The Kid, Part 9, Supernatural, PG

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: The Kid Part 9 ( All of The Kid can be found Here)
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John
Rating: PG
Genre: GEN (did you even know I could GEN?)
Word Count: 2963
Summary: Dean is 18, Sam is 14. John is 6. Sam joins a team, while everyone around him seems to be trying to fix him up, even John. Dean falls ill and John asks a lot of questions.

A/Ns & Warnings: Um. This is at least partially varkelton's fault. De-aging fic. This part is a wee angsty. *pets poor Dean*


Pretty art provided by fallen_for_lost






There are things Sam is careful about. He knows, no matter what Dean says about the money, that there isn't enough of it. So he borrows his books from the library and returns them on time. He uses one piece of paper for each assignment, even though it sometimes means he has to write really small.

He makes sure the lights are off, wears the extra shirt instead of turning on the heat, and sometimes he doesn't take a lunch so that there's more for John. He's pretty sure Dean doesn't know.

He figures it's better if Dean doesn't. Dean is tough enough to deal with some days. Not that it's his fault, Sam doesn't blame him. In some ways, Dean is turning into Dad. He works and comes home grumpy. He complains about his back bothering him and sometimes he drinks, though Sam never really is sure where he gets the booze.

Sam gets it. He really does. Dean is becoming Dad and Sam is becoming Dean. The only one not really changing all that much is John, and really, he's the one who's changed the most.

All of that ran through Sam's mind as he sat with the list of after school activities in his hand. It was nearly Thanksgiving. He had to decide soon or it would be too late to join any of them. And he had to. Or Dean would never shut up about it.

He wanted Sam to make friends. He wanted Sam to do stuff. All the stuff they never could do. All the things Dean never got to do. Sam knew he'd wanted to. He knew about the football practices Dean watched his whole freshman year. He'd never asked if he could. He'd known Dad would say no.

But now, Sam was Dean, and Dean was going to make sure he did those things, whether Sam wanted to or not. He'd already crossed most of the sports off the list. Sports meant good shoes, cleats and doing laundry a whole lot more often than they did now. Victory celebrations and consolation parties. They meant money that Sam knew they didn't have.

He sighed and glanced at the clock. The bell was going to ring. He huffed and grabbed up his books. He had time to stop in to see Mr. Dimas if he hurried. Sam liked his history teacher, even if he was a bit…well, odd. He wore Birkenstock sandals, even in the winter, and he smelled of Patchouli oil. Dean called him an out of date hippy.

"Mr. Dimas?" Sam poked his head in the room and Mr. Dimas turned from the board.

"Samuel, what can I do for you?"

Sam licked his lips and stepped into the room. "I was wondering if you still had room for a freshman on the debate team."

Mr. Dimas looked him over, nodding slowly. "You'd have a lot of catching up to do, our next meet is right after the holiday."

Sam nodded. "I know. I spoke with Katy and Tyrell. They said they'd help bring me up to speed."

"We work Monday, Wednesday and Fridays here after school."

Sam smiled. "Good. I'll be here."



He slipped into his seat with seconds to spare, glancing at the clock before leaning over to get his algebra book out of his backpack. Elizabeth poked him from beside him.

"Almost late."

"Almost doesn't count."

"Marcy said there's a quiz."

Sam rolled his eyes as Mrs. Dunlop tapped on her desk with her yardstick to get the class to pay attention. She certainly liked her quizzes. Fortunately for Sam, algebra was proving to be far easier for him than Mr. Blake's science or Mrs. Tennison's home economics class.

Elizabeth wasn't so lucky. She spent nearly an hour every night with him going over the class work and borrowing his notes. She was going to be upset about the whole debate club thing.

He figured he'd tell her on the walk home, and promise he'd still help her as much as he could. Truth was, he felt bad for her. And kind of responsible for her too. It wasn't what Dean teased him about though. The more Sam got to know her, the more he liked her, just not like that. She was like a sister.

Whereas Dean and Elizabeth's older sister seemed to be doing just fine on that front. Sometimes Sam envied Dean's ability to charm people, especially people he was attracted to. That was one Dean characteristic Sam wasn't magically channeling anytime soon.

"Is it weird?" Elizabeth asked as they closed their lockers and headed out into the cool autumn afternoon.

"Weird?" Sam frowned down at her. "What?"

"Not going to pick up John."

"A little." Sam conceded. So much about life was weird…for him anyway. He'd spent years moaning that he wanted a normal life and now that he had been handed one, he wasn't really sure what to make of it.

Some days it felt like he was holding his breath, like he'd wake up to find it was all a dream, and John was Dad and Dean was Dean and they were packing up to move on to the next town, the next hunt.

"You ever feel like you're sort of…stuck…like you're just waiting for your life to start?" she asked as they took the turn through the park where they'd first met.

"Yeah, I do." It was a feeling Sam was very well acquainted with. "So, Beth. I joined the debate team."

She looked at him strangely. "I thought you didn't buy into all that extra-curricular stuff."

