Title : Repercussions
Author: morning sunlight
Artist: theo-winterwood made art for this story. You can see it at livejournal - link from my journal (morning_sunlite).
Genre : Gen, preseries
Rating : PG-13+ (for language and refs to violence and death – nothing v. graphic in fic)
Characters : Dean (aged 14), Sam (aged 10), Pastor Jim and two OMC
Word Count: 31,238
Summary : Dean and Sam are staying with Pastor Jim while John is away hunting. The repercussions of a bit of fun nearly spoil Dean's one chance at friendship with someone who understands what it is to be a hunter's son, constantly moving and changing schools and left alone in motels with no parent and no way to know if the one parent you do have will ever come back alive.
An escalating series of mishaps mean that Dean needs to work with Sam and his former friend to protect the Pastor. Can he overcome the mistakes he made and retrieve the friendship enough to save the day?
Disclaimer : Neither the Winchesters nor Pastor Jim belong to me.
Thanks to gestaltrose for the beta support.
"Jordan!" Dean's voice was anxious. "Jordan, stop! Please!"
"What? I thought you were asleep back there, dude." Jordan laughed without taking his eyes away from the road. He couldn't afford to lose concentration now; the road was slick with rain.
"Jordan, please! Stop the car!" the fourteen-year-old's voice cracked as he pleaded and Jordan laughed again, knowing how much Dean hated the way his voice was breaking and swinging from one pitch to another seemingly at random. He pressed the pedal to the floor and felt the surge of the car beneath him as he sped along the highway towards the Pastor's house, wondering for the first time how he was going to sneak Dean back into the house in this state.
Moments later the sound of retching came from the backseat and Jordan instantly regretted both the sudden increase in speed and not stopping when Dean had asked. He kind of regretted the last beer that he'd let the younger boy have as well but, yeah well, watching Dean flirting with the girls afterwards had still been kind of funny.
"Fuck! Dean, you are cleaning my car, bitch! God, I can't believe you, man," the eighteen year old groaned as he pulled the car over to check on his companion. Dean moaned sorrowfully. As the car stopped, Dean dashed from the car and threw up again at the side of the road.
Jordan peered over the backseat cautiously to see the damage, relieved to see that it was surprisingly small. He looked out at Dean and saw the younger boy had hold of something. He opened the car door and walked round to check on his friend. "You do know it's so not cool to be puking your guts like this. Those girls will not be impressed!"
"Fuck you!" Dean wheezed.
"What have you got in your hand?" Jordan reached to take whatever Dean was holding in a death grip in his hand. Dean started to pull it away only to succumb to another round of retching. "Urgh! Gross! You threw up in a t-shirt . . . a t-shirt, Dean!!! That was my t-shirt!" The disgust changed to indignation.
"Sorry," Dean moaned, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before clutching at his head and letting out a mournful groan.
"You are going to have to pull yourself together before we get back to the Pastor's, dude, or the shit is really gonna hit the fan." Dean didn't respond, just turned back and headed to the car, collapsing miserably into the backseat.
Jordan settled himself back into the driver's seat and checked back on Dean before pulling out on to the road. "Look, Dean, just rest, I'll drive carefully and say if you need to stop, huh? I will, I promise. Just you know, try and get a grip on your stomach before we get back, please." Jordan knew it was probably asking too much to expect the fourteen-year-old to actually be able to have any real control over his nausea at this point but then Dean was one of a kind. It's not like Jordan would have taken any fourteen year old with him on a night out; he had standards after all. For a start he'd elected to take the fourteen-year-old Dean with him, rather than Brandon, even though Brandon was older. Brandon was a jackass and that was being polite. The twenty-year-old was an idiot on a good day and a twisted son of a bitch on the other seven days of the week.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up outside the Pastor's house, disappointed to see the downstairs light on. So no luck on the Pastor being in bed and him being able to sneak Dean in without him noticing through the front door and hoping he could get the boy up the stairs and into bed. Turning the car off, Jordan let his head drop back against the seat as he tried to figure out a way to get Dean back in the way they'd come out . . . through their bedroom window. If Dean had been sober, as opposed to almost comatose on the back seat, a quick shimmy up the tree and in would not have been an issue. Sammy probably wouldn't have even rolled over, let alone waking the Pastor at the other end of the hall with Brandon in the room between snoring. Stealth was not an issue with Dean normally, thanks to all of his father's training, although Jordan didn't think this was quite what the great John Winchester had in mind when he had either of his boys training. Even little Sammy, who almost never shut up unless he was asleep, was surprisingly stealthy when the need arose . . . or the urge, as Jordan had discovered last time Sammy had crept up on him making out with Amanda, the older of the Foster girls, behind the church.
