Hi all, here you go. Hope you all like this little one shot. And thanks for all who read and voted ‘Party Favors’ first place in the Brotherly Bond FanFic Challenge. Just finally got around to actually posting it in the fanfiction thread here. It means so much that you enjoyed it. Hugs and happy thoughts. JJ.
The sounds of Metallica blared from his cassette player as he cruised down the pavement. Man, was he ever glad that Pastor Jim had picked his dad up and not the other way around for a change. More than just glad, as it had given him a little alone time with his favorite car. And more importantly, a little alone time with Suzie Carmichael.
Six foot one. Blond Hair. Blue Eyes. Captain of the cheering squad. And bendy beyond belief. He swallowed hard, just thinking about her and that little thing she did with her tongue. He’d never look at chocolate syrup the same way. That crap wasn’t just for ice-cream anymore and...
The nineteen-year-old’s thoughts did a tremendous job of coming to a complete and grinding halt at he surveyed the scene in front of him. “What the...” he muttered, as he turned the corner, smack dab in the middle of in Nowheresville, USA, toward their current crap-tastic rental.
It looked as if he’d driven into the middle of World War Three, or the high school equivalent of it anyway. Teenage drunkards stumbled up and down the sidewalk in singles, pairs and...eww, by the way...a few groups of trios that he didn’t even want to think about.
He shook his head. Somebody didn’t even have the sense to keep their stupid juvenile party inside where it belonged. Idiots. He was surprised the local law hadn’t shown up yet. Probably just a matter of time, though, if the noisy carnage was any indication.
The Impala rolled to a stop next to the curb and the elder Winchester brother noted that the epicenter of the stupidity was their address...at the exact moment heard his cell ring once, hang up, and then ring again in the telltale call of his father’s.
“Hey, dad,” he said, eyes wide as he stared at the door, shaking his head in disbelief. Oh, Sammy. You are so completely screwed. I hope you know that, buddy boy. “How’s the hunt going?”
“Good,” his father’s voice said. “Better than expected. Easy salt and burn. Should be home in about half an hour or so.”
“Thought you...uh...oh, that’s great, dad,” Dean recovered. “Didn’t think you’d be home til tomorrow.”
Sam’s lips curled up into a satisfied smile as she leaned into his embrace. Though afraid initially that this’d be awkward and he’d be fumbling around like an idiot, the fifteen-year-old’s first foray with the fairer sex was going better than expected.
As the party rocked around them, he’d wisely chosen his dad’s nasty old recliner in which to plant himself. It was uncomfortable. Slightly smelly. And had a metal spring that was constantly jabbing him in the tail bone. But it was also an uncomfortably, smelly, jabbing chair suited for only one person...which was why Amber was currently nestled oh so comfortably on his lap.
Thus far, they’d done nothing but kiss. There were too many warm bodies around for anything more, and besides, he wasn’t sure that he was actually ready for anything more anyway...though he did have to shift her a little on his lap so that she didn’t notice his uncomfortably throbbing ache at the very thought.
Sam ran his fingers through her soft auburn ringlets and nearly groaned aloud as she leaned in and nibbled seductively on his earlobe.
Okay, so maybe he was ready for slightly more than just a little kissing.
“How bout we go upstairs and...ow,” he began, words breaking off in a yelp as a sharp pain exploded at the back of his skull. “Son of a...”
Dean glared down at him, resisting the urge to smack the little dumbass upside the head again.
“Party’s over, Princess,” he said, lips pressed in a tight line. “You need to get all your little friends out of here...like now.”
“Screw you,” the younger Winchester said, frowning as Amber jumped to her feet and adjusted her clothes embarrassedly. “You’re not my boss.”
“This...like your dad or somethin?” she asked.
