped from the bottle.
“Hey,” he said to Mark, breathing in so the alcohol would fill up his throat. It mingled with the smoke, but he swallowed down the aftershocks in his spit. “I was looking for Kelly!” he said when he turned back, as if just remembering.
“Over there,” Mark pointed to where Jill and Kelly were tonguing to the obvious delight of several of the guys. As if Dean hadn’t been staring at her for the past five minutes. “She and Jill are so hot.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He took another sip from the bottle. When the liquor hit the back of his throat, he snapped his fingers and handed off the bottle to Jim Gillis. “Yeah…but I gotta talk to her a second.”
“No-ho, man, wait…” Mark said, throwing an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Wait for the floor show to be over.”
Jill and Kelly chose that moment to stand up for more room, and they were pressed together, bra to bra through their blouses, their glossed lips smacking as their tongues licked each other’s teeth.
“Heh. Yeah,” Dean said to Mark. He dropped a hand inside his jeans pocket, fingering lightly. “Wow,” Dean breathed, imagining Kelly kissing him like that once he got her alone…. After he dropped off Sam at home. “Aw, crap,” Dean told himself, shaking away the effect of the image. “No, I gotta get going,” he told Mark.
“What for?” Mark countered. The joint had been making its way around. “Here, have a hit off this, bro,” Mark said. “It’ll slow everything down for you, no need to hurry around so much.”
“Uh….” Dean looked at the rolled paper. “No, I can’t. I’m driving,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” Mark wheedled. “One puff ain’t gonna kill you. Promise it’ll be worth it.” He poked the joint into Dean’s face.
Dean fought the reflex to block and catch Mark’s arm behind his back. Instead, he backed away, but in doing so, he knocked into one of the speakers and tripped. He tried to catch his balance and instead fell on top of the second couch. As it happened, the couch was already occupied by Sally Derkin, Jim Gillis, Kady MacDowell, and Bruce Michaels. “Sorry!” Dean sputtered as they pushed him off their laps and onto the floor. His head landed against the cushion and his legs stuck out along the length of the other sofa.
Jill and Kelly saw him land at their feet. “Ooh!” Jill squealed, while Kelly merely straddled him and held out her hand to Mark for the joint. Gina and Zack looked over, then went back to what they were doing. Dean blinked at them once and refocused on Kelly, who stank of hash, whiskey, and sex.
“Look who found his way downstairs,” she said suggestively. “Little brother situation all sorted out?” She sucked on the joint and held it out to him.
“No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, Sam’s okay. No, I don’t want any, thanks.”
The kids all scoffed and jeered at him. “Too good for our pot, Winchester?” Bruce Michaels asked. “Whassamatter? Not high enough grade for you? Got better things to do?”
Kelly was pinning his hips with her thighs. While under other circumstances, Dean would have been in heaven, currently he wasn’t quite so sure this was a good thing. Unfortunately, his body didn’t much care. Kelly took a long drag, then leaned over and kissed him. Dean opened his lips to receive her kiss and regretted it immediately. Kelly blew her second-hand smoke into Dean’s mouth and he started coughing. He put his hand out to her shoulder, pushing her away so he could draw breath. “Hey, relax,” she said. “You said he’s okay, right?”
“I gotta take him home,” Dean heard himself saying. The smoke was not quite as thick down on the ground, but the smell still drove little spikes into his head, and the alcohol had burned going down his throat. The lingering metallic tang of Kelly’s tongue and her smoke and her musk made him feel hazy. He thought of the kid throwing up in the kitchen and of his and Sam’s hearing the next morning, and then Kelly was pushing against him, her panties damp beneath her miniskirt and her breasts pressing against the inside of her blouse.
“It’s okay,” Kelly whispered, licking at his lips. “Just hang out a little, it’ll be fine.” She ground her tailbone against his groin and Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head. He opened his mouth again and their tongues met. He could taste the strawberry of Jill’s lip-gloss through all the other flavors. No wonder Kelly had lapped at Jill. Dean deepened his kiss, his body responding despite his efforts to suppress himself. Dimly he became aware of the others cheering them on.
“Hey, Kelly, blow him for us, will ya?” Matt called. “Jilly, you wanna see his thing?”
“Mm-hmm,” Jill said hungrily. “Bet you do, too, don’tcha, Matty?”
Matt blushed but didn’t deny it. Bruce and Mark took up the chant. “Yeah, go on, Kelly, initiate him,” Mark said, and Bruce added, “Yeah, suck him off. Show us your skills, there, Kel.” He leaned over and said to Dean, “Gives the best head in school. Primo, dude.”
Dean’s leg twitched, driving his groin up toward Kelly. Taking it for encouragement, she scooted down to his knees and pulled on his belt buckle. Dean tried to take a deep breath, but the sick-sweet smell of marijuana kept getting in his throat, his eyes. “Kelly, don’t—” he started to say, but she unbuttoned his jeans and had pulled the zip halfway down already, to the crowd’s vast amusement. Even Gina and Zack were catcalling from the pool table. Dean grabbed her arms and pushed to the side, rolling as he applied pressure, so that he shifted them over and got clear to stand up at the same time. “The hell is wrong with you?” he shouted at them all. “Come on, Kelly, let’s go.” He held out a hand to her.
Kelly looked up at him as if he’d slapped her. “The hell is wrong with us? What the fuck is wrong with you?” she spat. “God, don’t be such a drag. I had no idea you were so squeamish.”
