Rating: Hard R
Warnings: This is the thinnest freakin' premise on the planet
Word Count: 12,088
Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.
Notes: This is for arlad who likes high school and college AUs. I figured since I'd written my fair share of those, I'd write this here farce where Sam and Dean are back in high school under duress. Much thanks to memphis86, ignited, and cerberos and everybody else who helped in the planning process. If you gave me a prompt, check to see how I used it.
“Are you actually doing your homework?” Sam asks. He went out for a walk and came back to find Dean lying on his bed reading a beat-up hardback.
Dean shrugs. “It’s Sherlock Holmes, dude.”
“I am so proud,” Sam says, flopping into the chair by the window. “I feel like I need a camera to commemorate this moment.”
“Asshole,” Dean says, but his eyes dance. He looks back down at his book and then says, “Your phone rang.”
Sam blinks and pats his pockets. He can’t believe he didn’t take it with him, from the recriminating expression on Dean’s face over the top of The Hounds of Baskervilles, he can’t believe it either. “I’m sorry,” Sam says, sagging back into his chair.
Dean purses his lips and holds his book higher in front of his face.
Sam finds his cell-phone under a hoodie. There’s a voicemail from an unknown number.
“Who is it?” Dean asks, after Sam has listened to the message.
“It was Ben. He wanted to know if we wanted to go to the movies.”
Dean stares at him. “Sam we’re not…we’re not really in high school. I mean, better not to get too close to them.”
Sam blows out a breath and looks up at the ceiling. “Then I’ll call him and tell him you’ve got too much reading to do.”
He’s already dialing Ben back.
“Shit man, you’re too old for this guilt stuff!”
Sam doesn’t say anything, just waits for the line to ring.
Dean finally asks, “What do they want to see?”
Sam shakes his head. He doesn’t know.
“I mean, if it’s something good…” Dean says slowly.
Sam raises eyebrows at him. “If you don’t want to go than we don’t have to go.”
Dean throws his book aside. “I want to go!”
Sam grins and starts talking into the phone. “Oh hey, Ben, we were just wondering what you had in mind?”
“I haven’t been to the movies in forever,” Dean says, digging a fist down into Sam’s leftover popcorn as they walk out of the theater.
Sam thinks back on indie films that never get played on TV, movies that his friends in college would hop on their bikes to go see, and then get drunk downtown. “Seriously,” is all he says.
“Oh man,” Louis says, “We go all the time.”
Dean looks up at Sam. “Maybe we should do it more often.”
There’s more intimacy to the moment than Dean intended and Sam can see his cheeks firing up with blood. “Sure,” he says and goes to find a trashcan to dump the popcorn bag.
When he goes back they’re talking about the next Paul Rudd movie, the bro-mance. Ben tells them, “I don’t think I have a best friend.”
Celia looks at him like he’s crazy. “How can you not have a best friend?”
“Well, like, if I were going to get married tomorrow, I honestly don’t know who I’d ask to be my Best Man.”
“It’s true,” Louis nods, “It’s not like I hang out with one friend to the exclusion of all others.”
Ben turns to Dean. “Yeah, what’s that like?”
“Huh?” Dean says, intent on a girl bending over. Sam smacks him upside the head.
Ben laughs. “There, that’s what I mean.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Sam says. “I’ve known him since I was born. It was kind of an organic process.”
Dean makes a retching noise. “Yuck, I can’t believe you just said that.”
Sam smacks him again.
They decline a ride, because they’re not sure how to explain living in the B&B to the other kids. Red Oaks isn’t very big and it’s been unseasonably warm since they got here. A walk certainly won't hurt them.
The lady behind the counter, Mildred, is growing an English garden around the cottages. The tea roses started budding that afternoon. Dean snicks one off with his Swiss army knife, and presents it to Sam.
“Flower for the pretty lady?” he says.
Sam laughs. “Give it to yourself then!”
“Oh snap,” Dean says dryly and tosses it to Sam.
Sam plucks it out of the air between two fingers. He looks down at it, intent, and the petals spread, several days worth of blooming happening in a single instant. He blows on it and the petals blow off into the night.
When he catches Dean eye, Dean is staring at him. “You—you aren’t supposed to do that.”
Sam still holds the rose hips and he tosses it aside in disgust, pushing past Dean to unlock the cottage. In the light of the room, they pretend that nothing happened, going about their nightly routines. Sam has 45 minutes of homework, and he leaves the light on and does it while Dean attempts to sleep.