The outside light flicked on and Jordan knew that any remaining luck he might have had was currently disappearing into the distance faster than the speed of light. He heard the house door open and turned his head to look across at the stern figure of the Pastor stood framed in the doorway. Yep, his luck had definitely vanished; the only thing that could be worse . . . no . . . now was not the time to even contemplate the possibility of either his own father or even worse Dean's father being inside. Surely even he couldn't be that out of luck.
"Dean!" he whispered hoarsely, hoping the younger boy would pull himself together enough to be able to get them into the house without too much fuss. "Dean!" he said again, more urgently. Nothing – not even a murmur nor a groan nor . . . "Shit! Dean!" he said, turning to look over his shoulder as he saw the Pastor begin to move forward from the doorway.
Nothing, there was not even the slightest reaction from the boy on the backseat who was currently faced down. Jordan's eyes widened in horror and he started clambering furiously over the seat and shaking Dean frantically. "Dean! Wake up, dude! Fuck, please don't be dead!"
As the Pastor pulled the rear door open, Dean finally groaned. "Well, Jordan, what a surprise to see you both here now – I'm certain I saw you both heading upstairs to bed earlier this evening!"
"Umm, yes sir! Dean's not feeling too good right now. I think maybe something we ate at dinner is disagreeing with him!"
The Pastor paused in his attempt to roll Dean over to turn his gaze on the older teenager, who seemed to shrink back under his glowering look. "Really, something we ate at dinner! I find that hard to believe given that the rest of us all seem fine." He paused a moment before adding, "And the fact that it smells like a brewery in here. Is there something else you want to tell me, Jordan?"
The older teenager shook his head slowly and bit his lip.
Pastor Jim turned his focus back to the fourteen year old on the back seat, resisting the urge to laugh at Jordan, knowing that he was busy trying to figure out a way to get himself off the hook, without getting Dean into more trouble. "You'd better get round here and help me get Dean out and upstairs then, hadn't you?"
"Yes sir!" he answered, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush to get out of the car and round to help the Pastor.
"Come on, Dean. Time to get inside and into bed," Jim Murphy said, soothingly to the groaning teen.
"Don't feel so good, Pastor Jim. . ." Dean slurred.
"I'm sure you don't, so let's get you inside and sleeping this off properly and we'll talk about it all tomorrow, you and I, my boy."
"Yeahssssir," he drawled.
Jordan helped the Pastor take Dean's weight and lead him up the steps to the front of the house. They took him through into the kitchen, where Jim could check him over for signs of anything other than intoxication. "Jordan, bring a large glass of water over please," Jim said without looking across at the older boy, who was hovering nervously by the door, "And then you can go and make up the pull-out bed in my room – I shall keep Dean with me for the night rather than have him disturbing Sammy as something tells me, he's not going to have an easy night." Jordan did as he was asked silently.
He made his way up the stairs, head hanging sorrowfully, thinking back over the evening and how maybe it hadn't been worth it. He'd certainly never intended for Dean to end up this drunk, just more relaxed, a little tipsy even had seemed like it might be fun. His way was blocked as he reached the top of the stairs. Brandon was lounging across the hallway grinning inanely. "Oh dear! Is Jordan feeling sorry for himself?" The young man sneered. "Not in trouble with the Pastor by any chance, are you?"
"What would you know about it, asshole?" Jordan shoved past on his way to the Pastor's room.
"Wonder how the Pastor knew you were out? I knew you were going to meet those girls, so as soon as you'd gone, I went and woke him up and let him know. 'Oh Pastor Jim, you know I don't really want to say this, but I think Jordan is leading young Dean astray!'" he mimicked laughing.