“I’m not…I…That’s….” Dean sputtered. “Dude, I came here to pick up my kid brother, not star in a live porn show.”
For a moment, no one said anything, but they looked at him as if he, and not they, were the freak. Jill giggled. Gina and Zack slid off the table and walked over as if to examine a curiosity. “Hey, Winchester, take it easy,” Mark said after a second or two. “We were just gonna make you part of the club.”
“Yeah, I mean, Kelly’s done us all…why not you?” Bruce said. Kady smacked his arm. “What?” he asked her.
“Shut up, Bruce,” Kady said wearily.
Kelly was still sitting on the floor, her skirt up over one hip where Dean had thrown her off. The blue strap of her panties showed, lacy and thin where it wrapped around her side. Earlier, Dean couldn’t wait to get his hands inside that strap. Now, Dean felt embarrassed for her, ashamed of his own part in making her perform for the others.
Just because she was a bad girl, that didn’t make her a whore.
He crouched over her and held out his hand again. “Don’t listen to them. You’re better than that. Come on, sweetheart, I’ll take you home,” he said gently, straightening his knees.
Kelly’s eyes narrowed. She smacked his hand away. “I don’t need you to take me home,” she said, gathering herself up. She braced against the couch and lifted herself into it, nestling into Jim and Sally. Jim put his arm around her waist, hooking his fingers in the band of her skirt. “You think you can waltz in from out of town and judge us? Judge me? Fuck you, you asshole. Get your damn pussy little brother and get the fuck out.” She turned her face toward Jim’s and started kissing him passionately. Sally’s hands joined Jim’s on her thighs.
Dean rocked backward a step. The rejection stung for a moment, until he realized he had a perfect opportunity for revenge. He knew exactly what he was going to tell the judge at the hearing the next day. Cheered by his plan, he smiled his most superior, smug smile. “Don’t call Sam a pussy, sweetheart,” he said, imitating his father’s threatening, dangerous voice. He turned on his heel and stomped up the stairs.
Back in the kitchen, someone had used an old towel to sop up the vomit, and one of the kids was spraying another with the tap. Dean tromped through the hall, barely glancing at the couples in the front rooms. He checked in the dining room one last time and grabbed another piece of pizza on his way out.
Sam was still sitting in the car, in the front seat, arms crossed and looking about a shade and a half away from panic. “Where’ve you been?” he whined when Dean opened the door.
“Sorry, Sammy. It took me a while to find Kelly,” Dean said evenly. “I told her we’re leaving.”
Sam turned his lips in and bit them between his teeth. “Dean, man, I’m sorry—I really didn’t mean to ruin your date.”
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean told him as he turned on the ignition and turned the car around. He took a bite of his slice and then handed it off to Sam, unsure why he’d taken it in the first place. His mouth felt dry and the pizza didn’t combine well with either the whiskey or the smoke. He regretted not grabbing a soda or something to wash the taste of pot out of his mouth. Then again, he hadn’t really seen any soda, either in the kitchen or the dining room.
“You smell funny,” Sam said around a mouthful of pizza.
“Yeah. I need a shower. That was some awful party, huh?”
Sam grunted. “It sucked.”
Dean looked over at him. “You wanna tell me what happened?” he asked.
“Whaddaya mean? Didn’t you look around?”
“Yeah, but…Sammy, it’s not like you to get so freaked. Pissed, sure, bitchy always, but….” Dean slid his eyes back to the road. It was pitch dark ahead, with the house lights in his mirrors. “I mean, dude, you sounded scared. I was worried someone had tried to hurt you, little brother.”
Sam muttered something unintelligible.
“What?” Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Someone kinda did,” Sam admitted.
Dean hit the brake. “Come again?” he asked in a dangerous tone.
“I didn’t want to tell you ’cause I knew you’d want to kick the sh—crap out of someone.”
“Yeah. Who’s that gonna be?”
“No one, Dean. They didn’t mean it. Drunk, is all. And…I took care of it. But, yeah. I needed to get out of that place. And when I went down in the basement to find Mark….” Sammy crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, I’m sorry I ruined your night. I guess I did kinda freak out.”
Dean thought back to the party. It had rivaled the best frat parties he’d ever seen on TV, but it wasn’t violent. “Someone tried to mess you up? For real?” he tried to verify.
“Not mess me up. Something else,” Sam admitted. He was squirming in his seat. “Please, just drop it, okay?”
Dean shrugged and let the car roll forward. “Was she cute?” he asked a moment later.
Sam curled in on himself, which was answer enough. Dean’s mouth quirked somewhere between an impressed frown and a smirk of evil glee. They reached the bottom of the driveway.
“You know you can always call me, right? If you ever need to bug out like that again? I mean, even if you know I’m on a date…. Well, maybe not with Britney Spears. But short of that, y’know. Seriously.”
Sam sighed shakily. “Yeah.”
“You coulda boosted one of their cars,” Dean suggested.
“And have half the senior class gunning for me Monday?” Sam snorted. “Besides, we need to keep our noses clean.”
“I guess.”
Dean reversed his turns down the dark lake parkway. When they hit the main road with its shiny blacktop and regular streetlamps, Sam said: “You know, at school, they wanted us to sign contracts with our parents, saying that we’d always call before we got in a car with someone who’d been drinking, or doing drugs or whatever. On the parents’ side, they’re supposed to say they’ll come and not ask any questions. You know, like give you amnesty because you called?” Sam leaned against the cool class of the window. “I threw it out.”