When Sam comes out of English where they were dissecting Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, he finds Dean leaning up against the locker bank outside the class.
“I ate my lunch out of boredom in math class today,” Dean tells him. “Now I’m dying of starvation.”
“Cry me a river,” Sam says, rearranging his backpack on his shoulder. Dean only brings his bag lunch to school. Sam has no idea where he’s hiding the copy of Sherlock Holmes.
“I’m soooo hungry,” Dean says, palm flat over his stomach.
A girl in Sam’s class stops beside them. “Hey, I have an orange I’m not going to eat, if you want it?”
Dean grins. “You’re awesome.”
Sam rolls his eyes while she digs around in her book bag before presenting him a perfect mandarin. “I’ll see you around,” she says, holding on to the orange even after Dean has grabbed it. Dean nods and then she walks off.
“You know, I’m not kidding,” Sam says, “I’m about to call the cops on you myself.”
“Whatever,” Dean says, already peeling away the bitter skin. “I get my car back from the shop today!”
“Sweet,” Sam says perfunctorily.
“We should go out and celebrate!” Dean pops the peeled mandarin into his mouth whole and Sam has to look away. “We can even grab Indian food?” he wheedles.
Sam glances over at him. “Your obsession with food is bordering on pathological.”
“Hah! Sam, I’m in the same psych as you!”
Sam snorts. “Whatever, this reminds me, be my partner for that project?”
Dean loops an arm around his shoulder. “Well duh! Who else is going to do all the work for me?”
All this touching mystifies Sam, but he’s not going to say anything about it.
Allison finds them again at lunch. “So I’m just wondering, for the yearbook’s sake, do you have a girlfriend?”
Sam blinks at her and Dean starts cracking up behind his fist.
“Uh, no…” he says slowly.
“Okay, well, thanks,” she says, and leaves again.
Sam shakes his head. “What was that?”
Ben leans forward so that Sam can see him. “That was Allison code for 'ask me out.'”
Sam looks at him. “If she wants it that bad, she should just do it herself.”
Ben shakes his head. “Ah, but that’s not how Allison works!”
Sam wrinkles his nose, before he can say anything else Louis says to Dean, “I hear you’re trying out for the baseball team.”
Dean glances at Sam, lightning quick, before answering, “Yeah, I think I might.”
“Cool,” Louis says, and they start talking about the other guys trying out.
Sam looks down at his hands. Why is it that the rules never apply to Dean? Don’t risk your neck, Sam! Don’t make deals, Sam! Don’t use your abilities, Sam! Don’t get attached, Sam! He’s tired. This is not what he wanted for himself, but if he’s going to commit himself to hunting, than Dean—their father’s ghost, even Castiel--have got to stop cutting him off at the knees.
He pushes his chair back from the table and gets up. Dean calls after him, but Sam doesn’t turn around. He goes to the library, where nobody ever is.
“You’ve been pissed off and not telling me?” Dean asks without preamble when he steps in the door of the cottage. They didn’t walk home together. Dean had to go pick up the Impala, anyway.
Sam has another headache. He’s got the entire room darkened and an arm thrown over his eyes. “You want to talk about this? You?”
“You got a better idea?”
Sam rolls up into a sitting position, ignoring the aching in his head. “Damn it, Dean, if you don’t need me, you don’t need me, but I’m really starting to feel like a prisoner!”
“Of what?” Dean shouts back.
“You!” Sam says, on his feet now. “There are all these things you don’t let me do, all these things that you don’t trust me with—including yourself!”
Dean replies, voice ragged, “What the fuck do you mean?”
“I’m sorry if you regret going to hell for me, but that was never my choice!”
It’s still sunny out, sky blindingly bright, but Sam can’t stay in the room anymore. He does what Dean says he does best. He leaves.
They’re not talking. Sam came home late the night before. Dean pretended to be asleep. He left his phone behind again. It didn’t matter, Dean didn’t try to call.
Sam picks up a sandwich for Dean’s lunch at the deli counter. Dean meets him at the car and he hands it to him wordlessly.
“The host have also recommended immolation,” Castiel says, walking around the other side of the car. Dean barely starts this time. Sam rolls his eyes.
“Ouch,” Dean says.