The elder teen rolled his eyes. Definitely picked a winner with this one. Choosing to keep his thoughts about Sam’s choice of playmates to himself, he physically wrenched his brother out of the chair. “Nah, sweetheart,” he said, focusing on no one but his brother. And though he was answering her question, his words were only for the youngest Winchester. “But Sammy here’s gonna get a royal butt kicking when daddy dearest gets home and finds that he threw a party when he was out of town.”
“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, a cross between righteous indignation and horrified embarrassment entering his voice at his brother’s much too telling response. The anger won, as he gave his brother a shove back. “Come off it,” he said. “Dad won’t be home til...” Then a look of pure horror crossed his face. “Wait...dad’s coming home?”
“Bout about twenty minutes out, now, brainiac,” the elder of the pair said. “His ‘business trip’ finished up earlier than planned and Jim’s gonna be droppin him off any minute now.”
“Sorry, Amber,” he said quickly, freaking out a little as he glanced from side to side stupidly. Looking around in horror at the disastrous condition of the room in which he was standing. “But you’re gonna have to head out. Bout to have uninvited company of the very pissed off parental kind.”
Sam turned around, stalking over to the wall and flipping on the light and off the blaring music. “Sorry everybody,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender at the surrounding groans at the sudden action. “Party’s over. Everybody’s gotta leave.” He drew a weary hand over his face, trying to sober himself up. “Come on, everybody out. Right now.”
“Something wrong, Johnny?” Jim asked, glancing over at his shotgun rider.
John ran a hand over his face as he stared absently down at the phone. “I don’t know...boy just sounded...don’t know, off I guess.”
“Dean would have told you if there was trouble, John,” the pastor said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sure your boys are fine.”
And the father nodded. “I know...which means if they’re not in trouble, they’re soon to be ‘in’ trouble cause they’re somehow ‘causin’ the trouble.
“Need to step on it?” he asked, motioning vaguely toward the accelerator under his foot.
“Probably,” John mused. “But it’s been a hell of a long day. Last thing I want to do tonight is have to kill my two darling little brats.”
“But you’re probably gonna, ain’t you, old buddy.”
And the father laughed aloud then, an affectionate grin playing on his lips. “No doubt in my mind.”
As the last of the party-goers staggered out the door, the two brothers stood together, shoulder to shoulder, surveying the damage. It was a nightmare. No way on earth were they gonna get all this cleaned up in fifteen minutes.
Empty and not-so-empty cups were scattered everywhere. Both an end table and a book case were upended, its contents on the floor as well. Half-gone boxes of pizza sat on the floor...one lone piece hanging very tellingly on the far wall. Trash littered every available surface. And the elder brother thought that he could spy the beginnings of a slip and slide set-up spilling over from the kitchen.
“Boy, you sure did it up good, didn’t you?” Dean muttered, still blinking in shock at the sheer amount of damage his brother and stupid friends could do in the...another glance at his watch...little over four hours that he’d been gone.
And they fell into quiet once more, precious seconds ticking away in stifling silence.
“We are so dead,” Sam said at last.
“We?” Dean said, finally turning to look at his brother, a wry snort escaping his lips before he could manfully stifle it. “Uh uh, bro,” he said. “Nice try...this is your butt on the line. Not mine.”
“You mean, you’re not gonna...” the young brother whined, turning on his puppy eyes to the full extent of their power. “Come on, Dean,” he begged. “You gotta help me, else dad’s gonna kill me.”
The elder of the pair was decidedly less than impressed as he kicked out at a group of beer cans, sending them scattering like pool balls in all directions.
At a party for fifteen year olds, for crying out loud.
And sure, he’d occasionally slipped Sam a beer or two when their father was out. But only when he could be there and make sure that his brother didn’t do anything stupid...like throwing a drinking party for a bunch of fifteen year olds in a house full of loaded deadly weapons so that the horny little dork could get into some skanky broad’s pants.
He glared across the room at his brother. “I don’t gotta do anything, Sam,” he said. “And, besides...you ask me, you’re practically begging for an ass beating for this one.” Had been for the entire week and a half that their dad had been gone, too, as a matter of fact. Another reason that he wasn’t real inclined to help him.