“Why?” He couldn’t see their father objecting to the idea of the agreement. He’d rather have them call him than try to drive drunk, or with someone who was drunk. Or high. Dean unrolled his window—he was feeling more clear-headed now, out of the house, but he still wanted a little fresh air to keep him sharp for the drive home.
Sam scoffed. “Dad? Not ask any questions or get angry right off the bat? Besides, how often is he even around? I mean, yeah, he’d come get me, but I’m more likely to hear, ‘I’m sorry, kiddo, but I’m five hours away. Guess you’re walking home.’”
Dean looked at Sam. He was bitching about it, but he wasn’t angry, just unhappy. Tired, maybe. Thinking about it, Dean couldn’t argue, either. Their father probably would read either of them the riot act for getting led into a bad situation, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t sail in to the rescue. If he could. Admittedly, that was a pretty big “if” these days. Dean cleared his throat. “I guess you’re kinda right. Not his fault, though.”
“Fault? It’s his choice, Dean,” Sam pointed out testily.
“Well, he’d come if he could.”
“Yeah, I know he’d come. And then I’d catch hell. Anyway, it’s not like I plan on ever needing to call him. That’s why I threw the fucking contract out, okay?”
Dean raised his eyebrows momentarily at Sam’s uncharacteristic profanity, but he let it go without any verbal comment. He grunted to move away from the touchy subject. “Look, Sam, I hope you know, you don’t need a stupid contract with me, right? I mean, seriously. Whenever you think you’re in trouble, or whatever….”
“Dean?” Sam looked over at him. “Are you okay?”
Dean smirked uncomfortably. “What? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, Sammy.”
“Only…you sound like a girl.”
“Shut up,” Dean sighed.
Sam giggled. “Seriously, I think you were about to start singing Lean on Me. Or… Bridge over Troubled Waters.”
Dean rolled his eyes and punched out toward Sam’s arm. “Shut up,” he said again.
“Fine…jerk.”
“Jerk who saved your ass, bitch.”
“Whatever. You were about to have a Hallmark moment, and you know it.”
“And you’re about to be walking home after all,” Dean said, but couldn’t keep a straight face saying it. They drove a while in silence.
“Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Sure thing, Sammy.” Dean patted his brother’s leg. “Sure thing.”
Author: Gwendolyn Grace (
gwendolyngrace)Genre: Pre-series, Teen!Chesters
Characters: Sam and Dean, OC’s
Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual situations, drug and alcohol use
Summary: “I just…can you just come and get me?” Sam asked. Pekin, Illinois, 1995: Sam accepts an invitation to a birthday party, only to learn it’s really not what he was expecting. Dean to the rescue! Or not quite….
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Just say No to Drugs!
Author’s Notes: Did anyone else ever get presented with “contracts” in school? This is the result of that idea. Also, I’ve wanted to explore an early experience with marijuana in Dean’s life for a while, and this plot bunny offered up a good opportunity. Don’t worry: he doesn’t inhale. Much. Thanks to the betas,
relli86 and especially etakyma for their feedback.Wordcount: 5,750ish
Pekin, Illinois: 1995
Dean picked up Kelly Unger in time to get a pizza before the movie. He’d asked Kelly out twice before, and while she had been willing to see him outside school, their plans had always fallen through for one reason or another. He’d been looking forward to this Friday night since she’d accepted his invitation four days ago. Not only did the film suggest instant classic—who could resist a John Carpenter remake of Village of the Damned?—but Kelly had a great reputation in the boys’ locker room. To make matters even better, Dad had taken off that week with Caleb, leaving the car in Dean’s keeping.
The pizza was greasy and piled high with sausage. The movie was predictably creepy and had Kelly practically climbing into his lap before the end of the second reel. Dean had been very pleased to discover that Kelly was wearing a lace bra, and that she didn’t object when his fingers found their way under her open-knit sweater and the tight little camisole under that to tease the fleshy scoop of her breast. He’d been careful to keep his exploration to a minimum, so they didn’t get thrown out of the theatre, but he could already attest that her lip balm was cherry flavored and her nipples got hard when she got scared.
Which she got, right around the halfway mark of the film, right when (in his opinion) it was getting good. Or maybe, she wasn’t scared, exactly, but wanted to distract herself from the worst of the gore. Dean didn’t mind, not really. He had wanted to see the picture—anything “horror” was pretty much a laughfest for him—but given the choice between John Carpenter and Kelly Unger? Hello. Kelly smelled like peach cobbler or something similar and her eyes had little flecks of yellow that almost perfectly matched the blouse she was wearing. She liked to tug on one earring, and she giggled when he reached over to run his finger over the shell of her ear.
He never really found out whether the ending was better than the original movie, because he was too busy reaching under Kelly’s miniskirt to find out if her panties were lacy like her bra. And that was okay by him. The movie’d be on TV, somewhere, sometime. He’d be able to catch the end eventually. Kelly was right here, right now, and pretty much right for the moment. As far as he was concerned, everything was going according to plan. When she said she wanted to go to the ladies’ room during the credits, he played it cool, told her he’d stay and watch them in case there was an “extra” scare at the end, and he’d meet her in the lobby. That gave him plenty of time to calm himself down so he could drive to their next stop: Home Plate.
They were just heading out to the lake in the Impala when his pager went off.
“Uh…hang on,” he said, fishing the pager off his belt clip.