“That’s seems about as dubious as the last one,” Sam tells him, going around to the passenger side.
Dean doesn’t even look at him when he says, “Shut up, Sam, he’s trying.”
Sam’s face tightens and he doesn’t say anything else. Just gets into the car and waits. He tunes out Dean and Castiel chatting, leaning his forehead up against the window. He barely even notices when the car starts up.
Sam's day is hell. The strawberry yogurt he bought for his lunch explodes in his backpack. He slams his finger in his locker when he’s attempting to pull out his Physics text book. He gets yelled at for talking in history even though he wasn’t saying anything.
He’d sort of forgot how difficult it could be to be a teenager. How differently adults treated you, even teachers who were surrounded by teens day in and day out.
He’s sure he’s hosed when his English teacher asks him to stay after class.
“Sam, I wanted to talk to you about this essay,” the teacher, Mrs. Brown starts, holding up the document in question.
Sam sighs. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t spend as much time on it as I could have, I should have asked for an extension.”
Mrs. Brown smiles at him. “This is not a bad essay.”
Sam stares at her. He’s afraid to ask why she wanted him to stay without sounding rude.
“I was thinking you might consider a writing program in college.”
Sam opens his mouth, speechless. And for the first time, the truth rolls off his tongue unbidden. “I’m not going to college.”
“Why not?” she asks, horrified.
Sam sighs. “It just doesn’t work that way.”
He leaves before she can say anything else. Now that he’s gone and told her, he’ll only get himself into a bigger mess if he stays around trying to explain.
“We missed you at lunch,” Ben whispers to him, during physics. The teacher is working through a problem set on the overhead projector.
“Yeah, sorry,” Sam says softly. He focuses on his notes. He’s not exactly anxious to go home tonight.
Ben shrugs. “No worries, Dean was in a real bad mood though.”
Sam doesn’t say anything. Ben sighs and turns back to his paper.
Sam shifts against the table and gets a harsh electric shock. He bolts straight up in his seat, surprised. Ben throws him a look. Sam picks his palm off the table and stares at it.
Ben looks at him strangely. He throws him a weak grin. “Sorry, I just got shocked.”
It’s not exactly a falsehood, but it wasn’t a shock of kinetic energy via friction. Sam’s pretty sure he felt Ben’s frustration directly through the table. He exhales. Dean won’t like it. Sam hasn’t said anything, but ever since he forced the rose into bloom it’s been easier to do things, like being able to do the splits and touch your head with your feet as a little kid.
When he places his palm flat down against the wood, nothing happens.
Dean’s been driving them to school ever since he got the car fixed and drinking up the praise from the other kids, even though he had to shell out for a parking permit. Sam meets him in the parking lot. He’s fully expecting another tense silent ride.
Dean gets in the car and reaches over to unlock Sam’s door. “So, Claire, the girl with the orange,” Dean clarifies, “invited us to a party on Friday.”
Sam raises his brows, knowing his expression is impressively disdainful. Dean gives him a fleeting look and then turns back to navigating the labyrinthine school lot.
“Ben, Louis, and all their little friends are going.”
Sam hesitates before saying, “You can’t go without me?”
“I went to the movie,” is all Dean says. His voice is flat, hollow with ill-concealed annoyance.
Sam clears his throat and then says, “Whatever you want.”
Sometimes Sam doesn’t even want to bother arguing. Dean can’t even imagine his point of view and it’s just heartbreak trying to make him try.
He’s probably going to have to save teenage girls' virtue all night long anyway--harder to do that when Sam is not actually there.
He nearly growls when Castiel appears in the frozen foods section of the supermarket. Dean’s been taking advantage of the kitchenette by stocking up on pizza rolls and bagel bites.
The hardest part of fighting with Dean is that they can’t really go anywhere. Dean says he feels like he’s leaving a stuffed wallet out on the empty street for anybody to grab when Sam’s away from him. He can go on walks, he can forget his cell-phone, but he is not allowed to let Dean feel his absence.
Now he’s stuck with Castiel leafing through cardboard boxes of natural fruit popsicles, enthralled.
“Any other bright ideas?” Sam asks, holding out the plastic basket for Dean to dump his collection of Hot Pockets into.
Castiel nods. “The Arch-Angel Michael suggested electrocution.”
Sam rolls his eyes and says under his breath, “There seems to be a running theme here.”
