The Whisperings of Angels
Notes: This is a gradual building fic. I am using Ridley's Caleb G . This features teen Dean and Sam. All erros are my own, because if I didnt start posting this now, then I would have chickened out. LOL--Ridley pushed me. Warnings for language (not much but may as well say something).
Seventeen year old Dean Winchester sat on the bench in Southmont Senior High School's courtyard. It was a brilliant spring day in Indiana, the first warm day and many students took their lunch outside. For the oldest Winchester brother, having lunch outside was normal. He did not need the socialization of the cafeteria. It made him a loner, but having friends meant sharing and answering questions. Dean was not about to answer questions.
He transcended the social structure of school. He was a jock, playing baseball in a Division 3 school, so he would never draw attention to his talents. He was good, and helped his teams get to the finals. The Mounties had lost last year, but this could be their year. Dean did his homework, passed tests and was well-liked because no one knew him.
The usual students were in the courtyard, shifted to the fringes by the mainstream teens. The Goths, the rockers, the anti-social, smokers and burnouts each had their own sections in the grassy area. Dean recognized a bit of himself in each group.
One of the Goth girls, her hair died an eggplant color and twisted into dread locks gave him a nodded greeting. He jutted out his chin in acknowledgement. Her heavy dark eye makeup accentuated her blue eyes, and pale skin. Dean remembered her name was Brenda. She usually wore dark lipstick too, but had eaten it off during lunch. She had a thin frame, and the black jeans and baggy shirt made her look too skinny.
The bell rang; giving a ten minute warning that lunch period 'A' was concluded. Dean crumpled his brown bag. Peanut butter and jelly again with a granola bar and soda from the vending machine. Sam had the same lunch. On Friday, Dean gave Sam lunch money to eat at the cafeteria, but other than that money was tight and peanut butter was cheap.
He tossed the bag in the trash before entering the school again. He shifted his Chemistry book to his other arm, using his right to push his hair off his forehead. When summer came he would buzz cut it again. The shorter haircut was easier on the road and to deal with in the hotter climates.
After school he headed to baseball practice. Taking the field in his role as third baseman, Dean punched his fist in his well worn glove, keeping alert and his hands occupied. Austin came to bat, calling out to his teammates. "I'm feeling a homerun, boys."
The eldest Winchester brother laughed. Austin had yet to get a homerun in his two years at varsity level baseball.
From first base, Craig called out to the coach. "Hey, Coach Waynes, if Austin gets a homerun can go home early?"
"He does it, practice is over." The coach yelled out. "Come on, look sharp boys."
Dean was not counting on being home at an early hour. Monday and Wednesday was baseball practice after school. Then home for homework and to cook dinner. On Tuesday and Thursday he checked on Sam before heading to work at the hardware store where he helped to restock. The weekends were reserved for hunting trips.
The incredible happened; on the second swing Dean heard the familiar sweet crack. It was a home run. The team rushed forward, whooping and yelling, tackling Austin who was standing dazed at his accomplishment.
The young hunter still had a smile on his face when he walked through the door of their rented house. It was a clapboard structure, with too many drafts, but it had the necessities, all in working order.
"Hey," Dean greeted his brother, coming out of the kitchen with a package of Oreo cookies under his arm.
"Hey," Sam stated, his eyes flicked to the brown plaid couch. The remote control lay there invitingly.
Dean dropped his books, as his younger brother flung the cookies away. The lighter haired brother dove for the remote, only making it skid to the ground. Sam pounced on top of his older brother. Dean grunted, bringing his knee up, he gained leverage and flipped his brother. He placed his forearm on his brother's throat and reached for the remote control, releasing Sam once it was firmly in his grip.
The younger brother pushed him off, sitting up. "What are you doing home early?"
Dean sat on the couch, and turned the television on with a flick of his finger. "Coach called it a day, 'cause we're that good." The older brother waved the remote in front of Sam and then snatched it back. "We are the Champions. . ." He sang the Queen song louder as he noticed his younger brother pouting. "Sammmy, I hooked up the cable."
"You are stealing the cable from the neighbors." Sam stood up, going to fetch the discarded Oreos.
"I love them—they have premium channels." Dean went through the television channels at a fast rate, looking for something that would catch his eye. Sam sat next his brother. "Don't you have homework?" The lighter haired brother sighed, wanting a few moments to unwind on his own.