Kelly blew a bubble while she watched him read the number. “Wow. I thought only stock brokers and lawyers had those.” She gasped with excited pleasure. “You’re not a drug dealer, are you?”
“No,” Dean said quickly, then realized that she looked disappointed. “I gotta take this, sorry.” He swung the Impala around a corner to find a pay phone. Sammy had used the 99 code that meant urgent, but not emergency.
He pulled over at a gas station about two miles away from the movie theatre. Consulting the pager again, he dialed his calling card number and then the number Sam had sent, without the preceding 99, and waited for someone to pick up.
“’Lo?” a boy’s voice, not Sam’s, said groggily into the phone. Dean could hear loud music in the background. Sounded like Nirvana.
“Yeah…I’m looking for Sam Winchester?” he said.
“Dude…you got the wrong number,” said the kid. Before Dean could stop him, he hung up.
“Shit,” Dean grimaced. He held up the calling card and punched in the sequence again, then the phone number.
“’Lo?” said the kid.
“Look, Sam paged me from this number. Is he there?”
“Oh…I dunno. Hang on.” He heard the receiver clack against a table. The music blared into the earpiece. A few seconds later, it dulled.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice cracked on his name.
“Sammy, what’s wrong?” Dean used his “Dad” voice without even thinking about it. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Were Sam and his friends in trouble? Had someone tried to hurt him?
“Dean, I need to get out of here,” Sam said, a bit panicked.
“Okay, Sammy, just calm down, man. Where are you?” Sammy rattled off an address. “Hang on, hang on….” Dean dug through his pockets for a pen and something to write on. He cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder. “Okay, Sammy, gimme that again? Slowly.” Sam repeated the address and Dean wrote it on his hand. “What’s going on?”
“I just…can you just come and get me?” Sam asked.
Dean made a noise into the phone without meaning to. He looked over through the car window. Kelly was popping her gum, hands running over her blonde hair and readjusting the banana clip holding it up off her neck.
“Please?” Sam pressed.
“Yeah, sure,” Dean relented. With any luck, he could pick up Sam quickly, drop him off, and get back to the lake with Kelly before the evening was a total loss. If not…well, maybe he could play the Big Brother Hero card and get a rain check. Still…. Massively not fair! his brain told him. “You okay to wait there a little bit, or what?”
“Uh…I’ll just…I’ll wait on the porch. How long do you think?”
Dean glanced back at the Impala, where Kelly was fixing her lip-gloss and pulling her bra strap back onto her shoulder (it was baby blue, Dean saw with a jolt). “I’m not sure how far this place is. May take me a bit. Can you hang on for half an hour?”
Sam sighed loud enough to be heard over the music. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m on my way, okay, Sammy? Just chill out and I’ll be there soon.”
Dean cursed a silent stream as he hung up and walked back to the car. “Everything all right?” Kelly asked when he opened the door.
“Yeah, but….” Kelly smiled and leaned in as if to kiss him. She was wearing long, drippy earrings made of rhinestone and paste, and they brushed his arm when she leaned over. Dean cleared his throat. “Kelly, I hate to do this, but I gotta go pick up my kid brother. He was supposed to go to this party tonight; I guess it didn’t go so well.”
“Oh, at the Roberts place?” Kelly piped up. She sat up in her seat, pulling her light sweater down over her thin yellow spaghetti-strap tank.
“Well, yeah—How did you know?”
She shrugged, fiddling with the second earring in her right ear. It was a star-shaped stud. “Oh, Gina and Zack were going there tonight.”
Dean’s brow furrowed. “Sam said it was a birthday party for Jake, in his class.”
Kelly grinned. “Well, it might be somebody’s birthday party, but believe me, the Robertses are always going out of town. This is like the third party Jake and Mark have had in two months.” She leaned over to put her hand on his thigh. “Actually it’s a good idea. They’ve always got beer. Probably some good pot, too. We should go.”
“Do you know how to get there?” Dean asked.
“Sure, they’re up by the lake.” She popped her gum with a lascivious tongue.
He pulled out of the gas station and followed her directions to a huge Colonial with all its lights on. Music pounded out of speakers on the roof loud enough to vibrate the seats in the Impala as they turned up the long gravel driveway. Teenagers in various states of sobriety – and undress – wandered through the yard and draped themselves on the patio furniture. Through the open door and lit windows, Dean could see at least another twenty kids dancing, drinking, and making out.
Sammy was leaning on the porch banister, trying to avoid a couple who were macking on each other on the swing. He was obviously trying not to look, but his determination didn’t last for long, and he kept shooting them glares over his shoulder as if his thought daggers would make them stop.
“Doesn’t this town have any cops?” Dean asked in awe.
“Sure. But you need neighbors to complain, and besides, Mr. Roberts is on the town council. Mrs. Roberts…I think she’s sleeping with Judge Watkins. Maybe even Sheriff Tate, too,” Kelly commented.
Sammy had seen the car and was sidling his way through the teens to the steps. He looked miserable and awkward, focused on his feet. He kept getting cut off by kids who didn’t notice him, and he looked like he didn’t want to touch them to get their attention. Dean could see his lips moving, and he imagined Sam was muttering ineffectively to get them out of his way. His angry pout was visible from across the lawn. Dean turned off the engine, swinging the car door open. He got out and closed the distance between the car and Sammy. Kelly stayed in the car, taking a moment to fix her lip-gloss.