Castiel ignores him. “I rather doubt the efficacy of this suggestion. Michael is somewhat miffed that you are taking his job,” this last he says to Dean.
“I think you’re enjoying this a little much,” Dean says, but he refuses to look at Sam.
Castiel stares at Dean for a second. “I am told time to decompress is essential to humans. You are not so likely to go off and do something both stupid and detrimental to the objective.” He slides a box of Firecracker pops out of the freezer. “Are these good?”
It’s a house party with all the attendant features—loud rap music, cheap vodka, Solo cups, girls losing their clothing. Sam feels like he was too old for this shit when he was 18 the first time around. Despite this, Dean’s drinking it up. A few guys he met during baseball tryouts say hi to him like he's becoming a school fixture. Dean looks so bright and excited, Sam has to look away.
“Hey, you came!” Ben shouts over the music, shoving through the crowd. He’s holding two brimming cups of frothy beer. He hands one to Sam. “It’s Coors lite, hope that’s okay.”
“I’m not drinking.” Sam smiles self-deprecatingly and passes the cup off to Dean, who’s deep in conversation about Syracuse’s chances at the NCAA championships. Dean accepts it and takes a distracted sip.
Dean’s face is priceless. “Oh gross, light beer? You’ve gotta be kidding.”
Sam laughs and holds his palm up for a confused Ben to high-five. “Score!”
Dean takes another spiteful gulp, displaying his middle finger on the other hand. Sam cackles. Ben looks back and forth between them and shakes his head. “You are weird, like really weird.”
“There you guys are,” Louis appears at Sam’s elbow. “Dude, we need you! Claire has Guitar Hero Tour Edition, and we were playing career and kept sucking at the same song. So Laura Waters, she’s in your European history class,” he clarified for Sam, “but anyway, she threw her flip flop at Andrew who was playing drums. And now they’ve all stormed off, but I really want to play!”
“Is he high?” Sam asks Ben.
Ben merely shrugs. “I dunno.”
“I’m not high!” Louis protests, “I wanna play Guitar Hero. Guys, come on, I’ll play the drums!”
Sam holds his gaze. “I’ve never played before.”
Ben’s mouth drops open. “You’re kidding?” Sam shakes his head, and Ben turns disbelieving eyes to Dean, knocking him on the shoulder. “Hey, Sam’s never played Guitar Hero?”
“Uh, neither have I…”
“Oh, man! We have to play then!” Ben tells him, still looking amazed.
“Booyah!” Louis shouts, jumping up and down. “That makes four. Hey, who wants to sing?”
Claire has a sweet LCD flat-screen TV set up in the den. “If you’ve never played then you should probably start with guitar and bass,” Louis explains.
“Ugh, fuck, that means I’m singing,” Ben says, picking up the microphone controller from the floor.
Louis drapes the guitar strap over Sam’s head and then hands the bass controller to Dean. “Should we do a tutorial or something?” he says to Ben.
Ben shrugs. “They’ll figure it out!”
By figure it out Ben means get through the first 24% of the song before failing. “This sucks,” Dean says critically, glaring at the screen.
Sam sighs. “This is way harder than Nintendo 64.”
Louis and Ben stare at them. “You guys are like, stuck in the Stone Age,” Ben says, before setting them up to play again. They get through 70% of the song before failing this time.
“I think it’s your singing, dude,” Dean says, glancing at Ben over his shoulder.
Ben shrugs. “Wanna switch?”
“Fuck it, why not?” Dean says, pulling the controller off and holding it out to Ben. “But not if we do anymore of this Linkin Park shit.”
Louis spreads his hands in supplication and scrolls down through the list of songs in quick play.
“Holy shit,” Dean says, voice just below a shout, “Stranglehold! We have to do that one.”
Sam rolls his eyes heavenward, muttering, “Why is this happening to me?”
They get through the entire song, but Louis points out that this is probably only because Sam is playing on beginner. The scores come up and Louis and Ben whoop.
“I’ve never seen somebody get 90% of the notes right on singing and yet sound so bad,” Ben laughs, shoving at Dean.
“I’m just staying true to Ted,” Dean replies. “Hey, Sam, you wanna pick a song? They have that lame one you always used to listen to, ‘The Middle.’”
Sam starts taking off his controller. “I think I’m done guys, I’m really bad at this.”
“Aww, don’t be such a curmudgeon,” Dean says derisively.