“Dean...” he exclaimed with an indignant growl. He frowned, leaning down to begin picking as many cans as he could and dropping them into the upended trash can. “Hope you enjoy bein an only child, then,” he muttered, with a glance at his watch. “Cause he’s gonna salt and burn me for this.”
Dean shrugged. He did feel bad for the kid, having been on his father’s crap list more than once. But, damn. A beer party. The little friggin idiot. Sam was right though, their dad was gonna murder him in about another...a glance at his watch...twelve or so minutes.
He looked around the room once more, shaking his head. There was no way, even working together that they’d get it all clean.
Maybe, he could help the kid get rid of the worst of it, though. Cause, yeah, their dad was gonna be plenty pissed at Sammy for throwing a party and letting a bunch of strangers trample around the house.
But the drinking...he shook his head again...dad was gonna go postal over that one.
With a sigh, and another glance at his watch, he bent to begin picking up the cans that he’d scattered when his little brother spoke again...a wicked gleam coming to the junior teen’s eyes.
Sam’s lips twisted up into a smug smirk, knowing just how to enlist his brother’s help. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, not even looking at him as he continued to grab the littered junk off the floor. “But it ain’t just gonna be my ass getting beat when dad gets home.” He stood, holding the trash can up to the end table as he knocked everything off into it in one fell swoop.
He felt his brother freeze at his words.
“This was your party, Sam,” Dean said, eyeing him carefully. And Sam knew that his brother was trying to determine exactly what game was being played here. “Not mine. I had no idea you even threw it til I got home.”
Another shrug as he continued to clean. “I know.”
“You trying to blackmail me, you little bitch?” the elder brother asked incredulously. “Cause it ain’t gonna work. I came home and was shocked to find all those people here.”
“I know,” Sam said, lips curling into a tight smile. “But aren’t you forgetting that whole little ‘your grounded and not to leave this house under any circumstances’ thing that dad told you before he left last week?”
“I’m...” Dean’s words trailed off helplessly and Sam knew that he had him.
“...just as royally screwed as me?” the fifteen year old supplied helpfully, still grinning. Cause sometimes it was just nice to know that he wasn’t gonna be the only one on the hot seat.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That too.”
Because they both knew that had Dean been home, he would have at least tried to keep the party under control, if not stop it altogether. And he would have at least told their father what was happening so that he wasn’t walking into the situation blind. The fact that he hadn’t meant that big brother hadn’t been home, a directly disobedient act since he’d been grounded for sneaking out to see the same chick that he’d had that nice quality time with again tonight.
The elder brother cursed quite inventively, as he, too, began furiously stuffing things into the nearest bag.
He still couldn’t believe that the little dumbass had been throwing a damn beer party. And speaking of that, he eyed his brother carefully. “You been drinking tonight, Sam?”
“Sam...” he said, eyes narrowing as he stepped toward his brother.
“Do not lie to me. ” he said. “Were you drinking?”
The younger brother’s eyes shifted away guiltily and the fact that he couldn’t meet his gaze told Dean all that he wanted to know.
“Damn it, Sammy,” the elder brother growled. “Come here.”
Sam’s eyes shifted to his. “Wha...”
“Come on geek boy,” he said. “Even drunk, I’m sure that I’m not using too big a words for you. Now, get your butt over here.”
Reluctantly, the young brother padded across the floor toward him. And just as soon as his little brother was in arm reach, he growled dangerously, grabbing him by the shoulder with one arm and giving him a sharp shake. “What the hell were you thinking, Sam?” he asked, voice icily quiet, cracking him upside the back of his head again sharply.
“Dean...” he said quietly, imploring puppy dog eyes working full throttle and the room settled into a heavy silence. “It was just one beer, Dean,” he said at last. “I swear. That’s all.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking at all, Sammy,” Dean said at last, letting go of the grip he had on his little brother. “You’re too young.”