“Thank God—Dean, can we get out of here?” Sammy asked, making a beeline past Dean toward the shotgun seat. He pulled up short when he saw Kelly open the passenger door. She climbed out only a little awkwardly because of her platform espadrilles, and regarded Sam like he was a rather sticky and grease-stained menu. “Oh, crap, Dean—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were on a—I mean, you didn’t say you were—” Sammy sputtered.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean told him calmly. “Kelly doesn’t mind, right, Kelly?” Dean asked over Sam’s shoulder. “Kelly?”
Kelly had spotted a friend and had headed for the front door. Dean watched her go with surprise at her quick abandonment and a little appreciation for the tightness of her skirt. Recovering, he smiled back at Sam. “See: she doesn’t mind. What’s wrong?”
Sammy’s eyes and nostrils widened in a credible bitchface. “Look around! They’re tapping a keg in the kitchen, I’m pretty sure they’re smoking pot in the basement, and…and…there are…girls everywhere,” Sammy finished, losing steam. His cheeks were bright red and his eyes were darting around, unsure where to land. Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be people kissing, touching.
Dean sighed. “Sammy, give you another couple years and this’ll be the perfect party.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, I don’t care about the party. Jake said it was just gonna be pizza and maybe some video games. And his brother was going to take us home, remember?” Dean nodded; it was one reason he knew he’d be clear to go out with Kelly that night. “But right now Jake’s brother is so high I wouldn’t trust him to drive a bumper car. And what if the cops show up?” He leaned in so he could speak without yelling over the subwoofer. “After last week?” he asked pointedly.
Sam didn’t have to explain his allusion. He’d been caught by Deputy Kieffer just over a week ago when they’d broken into the school office to “adjust” Dean’s attendance records and fill out a permit for him to have the car on school property. Dean figured it was good practice for Sammy to pick the locks and decipher the school’s filing system, but he hadn’t figured on a nighttime motion detector hooked up directly to the station house. Dean had been able to convince Deputy Kieffer it was just an attempted prank to move the Principal’s office furniture into the secretary’s bullpen, but he’d been suspended and Sammy had been given two weeks’ detention, and both of them had orders to appear in Juvenile Counseling, complete with a judge and a court-appointed public defender, that coming Saturday.
“I can’t be caught someplace with lots of beer and hash, Dean,” Sam continued. “Neither can you,” he added.
“Relax, Sammy. Kelly says the cops never come out here.” He shrugged. “Something about someone bang—uh, being a judge. We’re fine. Is that what had you freaking out?”
Sam quirked his jaw, looking shamefaced. “Not exactly….” He huffed, nostrils flaring. “Can we just go now, please?”
Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. Sammy was hiding something, but Dean wasn’t sure what. And one thing was certain: Sammy wasn’t going to tell him the problem here, in front of everyone. Not that Dean really wanted to hear it under the current conditions. “Okay, Sammy. Go wait in the car, okay?” he agreed, cocking his head toward the Impala.
Sammy trotted away and Dean turned his focus to figuring out where Kelly had gone. He suspected she would want to stay, but he wanted to make sure she could get home if he left her at the party. He went up on the porch, but she must have gone inside, so he passed through the front door.
The music was deafening loud and predictably crappy, Pearl Jam at its grungiest. Dean ducked his head into the living room, which was full of boys and girls making out, and the dining room, where it seemed a little bit of pizza lingered on the table. In the living room, he paused to observe the couples’ technique, but he moved on when he felt himself getting a little more interested than he wanted to appear in public. In the dining room, he helped himself to a slice of deluxe. Then he walked back to the kitchen.
They did have a keg, he saw, and someone was currently chugging directly from the tap. The kid finally gave up, beer splashing onto the floor, and handed off the tap to the next kid in line. Dean realized with surprise that these boys were Sam’s age.
“Hey, aren’t you Tommy Hunt?” Dean asked a kid standing in line, waiting for a turn at the tap.
“Huh?” the kid looked at him, glassy-eyed. “Yeah, so?”
“You’re in seventh grade,” Dean said, as if his reason for asking was obvious.
“What’re you gonna do, man, call the cops?” Tommy challenged. “Fuck off, dude.”
Dean shook his head. No wonder Sam was unhappy in the extreme, if this was what the kids did around here for fun. He crossed the back hallway and saw two staircases. One led down to the basement; the other up, to what must be the bedrooms. Grinning at the thought of what the older kids must be doing upstairs, Dean put his boot on the first step leading down.
He heard the unmistakable sound and smelled the unmistakable smell of one of the chuggers throwing up behind him in the kitchen. Dean moved more quickly.
Halfway downstairs there was a wall of smoke. Dean felt it hit his eyes first, then his nose. Just walking down into it was enough to get a contact high, but through the haze, he saw Kelly Unger wedged between Jill Harkness and Matt Foreman. Jill passed Kelly a joint, Kelly threw out her gum and took a puff, and then she and Jill started making out. Dean stood and watched appreciatively.
“Dean!” someone called. “Hey, glad you could make it, man…here, have a drink.” Dean looked to his left; Jake’s brother Mark Roberts was holding out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Mark was two years older than Dean, a senior, but most of the kids here were either in Dean’s class or a year ahead of him. He recognized Gina and Zack, too, wrapped in each other’s arms and lying together on top of the pool table on the other side of the room.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dean said. He took the bottle. It was a little strange and…a little cool to be welcomed, to think that people knew who he was and wanted him around. He didn’t want to reject that. He knew what he was supposed to be doing down in the basement, and it wasn’t drinking, but the sight of the debauchery in the room took his breath away. He stood fixed to the spot, jaw slackening at the sight of his date going to town on another girl’s mouth. It was like the best Playboy channel movie ever, only it was real, and less than ten feet away.