Sam opens his mouth to say something and then stops, dropping his head. He exhales slowly. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me.” He pushes past Ben to get to the door.
He can feel Dean following him, anger resonating. He keeps walking and Dean keeps trailing him. He goes upstairs, hoping that someone will intercept his brother so that he doesn’t have to deal with him. If he had any sense he'd go home, just up and walk right out the door, but then he’d definitely have to face him.
“What’s your fucking problem?” Dean asks his back on the safety of the landing.
“Jesus! We’ve already been through this!” Sam shoves through the first open door. It’s a pristine guest room with lace curtains and covers that match the wallpaper. A pile of jackets and purses lie on the bed.
“And yet you’re still acting like a little bitch!” Dean fires back, slamming the door closed behind him.
“That’s because nothing was resolved.”
Dean snorts. “This is so like you, Sam, you’re never happy. Not with ANYTHING.”
Sam scrubs at his face with one hand and says with a cracked voice, “Only on your terms, Dean.”
“I would do anything for you, you ungrateful bastard!” Dean says, getting awkwardly close to Sam—spitting distance really. His eyes blaze below sharply furrowed brows.
Sam throws up his hands, he’s having trouble drawing breath—he feels a bit like he can feel Dean’s emotions through the floor just like that time with Ben. “I never ask for it, idiot!”
“Don’t you fucking dare—” he reaches for Sam’s shoulders. Their mouths bump together in a harsh parody of a kiss. Dean’s vicious. He shoves Sam away. Dean’s palms sting on contact even through his clothes.
“I—” Sam starts, but Dean catches him up in another kiss, a real one, lips parting against his. Sam tries to pull him close, but he shoves Sam back again, reaching back behind him to sweep the coats off the bed.
Sam lets out a strangled sound when he falls back on the bed, Dean’s weight coming down on top of him. All the energy of their anger has been turned into frenetic desire. They struggle against each other until Dean grabs both of his arms presses them back to the bed, grip harsh.
He stares down at Sam, chest heaving. Finally he leans down and kisses Sam again. It’s a long slow plunder, like Dean’s been storing up all the ways he was going to do this for a very long time. Sam strains against Dean’s hold but he can’t break it.
“Fuck,” he whispers when Dean jams a knee between his thighs. Dean chuckles darkly and bites his lower lip, pulling with his teeth. Sam cries out and arches against him.
Dean’s lips drift down over his jaw, following the sweep of bone to the tender part behind his ear. He licks a long slow stripe down Sam’s neck, tongue just inside the fabric of Sam’s collar.
“Seeing you like this,” Dean says, voice hoarse, “It brings it all back. How I would look at you and burn for the things I wanted.”
Sam hands clench into fists and he closes his eyes. Dean was never alone. He finally fights free of Dean’s grasp, rolling them over on the bed, fingers sinking deep into Dean’s hair while he learns the nuances of Dean’s mouth, the soft inner flesh of his pouty upper lip. Dean holds him almost too tight in the circle of his arms, hard-on grinding against Sam’s abs.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says, knee still tangled between Sam’s legs. He pushes his thigh hard against Sam’s dick. Sam has to tear his mouth away to breathe. His skin burns. It’s too hot in the room. They didn’t lock the door. His wrists still ache from Dean’s hands. So many discomforts all faded next to the current of want running through the room.
He reaches between them and wrenches Dean’s jeans open. When he looks up again, Dean’s eyes glitter under heavy lids, his lips are obscenely wet and swollen. He has to look away again. The first stroke up Dean’s dick seems to take the wind out of him. He relaxes finally, eyes dropping closed. Sam hides a grin and does it again. And again, using pre-come to smooth the way.
Dean’s hips roll up into his fist and he moans, neck arched back and cheek pressed to the pillow. Sam tortures him, first fast than slow, hovering over Dean the entire time. He presses hard against the glans and watches Dean’s eyes flutter. He strokes Dean and has to hold himself still, careful not to grind against the bed, or he’ll come just from the sight of his brother twisting and straining towards orgasm.
Dean puts one foot flat on the bed, heedless of his shoes, and uses it as leverage against Sam’s grip. His breath stops in his throat, everything in him seems to still, suspended until he tips over edge. He makes a hiccupping noise in the back of his throat, something Sam has heard through bedroom walls for years, staring at the ceiling wondering why God made him wrong. Dean grabs Sam just above the elbow, like he needs a lifeline, and then he comes in white hot bursts all over Sam’s fist.