"I don't…exactly…but, Dean's been riding my ass to make friends and shit." He rolled his eyes. "If I didn't join something he was going think there was something wrong."

"Debate team, huh?" She scuffed her foot along the path. "Isn't Matt Flick on debate?"

"Is he?" Of course, Sam knew he was. Matt Flick was the junior class president, debate team captain, and on the swim team. He was the object of every fantasy of every girl in the school. Matt Flick had been the one who first invited Sam to join debate after Sam negotiated his way out of paying for milk in the school lunch line because the carton's expiration date couldn't be read. "I guess."

She smirked at him, bumping his shoulder. "Yeah, whatever."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.

"Like you don't know."

He frowned. He really didn't. "No, I really don't."

She stopped and faced him, hands on her hips. "Are you still in denial?"

"About what?" He felt silly standing there in the middle of the park staring down at her.

"He likes you."

Sam shook his head. "I don't even know him."

"What's not to know? Killer smile, dimples to die for, a rocking set of abs, hair that rivals yours. And he likes you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She closed her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Beth, really. I don't know what you mean."

She threw her hands up and went back to walking. "Men. Stubborn. Stupid."

Sam stared at her back, then lurched forward to catch up with her. "How about Susan Blackmar?"

"What about her?" Sam asked.

"Did you notice she kept bending over where you could look down her shirt?"

"When?"

"In the library during English class?"

"I think you're hallucinating." Sam stopped, grabbing her shoulder. He was starting to catch on. "Wait. Are you saying that Matt Flick and Susan Blackmar…that they both like me…like the same way?"

Elizabeth bonked him on the forehead with her books. "Bingo! Give the man a prize."

Sam shook his head. "No. You're imagining things."

"Am I?"

"Well, first of all, Matt Flick isn't gay." Sam was pretty sure about that. In a school the size of theirs, that kind of information would be pretty well known pretty damn fast.

"No?" They got to the end of the park where they would part ways to go home. "If you say so. Just, watch yourself around Susan. She's a slut. I have to go, I've got about five hours of homework."

Sam watched her go, still frowning as she headed up her driveway. Why she would think that Matt Flick was even gay was beyond him…or why she thought Sam was, for that matter. Or maybe she was just fishing. Not that he had a problem with it…he just…he'd never really thought about it.

He had thought about Susan Blackmar though. She was skuzzy, even by Dean's standards. Sam shuddered and headed for home. He was surprised to find the Impala in the driveway.

"Dean?" he called as he dropped his books by the door.

"Kitchen."

Dean sneezed as Sam came into the kitchen, loud and one look was all Sam needed to know he wasn't well. His eyes were red and running, his nose was bright like Christmas lights and there was a fine layer of sweat on his face.

"You okay?"

Dean's expression was the next best thing to him actually calling Sam a moron. "Smitty was kind enough to share his cold." Dean was really congested. He sank into a chair, eyeing the cold medicine he had spread out around him.

Sam came around the table to press his hand to Dean's head. "You're pretty hot."

Dean nodded miserably. "I called Sarah, she's gonna bring the squirt home. I'm going to take something and go to bed."

"Probably a good idea." Sam sorted through the drugs. Apparently Dean had bought half the cold meds on the market. He held up the Nyquil. "Dad always took this."

Dean grinned weakly. "Probably because it has the most alcohol in it." He took the bottle anyway and cracked it open, taking a big swallow. "You okay with dinner and stuff?"

"Go, sleep. I'll disinfect the kitchen."

"Funny."

Dean shambled off, Nyquil bottle in hand. Sam cleared the table, shoving the piles of medications into the drawer by the sink before going to get his books. Might as well get the homework done before John came home.



"Dad! Sam!"

Sam looked up from his algebra homework. It was almost six. He pushed the chair back and headed out to the front of the house where John was peeling off his coat. Sarah stood in the doorway.

"Hey, thanks for bringing him home."

She smiled. "Your brother sounded pretty sick."

"Dumb cold." Sam said, half gesturing toward the stairs. "He took some stuff and went to bed."

"I hope he's okay."

"He will be, I'm sure. Nothing keeps Dean down for long."

"Okay, well, I better get home. Tell him I said hello."

John tugged on Sam's arm as Sarah closed the door behind her. "What's wrong? Why didn't he come get me?"

Sam squatted next to John. "Dean's just sick, buddy. He's okay. Just needs his rest."

John's lip was quivering. "Sick?"

"It's just a cold. He'll be fine."

"He didn't come and get me and I was alone." John said, obviously fighting back tears now. "I was afraid he forgot me."

Sam drew him into a hug. "Never. He loves you. He loves you very much. Okay?"

John drew his sleeve under his nose, wiping it before he nodded. "Okay."

"Hungry? I'll make us some ravioli."

"I like ravioli."

"Did you get all your homework done?" Sam asked as they headed into the kitchen.

"Misty helped me. She's cute."