Dean had been in other towns where the teens—and some of the tweens—had nothing better to do than drink, smoke, and have sex. His father didn’t know, for example, that he’d tried a joint a couple years ago, but didn’t care for the way it made him feel muzzy and light-headed, and he’d been too afraid of getting addicted to ever go back for more. Plus, the high wasn’t worth the drop, he thought.
His father also didn’t know—at least, he didn’t think he knew—that Brenda Jacobs had given him his first blow job when he was only a little older than Sammy, in the middle of Batman Returns, before they got thrown out of the dark movie theater. He was pretty sure his father knew about Chelsea Granger (his first), Nadine Rogers, Marcia Geller (her first), and Brittney Pulaski, though not necessarily how far they’d gone or how often they’d gone there. He was coming to realize that there were “bad girls” in every city, every town, every hamlet where they stayed, if he knew what to look for.
He’d asked Kelly out based on her reputation as a bad girl, after all.
But most of the time, even if there was a “bad crowd” to hang out with, he either wouldn’t, couldn’t (because of Sam), or wasn’t around long enough to become trusted. He was the “new guy” and thus subject to suspicion. Would he squeal to teachers? Parents? Would he be cool about the bong and the pipes circulating at the party? Would he freak out like Sammy at the sight of a couple doing what they were made to do?
Much more importantly, though, there was hunting. These kids…they really had nothing better to do. They were just kids. Dean could already see his future. He knew what it meant to bring down evil and most times, the promise of illicit beer or drugs couldn’t come close to the high he felt when he torched a ghost or planted a silver bolt into a shifter. His life had purpose and direction that these kids would probably never know.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to stop and smell the roses, as it were, when presented with the opportunity.
’Cause yeah, he’d heard of this kind of party, but he’d only been to one or two, and none quite this openly erotic. Kelly kissed like she couldn’t get enough of the taste of Jill’s mouth. Dean felt pressure against his jeans zipper and forced himself to look away. He turned toward the wall, where he could tug his waistband to readjust, and sipped from the bottle.
“Hey,” he said to Mark, breathing in so the alcohol would fill up his throat. It mingled with the smoke, but he swallowed down the aftershocks in his spit. “I was looking for Kelly!” he said when he turned back, as if just remembering.
“Over there,” Mark pointed to where Jill and Kelly were tonguing to the obvious delight of several of the guys. As if Dean hadn’t been staring at her for the past five minutes. “She and Jill are so hot.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He took another sip from the bottle. When the liquor hit the back of his throat, he snapped his fingers and handed off the bottle to Jim Gillis. “Yeah…but I gotta talk to her a second.”
“No-ho, man, wait…” Mark said, throwing an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Wait for the floor show to be over.”
Jill and Kelly chose that moment to stand up for more room, and they were pressed together, bra to bra through their blouses, their glossed lips smacking as their tongues licked each other’s teeth.
“Heh. Yeah,” Dean said to Mark. He dropped a hand inside his jeans pocket, fingering lightly. “Wow,” Dean breathed, imagining Kelly kissing him like that once he got her alone…. After he dropped off Sam at home. “Aw, crap,” Dean told himself, shaking away the effect of the image. “No, I gotta get going,” he told Mark.
“What for?” Mark countered. The joint had been making its way around. “Here, have a hit off this, bro,” Mark said. “It’ll slow everything down for you, no need to hurry around so much.”
“Uh….” Dean looked at the rolled paper. “No, I can’t. I’m driving,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” Mark wheedled. “One puff ain’t gonna kill you. Promise it’ll be worth it.” He poked the joint into Dean’s face.
Dean fought the reflex to block and catch Mark’s arm behind his back. Instead, he backed away, but in doing so, he knocked into one of the speakers and tripped. He tried to catch his balance and instead fell on top of the second couch. As it happened, the couch was already occupied by Sally Derkin, Jim Gillis, Kady MacDowell, and Bruce Michaels. “Sorry!” Dean sputtered as they pushed him off their laps and onto the floor. His head landed against the cushion and his legs stuck out along the length of the other sofa.
Jill and Kelly saw him land at their feet. “Ooh!” Jill squealed, while Kelly merely straddled him and held out her hand to Mark for the joint. Gina and Zack looked over, then went back to what they were doing. Dean blinked at them once and refocused on Kelly, who stank of hash, whiskey, and sex.
“Look who found his way downstairs,” she said suggestively. “Little brother situation all sorted out?” She sucked on the joint and held it out to him.
“No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, Sam’s okay. No, I don’t want any, thanks.”
The kids all scoffed and jeered at him. “Too good for our pot, Winchester?” Bruce Michaels asked. “Whassamatter? Not high enough grade for you? Got better things to do?”
Kelly was pinning his hips with her thighs. While under other circumstances, Dean would have been in heaven, currently he wasn’t quite so sure this was a good thing. Unfortunately, his body didn’t much care. Kelly took a long drag, then leaned over and kissed him. Dean opened his lips to receive her kiss and regretted it immediately. Kelly blew her second-hand smoke into Dean’s mouth and he started coughing. He put his hand out to her shoulder, pushing her away so he could draw breath. “Hey, relax,” she said. “You said he’s okay, right?”