“Shit,” he says, taking a moment just to breathe. Sam collapses to the bed beside him, eyes closed. He slides his clean palm down his thigh, just to the left of his dick, imagining it’s Dean’s fingers skimming down to close over the bulge behind his fly.
His palm is knocked aside for the real thing. Dean cups him through his jeans, strong fingers finding the outline of dick and tracing along it. Sam head lolls on his neck, coming to rest against the shoulder Dean has propped to his side.
Finally Dean works the zipper down, pulling him through his boxers. Sam sinks his teeth into his lips. Dean is much slower, teasing—as much a torture as the rough touches he used earlier. Sam won’t beg. He simply won’t. He waits Dean out, fingers clawed into the coverlet. He nearly breaks when he feels the tentative touch of a tongue over the slit. His hips jerk from the sensation. Dean smiles, Sam can nearly hear it.
The tongue glides down the underside of his cock, tip following the vein. Dean slides his hand back around the shaft and sucks the head into his mouth. And every time Sam has ever watched Dean drink from straws in that filthy way he has pays off. Dean continues to stroke and suck him at the same time. Eventually he has to lay an arm down over Sam’s hips to keep him from thrusting up.
“I know who you are, I know what you might do, but I have never known what you want or what you are thinking,” Dean says, breath drifting over his skin.
When Sam comes, as Dean pulls his mouth off, he thinks of that vulnerable forearm lying across his hips. Sam doesn’t open his eyes for a long moment. He fancies he can feel the air move in the room. Eventually the desire to see Dean’s expression is too strong and he opens his eyes.
Dean lies braced above him, weight all propped on that forearm across Sam’s pelvis, and his head dips down between his shoulder blades, like he exhausted or in prayer. Dean’s jizz is now all over the covers, where Sam wiped his right hand, but he still uses his left to lift Dean’s chin.
Dean looks at him through glassy eyes. Sam tugs him up his body, drawing him in close, and drops an open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s throat.
Dean huffs, but it sounds curiously like a laugh and then he rolls off Sam, leaving Sam to make himself presentable. There’s a bathroom, so he rinses his hands and cleans himself up before tucking his dick back into his boxers. Dean lounges, loose-limbed on the bed.
When Sam’s steps back into the room, Dean gets to his feet and stretches. His spine pops as he says, “Being 18 rocks, I’m totally ready to go again.”
Sam shakes his head in affectionate exasperation. “Can we leave first?”
When they wander downstairs the party’s already winding down. The few friends they’ve made in the past couple of weeks of high school lounge on the couches in the living room. They’re too drunk to do anything else anymore.
“Oh hi, guys,” Celia says, giggling.
“Hi,” Sam says.
“You never told us you were friends like that,” Ben says promptly.
Dean blushes. “And on that note, we’re going to head out!”
Sam waves and Dean tugs him out the door. He hears the others laugh after them. They’re parked a little ways down the block because they arrived fashionably late. Dean laughs and jokes on the way back to the car.
Castiel waits on a garden bench, eyes on the night sky.
“Whoa, shit!” Dean says, grinding to a halt. He looks at Sam and then down at himself. Sam sees panic beginning to roar up into his eyes. Dean barely managed to rationalize what happened back in Claire’s house to himself. Sam cringes at the thought of him trying to explain to this angel that Dean is strangely wrapped up in.
“What this time?” Sam asks, “Will drowning in holy water get us back to normal?”
Sam is gratified when Dean hides a laugh with a cough.
Castiel threads his hands together. “I surmise that will end only in fatality.” They wait for him to go on. “No, I think you might ask your friend, Bobby, what exactly is wrong with you.”
Dean and Sam share a startled look, before Dean steps forward and says, “We already did that.”
Castiel’s mouth slowly slides into a grin. “Ask again.”
“What’s going on, Bobby,” Dean says, already pacing back and forth in the room with his arms crossed. His cell-phone lies on the table on speaker. Sam sits in the chair next to it.
“Look, this is my mistake.” They hear Bobby sigh. “A few people I used to run with back in the day blew through my neck of the woods, and we went to a bar.”
Dean groans and sits on the bed.
“I just said that I wished you boys had gotten more of a normal life,” Bobby continued, “and apparently there were a couple of Tengu in the bar who heard me.”