Misty was an eighth grader whose brother was in John's class. She hung out at the center and helped the younger kids with their homework. And, Sam had to agree, she was cute. Blond hair, blue eyes. Sam blinked as he realized something. His father wasn't even seven years old, and he already had a type. Misty could have been Mary Winchester, if Mary was alive and thirteen years old.

"Little old for you, isn't she?" Sam asked as he dumped a can of ravioli into a pan.

"Sam!" John punched him in the hip. "I meant for you."

"Why is everyone trying to pair me up today?"

"Can I have beer?"

"I think we're out." Sam opened the fridge. "Yep, no more beer. But we've got lemonade."

John made a face.

"Chocolate milk?"

That got him a nod, so Sam set about making him a glass. They ate quietly until John looked up at him, his face suddenly serious. "Sammy, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Kid. Shoot."

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Sam put his spoon down and looked at John closely. John didn't seem to notice, his eyes were on his bowl. "Well…I don't know. Why?"

"I think the pool has a ghost."

He said it so calmly. Sam wasn't sure what to think. "Why do you say that?"

"That book, the one Dad took away, with my name in it? It said stuff about ghosts. And, I heard that a kid named Tommy Jacobs died in the pool like a hundred years ago, and now the water in the shower area turns on by itself and there's strange noises in the water and yesterday Andrea said something pulled on her leg." John stuffed a ravioli in his mouth and looked up at Sam while he chewed. "I'm not sure I believe Andrea though. She tells stories…and not the good kind. She once told me that her mother was an alien from Venus and her brother touched her in the bad place."

A ghost. In the pool, in the center where John swam every Tuesday and Thursday. Sam cleared his throat. "Um, well. Does this ghost hurt anyone?"

"It's a ghost." John said, as if that explained everything.

Sam wasn’t sure if he should be more concerned about the idea of a ghost, or about Andrea telling John her brother touched her.

"How about if I come by tomorrow and have a look around?"

John smiled, his face covered in sauce. "That would be cool! I can show everyone that my big brother is the best! Can you dive off the big diving board Sammy?"

"Yeah, but you know? We should probably keep the ghost stuff to ourselves, okay?"

"Right. Family business."

There was something in his tone that was so reminiscent of his father that Sam had to look to be sure. "Okay, how about a bath, and a story before bed?"



John played in the bath tub for nearly an hour while Sam scoured the house looking for his father's journal. Dean must have hidden it away.

He headed back to the bathroom, only John was gone. He heard voices though and followed them to Dean's room. John was already in his pajamas, sitting cross legged on the bed with "Hop on Pop" in his lap. One chubby little finger was following the words in the book.

Dean was awake, sort of, his eyes watching John's face as he sounded out the words. Sam watched from the doorway until John was done, looking up at Dean in triumph.

"Good, Kid. Thank you." Dean said, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

"I want you to get better." John said, putting the book aside.

"I'm sure I will." Dean coughed into his fist and John jumped off the bed, pulling the blankets up and tucking them around Dean. "You're taking very good care of me."

"You're my family." John kissed Dean's forehead. "It's my job."

"Okay, let's get you into bed too." Sam said.

"Night Dad."

John put the book away on his shelf and climbed into bed. "Sammy, are we going to go to Pastor Jim's for Thanksgiving?" John asked as he pulled his blankets up.

"Probably." Sam answered. As holidays went, Thanksgiving wasn't really high on the Winchester play list, but it meant something to Pastor Jim, so they'd probably go and help with the early meal at the shelter by the church before they settled in to eat with the priest and the others he'd taken under his wing.

"Is Pastor Jim a Winchester too?"

Sam tucked the blankets in around him. "Well, he's like an honorary Winchester."

"What's that mean?"

"He isn't really one, but we treat him like one because he's a good friend."

"Can I ask you another question?"

"You ask a lot of questions." Sam said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"That's what Mrs. Gabriel says too. So can I?"

"Yeah, sure. One more. Then it's lights out."

"Do you think Misty is cute?"

Sam wasn't going to answer that question. He kissed John's forehead and went to turn off the light. "Good night."

The last thing he need was his not quite seven year old father fixing him up with some girl who would only remind Sam of his mother. His life was complicated enough. He closed his bedroom door and undressed for bed. He was only fourteen. He shouldn't have to worry about the whole mess of dating and girls…or boys for that matter. Not yet. Even if Dean did start when he was fourteen.

He dropped into bed and let his mind wander over the images of Misty and Susan. Two complete opposites. Misty was a year younger, blond, girl next door type. Susan was his age, already had a reputation as a slut who would go to second base on the first date, and she had long, black hair she liked to play with.

Neither one of them did much for him. He put them both out of his mind and tried to sleep. It was silly. Stupid even. He was too young. Too busy.

As Sam drifted off toward sleep, another image popped into his head. A long, lithe body slicing into the water, a smile like daylight and sparkling blue eyes under a mop of soft brown hair. Sam groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, hoping it would be enough to knock him out.