Jordan swung round, pushing Brandon up against the wall, his own superior fitness and training, courtesy of Dean's dad allowing him to shift Brandon's heavier figure. "You are a. . ."
Jordan's words were cut off by the sound of the Pastor's voice, "Jordan! Have you made that bed up yet? Some amongst us would like to try and get some rest tonight!"
"I'm on it, sir," he called back down the stairs, stepping back and letting Brandon go. He walked towards the Pastor's room, turning at the last minute to say, "This isn't over, Brandon. I can wait, don't worry, you haven't got away with it."
Brandon laughed as he headed back to his own room. Jordan sighed and moved to finish the task at hand before heading back down to help the Pastor get Dean up to bed.
With Dean in bed and asleep again, the Pastor turned his attention fully to Jordan. "Downstairs now! We'll talk about this down there," he said ushering the teenager from the room.
They went into the kitchen and Jordan sat down in his seat at the table, head dropping to rest on his hands. The Pastor walked across to retrieve another large glass of water which he placed in front of Jordan saying, "Drink that," before seating himself at the table and watching. Jordan took a few healthy gulps of the water before the Pastor spoke again, "Where do you want to start?"
"I . . . um . . ."
"Or shall I?" Jordan's eyes closed and he bit his lip, before he lifted his head, opened his eyes to look sorrowfully at the Pastor. "Right, so you have absconded with a minor this evening? You have drunk alcohol under age. That's not even considering where you obtained that liquor! You have helped a minor drink alcohol and become intoxicated. You have driven your car under the influence of alcohol. You have lied . . . have I missed anything?"
"Are you sure, Jordan?" The boy shook his head. "Can I expect any parents of any other minors to turn up at my door tomorrow complaining about the problems you and Dean have caused?"
"No sir. We . . . That's all we did, sir. There was some drink. There were some girls but . . ."
"All! And But! But what, Jordan?"
"We kissed. . . I - I mean . . . Dean kissed one; I kissed another, not each other, sir." The boy flustered. "That's as far as it went, sir, honestly. I mean, there wasn't any . . . you know. . . I wouldn't let Dean do that, sir! The girls brought some of the alcohol, they were drinking their own stuff; I didn't give them ours."
"So you're a mean date then!" The Pastor couldn't resist the jibe, even as he did his best to hide the urge to laugh at the teen. "You wouldn't let Dean do that . . . you mean if you hadn't had Dean with you, you would have done more than kiss the girls and the list of transgressions would have been longer still! Jordan, is that what you're telling me?"
"Um. . . I mean. . . I don't know. . . I'm not sure, it . . . we . . . might have . . . maybe?"
The Pastor stood up quickly and paced away from Jordan, bringing a hand up to his mouth to hide the grin that was fixed there for the moment. Calming himself down again, Jim turned back with a grim mask hiding his humor. "Jordan, I am disappointed in you! I really am! I rely on you when you're here with the younger boys. This evening's events cannot go unpunished; you do realize that, don't you?"
"Yes sir," came the pitiful answer from the boy at the table.
"Right, this is the plan for tomorrow . . . you will have all laundry duties, from collection right through to the pressing of those items which require it. You better hope that Dean isn't ill too often tonight!" He smirked inwardly at the look of torture on Jordan's face. "You will complete your chores and Dean's because thanks to you, he will be in no fit state to do anything tomorrow. And with Dean out of action, you will also find yourself taking care of Sammy for the day . . ."
"Sammy? But . . .?"
"But, Jordan? Did you really want to say something?" Jim asked sternly. The teen shook his head quickly. "I didn't think you did. You will take care of Sammy tomorrow and help him with his chores and his studying as Dean would do normally. As far as Sammy is concerned, your 'story' about Dean having food poisoning isn't going to work. Even Sammy at ten is bright enough to know that when we all ate the same lasagna the likelihood of only Dean being ill is small, so the story will be that Dean has caught a stomach bug and that he is staying in my room so the rest of you don't catch it. Is that clear?"
"Now then, as for talking to your father about this . . ."
"My Dad! Oh no!" Jordan groaned.
"And of course, John will need to be told as well . . ." Jim watched gleefully as the torment of his own father finding out what he'd done was replaced by abject horror at the prospect of John Winchester knowing. "I figure we can wait until they return, I think I can deal with the matter until then. There aren't going to be any further incidents of any sort before then, are there?"
"No sir, definitely not sir. Absolutely not, nothing." The boy's assurances rambled on until Jim stopped him.
"Right, well bed then and you'd better make sure you're up early in the morning, because you have a lot to do tomorrow and don't forget about Samuel." Jim watched as Jordan raced from the room, heard him take the stairs two or possibly even more steps at a time and rush up to get to bed. Jim let himself drop back relaxed against the back of the chair and let the smile that had been dying to get out since the boys got home and he knew they were safe sit on his face while he contemplated what Dean's punishment could be. Jordan's was easy. Just having to look after Samuel on his own would have done it, but throwing in Dean's chores and the laundry for good measure just finished it nicely for him. So much for a day off . . . Jordan would find himself busy all day tomorrow and back at his vacation job at the car lot the day after.
Dean rolled over and groaned as the sunlight glared down straight into his eyes. His head hurt. His stomach hurt. He ached. He felt . . . urgh! He felt terrible. What the hell had happened?
The light was too bright so he screwed his eyes even tighter closed before it occurred to him that that couldn't be right. His bed was the furthest from the window, nearest to the door. His pillow and therefore his head were sheltered from the glare of sunlight through the window by the closet. . . Jordan's bed was by the window . . . Sammy's bed? . . . Sunlight maybe but. . . Dean cracked one eye open to be hit face on by full sunlight glaring through open curtains, almost directly in front of his bed.
Shit! How heavily had he slept that Jordan had managed to shift the beds round without him noticing?! Dad would murder him if he found out, so much for being alert even when he was asleep, always on guard to protect Sammy.
Dean closed his eye again, wincing at the pain in his head as he started to pull the covers over his head. He stopped when he heard Jordan's voice outside shouting, "Aw! No! Sammy, come here, little dude! Don't do that!"
Sammy! Jordan! Shit! Dean rolled over to get his hands underneath him to push himself up. If Sam was up, then Dean should be up, should be . . . getting him breakfast, helping him with his chores and his training. As Dean pushed himself up, the pain in his head escalated and was joined by a very distinct twist in his stomach that made him think of . . . vomit! Urgh! He stilled, hoping the feeling would pass. He waited, counting the seconds before giving up and pushing himself the rest of the way up at speed and heading for the bathroom. He made it just in time, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet in time to throw up.
By the time he'd finished, he accepted the fact that he pretty much felt like Death. He headed for the sink to brush his teeth before eyeing up the shower. Vertical did not seem to be agreeing with him at all this morning and he wasn't convinced that he was up to standing in the shower long enough to feel better.
Maybe if he was ill, the Pastor wouldn't mind if he stayed in bed a little longer. Maybe Jordan wouldn't mind looking after Sammy for a while too. Yeah that sounded like a really good idea. Dean made his way slowly from the bathroom across the hall to his bedroom.
Funny that! He didn't remember closing the door behind him as he'd come out . . . He opened the door and . . . the beds were in their usual place . . . that couldn't be right! Dean remembered the sunlight on his face and stared at his bed in confusion . . . His made bed . . . Dean brought a hand up to massage his sore head as he tried to work out what was going on.
A sudden thought crossed his mind, he'd run to the bathroom . . . he'd run further than he should have needed to run . . .He turned slowly and made his way back to the door to look out into the hallway. Brandon's door was closed but . . . the Pastor's door was open. . . Dean relaxed a fraction. He must have been really ill, that's why he was feeling so awful now and why he was struggling to remember what had happened. He must have slept in the Pastor's room, it had happened before when one of them were ill, the Pastor would put them to sleep in his room so that he could watch over them and to reduce the chances of them passing whatever they'd got to whoever else was staying at the time. It all made sense now.
Feeling easier about it all, Dean made his way carefully down the hall to the Pastor's room, one hand trailing against the wall to help him keep his balance. He went into the room and saw the unmade bed in front of the window and smiled to himself, remembering the panic he'd felt when he thought Jordan had managed to move his bed while he'd slept. He lowered himself back onto the bed and swung his legs up settling back down and pulling the covers up.
He wondered how long he'd been ill. He didn't remember much at all. In fact the last thing he remembered was . . . oh! Fuck! Shit! Fuckity Shit! Shittity Fuck! Drinking beer with Jordan and . . . and oh God! It couldn't be true! He didn't . . . he couldn't have . . . Jordan was never going to let him live it down if he had actually thrown up in the back of the car!
Dean was torn between the urge to pull the covers over his head and hope he died quickly before anyone came and found him or pushing himself up and out of bed and facing the demons head on to find out just how bad the situation was. Had Pastor Jim worked out that he'd been drinking? Oh! Just imagine if he told Dad. Dean gave in and pulled the covers up, closing his eyes and just hoping that the end came quickly.
Moments later he heard Sammy's voice laughing outside the window, "Jordan! No! Put me down! Put me down!"
Okay, so maybe dying right now wasn't such a good idea. Dean couldn't expect Jordan to look after Sammy indefinitely and keep him safe from Brandon and . . . stuff. Dean sighed and pushed the covers down a little until his nose was peeking out into the fresher air but he shifted so that he could throw an arm over his eyes to keep the light out.
Heavy footsteps came up the stairs. . . didn't sound like Pastor Jim, sounded like someone stomping up the stairs in a bad mood and yeah, well, even when the Pastor was pissed, Dean couldn't think of a time when he'd ever stomped up the stairs like that. He could still hear Sammy laughing outside with Jordan so that left . . . Brandon or . . . Please don't let Dad have come back early! Dean thought silently.
The footsteps stopped directly outside the door and Dean held his breath anxiously. All of a sudden, Brandon's voice shouted angrily over the banister, "I don't see why the fuck I should have to do it – if that little shit can't control himself, he should get extra bathroom duties and have to clean up." Pastor Jim's voice came up the stairs in response, apparently not angry, not even all that loud, Dean couldn't make out all the words, something about it was Brandon's turn on bathroom duties regardless of Dean not being well and perhaps something about it wasn't like he was being asked to actually clean up after Dean anyway. Dean cringed. He could imagine the look on Brandon's face, imagine the torture he'd be planning and he really didn't feel up to trying to stand up to the twenty-year-old today. It was a long standing argument and Dean was always grateful for Jordan's help and intervention, even though he wouldn't ask for it. It was important to be strong and self-reliant, that was what Dad always said.
The only reason he wasn't a pile of pulp was the fact that Brandon had no idea how to fight, run or, well basically, anything. His father might be a hunter, but the only part of that that he'd successfully passed onto the idle and obnoxious young man was Brandon's like of violence and seeing weaker and more vulnerable people hurt, Dean and Sam were prime targets for that, and his fondness for guns. But the Pastor was very particular about guns and none of them were allowed to handle guns without the Pastor's direct supervision. If it hadn't been for that fact Dean would have been more worried; he didn't trust Brandon not to shoot him or Jordan in the back just for the hell of it. He figured Sammy was probably safe for now but only because Brandon got enough amusement out of tormenting the young boy until he cried.
All of a sudden, Dean jerked upright to a loud bang on the door. He'd known Brandon wasn't going to be happy but he didn't think anything would really happen until he got up and ventured out of the room. It sounded like Brandon had kicked the door. Dean waited, breath held nervously. He could still hear Jordan and Sammy outside so he was either going to have to manage to deal with this himself or he was going to have to call out for Pastor Jim and that was so much a bad move. One thing he hated doing was going to moan to an adult to sort his problems out.
There wasn't another sound, not even the usual creaking of floorboards as someone walked between the upstairs rooms. He and Jordan had spent ages working out exactly how to cross the hall silently and which of the stairs creaked so they could sneak in and out without being caught. Not that they often used the stairs; on the whole it was quicker and less risky to just climb out of the window of their room. Sam slept soundly so it wasn't like they were going to disturb him.
Dean waited, holding still, counting as the time passed and the seconds turned to minutes. Finally he began to relax; Brandon wasn't patient there was no way he'd still be stood outside the room. He let himself drop back down on the bed, feeling as the nausea swept back over him now the rush of nervous adrenaline had passed. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself.
Gradually, he relaxed back into the mattress, letting himself drift back towards sleep.