“Tengu in a bar?” Sam mouths at the same time that Dean says, “That’s pretty tame? Turning us 18? I thought they were Daoist demons.”
“Shinto, actually” Bobby sighs. “Well, I might have impressed them.”
Sam starts laughing. “Oh no, they were trying to help you.”
“What?” Dean furrows his brows.
“Often in the lore Tengu were mischief makers, but they could also be enormously helpful when they were impressed. There’s a tale of an old man who danced around a fire so well the Tengu removed a tumor from his face.”
Dean says, chortling, “Did you dance, Bobby?”
“No! I beat them at darts!”
Sam puts his head in his hands. “It doesn’t matter, how do we change us back?”
Bobby finally says, “See, I’ve been trying to figure that out myself…and I think…you don’t.”
Dean growls. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Well, you definitely can’t ask them to undo it, they’ll curse your ungratefulness,” Bobby protests.
“The dark flapping I’ve been seeing out of the corner of my eye,” Sam says, suddenly. “They’ve been watching.”
Dean says dangerously, “Whose idea was the high school?”
“Well, I’ve been reading these Shinto spells, and the University student I got to translate it was a little funny, but he said something about assuming the mantle for half the moon’s rotation, and you know, the mantle of teenagers is high school.”
“Bobby, it’s two days past two weeks,” Sam pointed out.
“Well, yes, hence why I think you’re stuck.”
Dean shakes his head and says, “Let me just say I never expected this kind of mistake from you.”
They go to school the next day, Sam says they have to say goodbye to Ben, Louis, even Celia anyway they can. Dean doesn’t put up a fight. They both know they have to leave. This little reprieve from hunting can’t last, even Dean has to admit a quiet Lillith means a plotting Lillith, and she’s far better at it than they are, what with being thousands of years old. So they’ll move on, and they’ll have Ruby and Castiel do the interviews when it’s needful.
Sam’s been doing his best to tamp down on the sudden strength of his abilities. Dean seems to notice that more than he notices the powers.
“Stop it,” he says, when they walk out to the car. “You’re going to give yourself an aneurism.”
Sam quirks his lip and the trunk of the impala flies open, their duffels and weapons sailing into place in the back. Dean stares at him for a second. “Maybe Ruby should train you some more.”
They stop at Dunkin Donuts and grab a bunch of donuts. Dean asks for jelly munchkins for Sam and Sam digs his elbow into his side.
They sit on the trunk of the car in the parking lot, the sun warm on their skin. Dean watches Sam eat the munchkins. He sucks the leftover powdered sugar off his fingers, holding Dean's gaze, and when he pulls them out of his mouth, Dean swoops in for a kiss.
By the time other students arrive they’ve been steadily making out for awhile. Sam has always done his best to never make a spectacle out of himself like this, but Dean sometimes brings out the worst in him.
“Eww, PDA!” Ben shouts and they pull apart. Dean drops his forehead to Sam’s shoulder and Sam laughs.
“Want breakfast,” he says, holding the bag of donuts out to Ben.
Dean grins, mirthful. “I promise I didn’t spit on them.”
“Oh, yeah, now I definitely want to eat them,” Ben says, and pulls out a chocolate glazed. “Hey, Sam, we probably have enough time for a pickup game.” He unzips his backpack to reveal a soccer ball.
Sam jumps off the car, waving back to Dean, “Wanna play keeper?”
Dean shakes his head and leans back on the trunk. “I think I’ll pass.”
He feels Dean’s eyes between his shoulder blades the entire time as well as the presence of something else. He thinks he plays like he never has before.
They hit the road when the last bell rings. Dean merges back onto 95 and then says, “So I was thinking maybe I’d ask Castiel to find you a puppy.”
Sam stares at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I mean, a dog could be useful?” Dean offers.
Sam starts laughing. “Give you one orgasm and you’re whipped.”
Dean pretends not to react, but his cheeks are red. “Whatever, we could like, train it.”
Sam laughs harder. “Okay, Dean.” He doesn’t bother to hide himself in a book. He and Dean have been brothers forever, but they haven’t been friends in a while. The trip is long, but he’s glad he’s here.
Some visual references for the peanut gallery
And of course, because I can't do anything without making music to go along with it...
18 and The Whole World Ahead of You,123.5 MB zip