“I gotta take him home,” Dean heard himself saying. The smoke was not quite as thick down on the ground, but the smell still drove little spikes into his head, and the alcohol had burned going down his throat. The lingering metallic tang of Kelly’s tongue and her smoke and her musk made him feel hazy. He thought of the kid throwing up in the kitchen and of his and Sam’s hearing the next morning, and then Kelly was pushing against him, her panties damp beneath her miniskirt and her breasts pressing against the inside of her blouse.
“It’s okay,” Kelly whispered, licking at his lips. “Just hang out a little, it’ll be fine.” She ground her tailbone against his groin and Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head. He opened his mouth again and their tongues met. He could taste the strawberry of Jill’s lip-gloss through all the other flavors. No wonder Kelly had lapped at Jill. Dean deepened his kiss, his body responding despite his efforts to suppress himself. Dimly he became aware of the others cheering them on.
“Hey, Kelly, blow him for us, will ya?” Matt called. “Jilly, you wanna see his thing?”
“Mm-hmm,” Jill said hungrily. “Bet you do, too, don’tcha, Matty?”
Matt blushed but didn’t deny it. Bruce and Mark took up the chant. “Yeah, go on, Kelly, initiate him,” Mark said, and Bruce added, “Yeah, suck him off. Show us your skills, there, Kel.” He leaned over and said to Dean, “Gives the best head in school. Primo, dude.”
Dean’s leg twitched, driving his groin up toward Kelly. Taking it for encouragement, she scooted down to his knees and pulled on his belt buckle. Dean tried to take a deep breath, but the sick-sweet smell of marijuana kept getting in his throat, his eyes. “Kelly, don’t—” he started to say, but she unbuttoned his jeans and had pulled the zip halfway down already, to the crowd’s vast amusement. Even Gina and Zack were catcalling from the pool table. Dean grabbed her arms and pushed to the side, rolling as he applied pressure, so that he shifted them over and got clear to stand up at the same time. “The hell is wrong with you?” he shouted at them all. “Come on, Kelly, let’s go.” He held out a hand to her.
Kelly looked up at him as if he’d slapped her. “The hell is wrong with us? What the fuck is wrong with you?” she spat. “God, don’t be such a drag. I had no idea you were so squeamish.”
“I’m not…I…That’s….” Dean sputtered. “Dude, I came here to pick up my kid brother, not star in a live porn show.”
For a moment, no one said anything, but they looked at him as if he, and not they, were the freak. Jill giggled. Gina and Zack slid off the table and walked over as if to examine a curiosity. “Hey, Winchester, take it easy,” Mark said after a second or two. “We were just gonna make you part of the club.”
“Yeah, I mean, Kelly’s done us all…why not you?” Bruce said. Kady smacked his arm. “What?” he asked her.
“Shut up, Bruce,” Kady said wearily.
Kelly was still sitting on the floor, her skirt up over one hip where Dean had thrown her off. The blue strap of her panties showed, lacy and thin where it wrapped around her side. Earlier, Dean couldn’t wait to get his hands inside that strap. Now, Dean felt embarrassed for her, ashamed of his own part in making her perform for the others.
Just because she was a bad girl, that didn’t make her a whore.
He crouched over her and held out his hand again. “Don’t listen to them. You’re better than that. Come on, sweetheart, I’ll take you home,” he said gently, straightening his knees.
Kelly’s eyes narrowed. She smacked his hand away. “I don’t need you to take me home,” she said, gathering herself up. She braced against the couch and lifted herself into it, nestling into Jim and Sally. Jim put his arm around her waist, hooking his fingers in the band of her skirt. “You think you can waltz in from out of town and judge us? Judge me? Fuck you, you asshole. Get your damn pussy little brother and get the fuck out.” She turned her face toward Jim’s and started kissing him passionately. Sally’s hands joined Jim’s on her thighs.
Dean rocked backward a step. The rejection stung for a moment, until he realized he had a perfect opportunity for revenge. He knew exactly what he was going to tell the judge at the hearing the next day. Cheered by his plan, he smiled his most superior, smug smile. “Don’t call Sam a pussy, sweetheart,” he said, imitating his father’s threatening, dangerous voice. He turned on his heel and stomped up the stairs.
Back in the kitchen, someone had used an old towel to sop up the vomit, and one of the kids was spraying another with the tap. Dean tromped through the hall, barely glancing at the couples in the front rooms. He checked in the dining room one last time and grabbed another piece of pizza on his way out.
Sam was still sitting in the car, in the front seat, arms crossed and looking about a shade and a half away from panic. “Where’ve you been?” he whined when Dean opened the door.
“Sorry, Sammy. It took me a while to find Kelly,” Dean said evenly. “I told her we’re leaving.”
Sam turned his lips in and bit them between his teeth. “Dean, man, I’m sorry—I really didn’t mean to ruin your date.”
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean told him as he turned on the ignition and turned the car around. He took a bite of his slice and then handed it off to Sam, unsure why he’d taken it in the first place. His mouth felt dry and the pizza didn’t combine well with either the whiskey or the smoke. He regretted not grabbing a soda or something to wash the taste of pot out of his mouth. Then again, he hadn’t really seen any soda, either in the kitchen or the dining room.
“You smell funny,” Sam said around a mouthful of pizza.
“Yeah. I need a shower. That was some awful party, huh?”
Sam grunted. “It sucked.”