Sam took apart the Oreo cookie and licked the icing before replying. "Don't you?"
Dean pushed at his brother to get him to move off of the sofa. "Yeah, but I like a little background noise." His brother shrugged his shoulders, and got up to leave. "Leave the Oreos." The older brother ordered the younger, who just laughed, and bit into another cookie.
"Dad coming home tonight?" Sam asked with black crumbs on his lips.
The older teen decided on a repeat of Baywatch. Their father had gone on a hunt for werewolves, and would more than likely be back on Wednesday. Sam knew this, but still asked believing that Dean at seventeen was kept better informed. "Nah, I don't think so. What do you want for dinner?'
Sam grabbed a handful of cookies and then tossed the package to his brother, "Breakfast."
Dean nodded. He enjoyed pancakes and bacon for dinner too. The Winchester boys found breakfast foods easier to cook than real dinner foods. "Okay, I'm working tomorrow so I'll pick up Chinese food on my way home."
The next day, Dean swung his backpack onto one shoulder and filed out with the other students. The teenager was always aware of his surroundings. He scanned the area as he walked to the Impala. Off to the side, Brenda sat on a park bench. They were in the same English class; she sat on the right by the door. She had been absent in class.
Caleb would call it, 'Damsel in Distress Syndrome,' but Dean justified it as taking the long way to the car.
"Hey," he announced himself, resting his backpack on the park bench, pretending to look for something as he opened one of the pouches.
"Winchester," she replied, flicking her eyes up in recognition of her classmate. She wiped her eyes, the dark makeup smudging under her tears.
Dean cocked his head to the side. "Are you okay?"
She blinked a few times, but still the tears escaped. Roughly, this time, she wiped at them. She looked at the makeup that had transferred to her hand, and then gave him a watery smile. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
The young hunter returned his backpack to his shoulder. He still wanted to keep the inquiry casual. "You weren't in school today."
"You keeping tabs on me Winchester?" She chuckled, but the laughter didn't reach her still sorrowful eyes.
Dean shrugged his shoulders. "No, I just notice things."
Brenda bit her lip, and gave him a nod, "Me too."
Dean glanced at his watch. "Do you need a ride home?" He figured he would give the girl one last chance by offering her a ride. There wasn't more he could really do.
She shook her head. "No, I'm waiting for someone."
The eldest Winchester brother studied her once again, reaffirming he didn't have time to get involved with his fellow students and their problems. He had his own to deal with, "See you around." Dean stated as he walked quickly to the Impala.
He needed to check on Sam, before going to work. He went through the house in a whirlwind. Dropped off his books at the door, went into the kitchen where he found a note from Sam, "Went to the library," the oldest Winchester brother read it out loud. He pinned the note back on the refrigerator, writing that he would be home by 7. Dean opened the refrigerator, pulled out the milk and took a swig from the carton. He ate the remaining Oreos, mentally noting he had to add them to the grocery list. He collected the sack of laundry. On his way to work he would drop it off at the laundry mat. A little flirting and Brigitte, the nineteen year old manager, would have it ready for him after work.
By a little after 2 he was at Palmer's Hardware and Lumber Company, stacking boxes and unloading others. He hated the smell of wood. Dean had thought it had a clean smell, but after a few hours it made him nauseous. He stopped gagging after the first day, but the smell lingered on his clothes and even after taking a shower he was sure it would occasionally waft up to him as if it was in his pores. But, he could come and go as he pleased and he was paid in cash.
At 6 he called it a day. It had started to rain, and Dean ran to the Impala so as not to get too wet. There was parking on Darlington Avenue in Crawfordsville, the town next door to Darlington. His first stop was to Beijing Chinese Restaurant to put in his dinner order- Chicken Fingers, Terrayaki Beef, Spareribs, Kung Pow Chicken, and Pork Fried Rice. The laundry mat was a few doors down.
"Hey, Brigitte," he said to the blonde, seated on a stool reading the latest Cosmopolitan in the heated room.
She smiled as she folded up the magazine and put it to the side. She spoke softly to the teen. "Hey, Dean, your bag is right there." She pointed to the tall duffle bag. "I used some fabric softener too."
The young hunter smiled. The towels were getting rough. He would have to replenish their supply at their next motel stay. "So, maybe next weekend?"