“I know,” he said, holding up his hand. “I’ve given you a few drinks. But only when I’ve been here to make sure you’re okay. That you’re safe,” he said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you and...” And his mouth snapped shut, realizing that his words were jutting far to close to ‘chick’ for his liking. Abruptly turning around, he grabbed a few things off the floor, to hide the blush that was creeping over his chiseled features.
Sam blinked a few times, biting his lip. “Dean...”
“Tell you another thing, you little bitch,” Dean said, cutting off whatever his little brother was gonna say, sensing the sob-like-girl thing on the horizon. He grinned as his brother’s woebegone look. Kid was nothing if not predictable. “By some miracle and we get away with this and dad doesn’t salt and burn our asses...” he said. “I’m so kicking yours.”
“Fair enough,” the younger brother grinned, sensing a forgiveness in the brotherly comment. He nodded once, throwing a ‘jerk’ over his shoulder as he grabbed a towel and started blotting up a stain on the couch. Then deciding that one was a lost cause and that there were bigger fish to fry at the moment and simply turned it over so the stain was slightly less of a blaring giveaway of what had gone on here.
“Sam, catch,” the elder pair called out, after he’d grabbed another trash bag from the kitchen.
The fifteen-year-old turned, bag open, just in time as a series of can’s came flying at him missile style rom across the room. Catching them one by one...and looking like some ridiculous game show challenge...it quickly became clear that they could cover the ground much faster working as a team than fumbling around as individuals and bumping into each other.
As quickly as possible, they rid the room of the last of the party memorabilia, then split off once more: Dean taking the bags full of evidence and putting it in the neighbor around the block’s garbage and Sam heading upward to make sure the second story of their humble abode was still standing.
Finding it all clear, Sam came back down the steps, an unbelievably relieved smile on his face. He couldn’t believe that they’d actually done it.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Two minutes. Two bloody minutes until their father was due home. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips.
At that moment, Dean came back in the door, a mirror image of relief on his face.
“I can’t believe we did it, Dean,” he said, hitting the bottom step just as a funny look crossed his brother’s face.
The nineteen year old shook his head frantically, but Sam didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“I mean,” Sam continued. “We actually pulled one over on the old man,” a laugh bubbled from his chest as he walked fully into the room. “For once in out lives we actually...” And then he noticed how pale his brother had become. “Dean what’s...oh, God,” he said, going quite pale himself. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
Dean nodded, face scrunched in misery. “Yep.”
The youngest Winchester turned the corner to come face to face with his father...cursing their luck of living in a rental with a back door for the first time in their lives. “Hey, dad,” he said softly, realizing that he’d just managed to screw them both.
John stood, half leaning on the back of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, Sammy,” he said, the barest hints of dry humor in his voice.
He nodded to himself, looking at both of them in turn.
Then he turned to examine the immaculate room and barely suppressed a snort of outright amusement over the fact that whatever his little darlings had been up to could never stay hidden for long...especially with his youngest’s motor mouth.
But he did manage to suppress it...barely...not wanting his little brats to think that he thought their antics funny.
After all, how could he play...what his youngest has long ago dubbed him...his ‘mad dad’ routine when he was grinning like an idiot at just how adorable they looked with their little woebegone faces of theirs.
And they were cute little brats, damn it. Especially when they were conniving together over some sort of mischief, which was clearly the case here.
“Somethin you boys wanted to tell me?” the knowing father asked at last forcing his features to remain emotionless.
The two teens...the two brothers...glanced guiltily at each other once more. And they unconsciously moved a few steps closer together, both silently trying to pull out some mental gymnastics that could get them out of this.
As they stood there side by side, one fact became clear: they were both in too deep to save their own hides.
But at least if they were on the hook, they were hanging there together. Brothers to the end...even if their end was, in fact, their father planting his size eleven boot right up their ‘ends.’ Brothers no matter what.
Another glance at each other.
They were so screwed.
~ THE END ~ :rolleyes: