Title: Too Young to be Too Old
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters belong to Mr. Kripke. Everyone else is mine.
Summary: A 1996 Sam Winchester wakes up in his 25 year old body in 2008. This story takes place between 4x10 and 4x11.
Sam Winchester was not a force to be dealt with that unusually chilly, spring morning. His father and older brother knew that much. They gathered the hints when he woke up on time without a complaint, trained without a whine, and ate breakfast without a pout. To some parents, this may seem quite a good thing, but to John and Dean Winchester, they knew better. Usually when the youngest was upset, verbal battles would be exchanged between him and his father. However, if he suffered his father's will in silence, both John and Dean knew when the dam broke; the flood would consume all three and drown them all.
For the moment, John and Dean allowed Sam to use his silent treatment method. In fact, the two decided to bask in it before getting too worried. The backseat of the Impala that morning ride to school had been of perfect reverence instead of screeching and huffing. When John pulled the car up in front of the school, he told his boys goodbye and that he would most likely not be able to pick them up from school.
"It's okay, Dad." Dean told John with a shrug. "The motel isn't too far. Me and Sam can walk."
"Look after your brother." John cocked his head towards the backseat's occupant who was stared out the window making it a full purpose as to not make eye contact with the front seat's passengers.
"Yes, sir." Dean replied almost robotically. There were times he wondered what would happen if he said something like 'always do' or 'of course' or even 'the kid's old enough to take care of himself'. Internally, he shuddered at the consequences of such actions. It wasn't like he was tempted to say them or anything. It was just the damned teenage brain of his that chuckled at disastrous events. He knew 'yes, sir' was the only way to answer his father's demands.
"Good, boy." John smile proudly at his oldest, then turned his attention to his youngest. "Sammy, be good at school today and listen to your brother."
Nod. A curt one. That was all John received from Sam who then opened up the heavy back seat door and climbed out, vastly approaching the school entrance. John had hoped Sam would at least say something. 'Bye, Dad', 'be careful, Dad, 'love you, Dad', or even, 'it's Sam.'
The two eldest Winchesters watched the barely five foot twelve year old boy quietly approach the building, disappearing into the throng of students crowding around the front doors, laughing, gossiping, dancing, and even smoking.
"I take it he is upset with me for leaving." John commented to Dean. Dean nodded and smirked.
"He's going to be thirteen, Dad." Dean replied, hoping it didn't sound like he was sticking up for his younger brother too much. "Tomorrow."
"I thought a cake and pizza would be enough. It was last year." He grumbled and shrugged.
"He's growing up." Dean pointed out and then chuckled. "At least mentally."
"Well, I didn't say he could." John let slip and Dean snorted.
"Wouldn't that be somethin'? If kids could only grow up by their parents' consent."
"Yeah." John nodded ruefully. Perhaps there was a spell or something, he thought wryly. With that thought, he shushed his mind. Spell! He hated magic. It was messy and Satanic.
"He'll get hurt." Dean said and rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. It was aching due to that banshee last week. Bitch threw him into a tree. "He's says he's old enough to come with."
"He's not." John sucked in a breath through his nose at the idea of his youngest going out to battle the supernatural at the ripe age of twelve.
"I was twelve when I started." Dean knew he was treading on landmine territory, but he had to point out the obvious.
"You looked twelve." He sighed. "Sammy looks nine. He's…" A baby. John didn't say that, but he knew Dean would agree with him if he did.
"A kid. I get it." Dean nodded and gazed at the school. Sammy was probably in his class now, sitting alone due to the choice of being there ten minutes early. Dude was a weirdo.
Sam drummed his fingers on the desk to mimic the tune floating around in his noggin rather than impatience. He was alone in the class room save the teacher, Mrs. Boatwright who was grading papers at her desk three rows and two feet northward. His English book stretched and open to the chapter the seventh grade class would be studying. With the tune bee bopping around in his skull, he skimmed and mentally highlighted the phrases 'adverb' and 'direct object' and their rolls in complete sentences. His short legs were locked at the ankle swaying with the beat. He thought it better than letting the short stubs hang there from his seat. He felt his feet would be farther from the ground if he did that.
The first bell finally chimed and his fellow seventh grade students filed in and took a seat. As each one of them entered the room, his hope heightened gradually and once the final bell rang, he was floating on cloud nine. Today was going to be a good day in English. He picked up his pencil with a smile and began to start on notes when he heard heavy footsteps scampering down the hallway, close to the still open door of the classroom. Sam's smile faltered and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when Billy Jackson came stomping into class. And as fate would have it, the only seat unoccupied settled right behind Sam Winchester.
Billy smiled sadistically and swaggered his portly self towards his favorite victim. Winchester. He was so much fun to toy with. So small, soft, and precious. And a little chubby. Round cheeks, a fuller middle, and spongy arms. Now Billy knew he himself was no body builder with a six pack…yet, but he was tall and had been lifting weights with his dad for the past few months.
"Mr. Jackson, you are late for class!" Mrs. Boatwright snapped at him. Billy smirked.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Boatwright. It will never happen again."
"It better not." She sniffed and turned her attention back to the black board she had been writing on. Billy stole advantage of the situation and leaned forward to 'a pretending to work super hard' Sam and whispered,
"Hey Whine-chester, hope you have your pull ups on. Don't want you to have another accident like last time."
Sam ignored Billy and continued to write notes. Of course there had been no 'accident like last time' bit. A couple of days ago, Billy and purposefully spilt some apple juice on his chair and some on the floor right below it. Sam hadn't caught on until it was too late.
Billy expected Sam would try to ignore him at first. That's what he always did, so Billy leaned forward a little farther with an outstretched arm and flicked him in the back of his right ear.
Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick, flick, fli-
Sam swiftly grabbed Billy's flicking fingers and spun around so he was facing him. He tightened his grip and glared. "Stop it." He said. He wished he sounded dangerous. Like his brother and Dad sounded when they were pissed. Instead, he sounded sissy. It wasn't fair that his voice had yet to change from the high octave of a five year old girl to the deep, throaty grumble of the Impala.
Billy smirked at the high pitched venomous tone which quickly faded as the pressure of Sam's surprisingly strong grip squeezed his much bigger hand. It almost hurt. Billy scowled and yanked his beefy hand out Sam's petite ones. He leaned back into his chair and decided to leave him alone for the rest of class. He'd wait to get him later.
*Author's note: I apologize in advance to those who may read my story. The plot-thickening good stuff will not show up for a few more chapters. I dare to dream that those building chapters are decent enough for those who choose to be a part of my audience. I will try to update this story at least once or twice a week depending on how often reality comes to check in with its fugly head. I thank those who choose to read my story regardless if he or she likes it or not. I am excited for this story and hope others will be, too. Thank you!