"Maybe," she tucked her hair back, shyly.
"You know that I wear boxers and all I get is a maybe?" Dean had been playing this game with her since finding the laundry mat. He didn't actually want to date Brigitte and ruin the great arrangement.
She got back on the stool and blushed as she answered. "I like the plaid ones."
He winked at her. "I'll remember that."
Dean dropped the laundry bag back at the car, and then returned for his Chinese food order. The brown paper bag was sitting on the counter, with a small bag of fortune cookies stapled to the top.
As he pulled into the drive, the Impala's headlights highlighted his father's truck and the rag tag Jeep parked along side it. In one hand he held the laundry, and he tucked the Chinese food bag under his other arm. He opened the door to the house, and saw Caleb lounging on the couch. A neat white bandage was over his left eye. Dean tossed the laundry at the family friend, hitting him in the stomach.
"Uhh," Caleb exclaimed, pushing the bag off and rubbing his stomach.
"I didn't get enough Chinese food."
Reaves stood up, stretching his arms up long. "Well, you'll just have to go back out again."
Dean smiled and raised his eyebrows with a taunt. "Make me."
Sam walked through the living room, pulling the bag out of his brother's hands. He glanced at both young hunters, and shook his head at their antics. "They stopped at KFC." He informed Dean.
The teen smiled. "Smorgasbord," Caleb walked over to Dean who put his fist out. Caleb brought his fist up and bumped it up against Dean's in greeting. "How did it go?"
"Three werewolves," Reaves smiled, knowing the oldest Winchester brother would be jealous. They walked into the small kitchen together where John had laid out the food and paper plates.
"You didn't take a token of the hunt again-did you?" Sam asked as he sat down, piling his plate with the Colonel Sander's best.
"You remember the last time. . ." Dean said laughing, remembering the incident of a year ago.
Caleb took the container of spareribs and shook some onto his plate. "Yeah, like how was I supposed to know the stupid thing would come back to life."
"I told you." Sam replied. His brother prided himself on providing research for the hunters.
"You tell me a lot of things. . ." Reaves bit into one of the spareribs with a grin.
"And you ignore me." The youngest Winchester finished off the sentence for the hunter.
Dean thought that in the future Caleb would listen to Sam, because being attacked by a demon goat had wounded Reaves and also injured his ego. "What taxidermist would have mounted it for you anyway?" The teen interjected.
"Bobby," Caleb shrugged his shoulders as if the Winchesters should have assumed the answer. Reaves waved a chicken wing, and changed the subject. "How's baseball?"
"Good, this kid Austin. . ." Dean started the story of his teammate's homerun, but was interrupted by his father.
"Did you pick up what I needed at the auto parts store?" John asked, taking a swig of beer.
Dean dropped his gaze. "No, I thought you wouldn't be home until tomorrow. Sorry, sir."
The silence from his father was one of disappointment. Caleb cleared his throat, and described the werewolf hunt, adding in his own asides to the enjoyment of the Winchester brothers. Reaves had John grinning before long. The plates were disposed of, and the two brothers headed upstairs to finish homework.
"You crashing on the couch?" Dean asked Caleb as he fetched his book bag. He was hoping the other hunter would stay awhile.
"Yeah, gotta head out tomorrow. A construction gig," Reaves explained as he made himself comfortable on the couch with a beer in one hand and the remote control in the other. "Are you disappointed?"
"Hell, yeah, I needed some extra cash and you lose at pool so well." Dean paused at the stairs, which led to the upstairs bedrooms.
Caleb placed a finger on his temple and rubbed, mimicking his actions when he was using his psychic abilities. "Or maybe you're not getting any action and need someone to lead the way."
"I'm not anyone's wingman." Dean raised his middle finger and started up the stairs.
Reaves laughed at the teen's response, "Hey, not making any promises, 'cause shit happens, but maybe I can make one of your baseball games."
Dean stopped on the landing, and chuckled, "What you going to embarrass me? 'Cause I will so introduce you as my uncle."
"Really, but if you are going to pull that uncle shit. . ." Caleb rubbed his chin. "When is your next home game?"
The younger hunter shrugged his shoulders and headed up the remaining stairs. "Schedule is on the refrigerator." He didn't count on Caleb actually coming to the game. A lot of promises to Dean had been broken in his seventeen years so he didn't put much stock into them.