Dean looked over at him. “You wanna tell me what happened?” he asked.
“Whaddaya mean? Didn’t you look around?”
“Yeah, but…Sammy, it’s not like you to get so freaked. Pissed, sure, bitchy always, but….” Dean slid his eyes back to the road. It was pitch dark ahead, with the house lights in his mirrors. “I mean, dude, you sounded scared. I was worried someone had tried to hurt you, little brother.”
Sam muttered something unintelligible.
“What?” Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Someone kinda did,” Sam admitted.
Dean hit the brake. “Come again?” he asked in a dangerous tone.
“I didn’t want to tell you ’cause I knew you’d want to kick the sh—crap out of someone.”
“Yeah. Who’s that gonna be?”
“No one, Dean. They didn’t mean it. Drunk, is all. And…I took care of it. But, yeah. I needed to get out of that place. And when I went down in the basement to find Mark….” Sammy crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyway, I’m sorry I ruined your night. I guess I did kinda freak out.”
Dean thought back to the party. It had rivaled the best frat parties he’d ever seen on TV, but it wasn’t violent. “Someone tried to mess you up? For real?” he tried to verify.
“Not mess me up. Something else,” Sam admitted. He was squirming in his seat. “Please, just drop it, okay?”
Dean shrugged and let the car roll forward. “Was she cute?” he asked a moment later.
Sam curled in on himself, which was answer enough. Dean’s mouth quirked somewhere between an impressed frown and a smirk of evil glee. They reached the bottom of the driveway.
“You know you can always call me, right? If you ever need to bug out like that again? I mean, even if you know I’m on a date…. Well, maybe not with Britney Spears. But short of that, y’know. Seriously.”
Sam sighed shakily. “Yeah.”
“You coulda boosted one of their cars,” Dean suggested.
“And have half the senior class gunning for me Monday?” Sam snorted. “Besides, we need to keep our noses clean.”
“I guess.”
Dean reversed his turns down the dark lake parkway. When they hit the main road with its shiny blacktop and regular streetlamps, Sam said: “You know, at school, they wanted us to sign contracts with our parents, saying that we’d always call before we got in a car with someone who’d been drinking, or doing drugs or whatever. On the parents’ side, they’re supposed to say they’ll come and not ask any questions. You know, like give you amnesty because you called?” Sam leaned against the cool class of the window. “I threw it out.”
“Why?” He couldn’t see their father objecting to the idea of the agreement. He’d rather have them call him than try to drive drunk, or with someone who was drunk. Or high. Dean unrolled his window—he was feeling more clear-headed now, out of the house, but he still wanted a little fresh air to keep him sharp for the drive home.
Sam scoffed. “Dad? Not ask any questions or get angry right off the bat? Besides, how often is he even around? I mean, yeah, he’d come get me, but I’m more likely to hear, ‘I’m sorry, kiddo, but I’m five hours away. Guess you’re walking home.’”
Dean looked at Sam. He was bitching about it, but he wasn’t angry, just unhappy. Tired, maybe. Thinking about it, Dean couldn’t argue, either. Their father probably would read either of them the riot act for getting led into a bad situation, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t sail in to the rescue. If he could. Admittedly, that was a pretty big “if” these days. Dean cleared his throat. “I guess you’re kinda right. Not his fault, though.”
“Fault? It’s his choice, Dean,” Sam pointed out testily.
“Well, he’d come if he could.”
“Yeah, I know he’d come. And then I’d catch hell. Anyway, it’s not like I plan on ever needing to call him. That’s why I threw the fucking contract out, okay?”
Dean raised his eyebrows momentarily at Sam’s uncharacteristic profanity, but he let it go without any verbal comment. He grunted to move away from the touchy subject. “Look, Sam, I hope you know, you don’t need a stupid contract with me, right? I mean, seriously. Whenever you think you’re in trouble, or whatever….”
“Dean?” Sam looked over at him. “Are you okay?”
Dean smirked uncomfortably. “What? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, Sammy.”
“Only…you sound like a girl.”
“Shut up,” Dean sighed.
Sam giggled. “Seriously, I think you were about to start singing Lean on Me. Or… Bridge over Troubled Waters.”
Dean rolled his eyes and punched out toward Sam’s arm. “Shut up,” he said again.
“Fine…jerk.”
“Jerk who saved your ass, bitch.”
“Whatever. You were about to have a Hallmark moment, and you know it.”
“And you’re about to be walking home after all,” Dean said, but couldn’t keep a straight face saying it. They drove a while in silence.
“Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Sure thing, Sammy.” Dean patted his brother’s leg. “Sure thing.”
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Yeah, it was important to me to show that even though Sam is the one who called for rescue, Kelly is really the one who needed it. Sam just needed a ride. ;^D
And it always kills me when I think of Dean's potential, the way he channeled and directed it from such an early age. I was thinking about his comments in "Bloodlust" about realizing at 16 that he couldn't care less about "normal" teenage angst issues, because he had hunting. I think that went a huge way to shaping his interactions in school. It's not that he didn't want normal occasionally - I do think he sometimes wanted to "fit in" as much as Sam did - but the price of "normal" just seems too high. Dean may have some self-esteem issues, but he certainly knows himself and he knows what he wants, and I wanted to play with some of the choices he's made on the way to becoming the man he is.
And yeah, I also had fun playing with the idea that Dean and Sam are actually much more together than any kid at that party!
So glad you liked it!