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delicatelight in fic_by_erin

FIC: 800 Miles is a Drive, SPN, Gen

Title: 800 Miles is a Drive
Author: Erin
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Dean, Sam
Word Count: 1,539
Summary: Sam gets dumped at the prom.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue.
Warnings: None
A/N: Beta read by the fabulous starxd_sparrow.
2nd A/N: Written for the wonderful afrocurl, on the occasion of her birthday. Happy quarter-of-a-century, baby! I hope the next quarter is absolutely fabulous! The title of this is from Spoon's “I Summon You,” and has little or nothing to do with the actual fic, but it's Roz's favorite song, and seemed appropriate.

Dean figured this was par for the course. Sam took a slut to prom, Sam got dumped at the prom by his slutty girlfriend. Unfortunately, while The Slut made tracks in her late model Subaru with some jock riding shotgun, Sam was stranded at the prom with only his broken heart and a quarter in his pocket for company.

Dean got the call to come pick up Sam right about the time he was sliding his hands into Jeanie the coed’s panties. Only seconds away from the promise land and he was thwarted by his little brother.

“Damn it, Sam,” he growled into the phone, “this had better be good.”

Sam’s glum voice came through the phone, explaining what had happened, and Dean sighed.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’ll be there in a few.”

He disconnected the call and turned regretful eyes to Jeanie. Using all the charm he had at his disposal, which, really, was a lot, he explained that he needed to rescue his little brother. Her eyes softened when he said that he always had to be there for Sammy, since their mother was dead and their father was gone so often. He dropped her off at her house after appropriating her phone number and a promise that he’d make sure she enjoyed herself more next time.

Ten minutes later he pulled the Impala in front of the doors to Three Oaks High School and saw a dejected Sam leaning against the brick wall, his position screaming “Rejected!” Rolling his eyes in anticipation of a moping Sam for the rest of the night, he tapped his horn lightly, startling his brother from his state of misery long enough for him to trudge over to the car and get in.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“No,” came the short response.

“Oo-kay.” Dean whistled through his teeth and started the car, driving out of the parking lot and heading out onto the road. Every few minutes he’d glance over at Sam, but his brother’s expression never changed from sullen.

Okay, he thought. There was no way in hell he was dealing with this shit for the next week like he had when Sam and his first girlfriend had broken up after they’d been dating for an entire month.

He spotted an all-night convenience store and pulled the Impala in, causing Sam to look up.

“What the hell are we doing here?” Sam asked, voice sulky, his face screwed up into his usual bitchy expression.

Dean threw a look at his brother. “I’ll be right back.”

Walking inside the store, he went to the refrigerated section and opened one of the frost covered doors. Scanning the shelves, he quickly found what he was looking for, a six-pack of Bud Light, bottled. Dean may not have been able to afford the imported stuff, but he’d be damned if he’d drink out of a can.

Paying quickly and flashing his brand new legal ID, he hurried back out to the car where Sam was waiting, still sulking.

“Beer?” Sam said incredulously. “You just had to stop and get beer? Right now?”

Casting an annoyed look at Sam, Dean put the six-pack on the back seat and put the key in the ignition, starting up the Impala with a purr.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

For once, his brother actually obeyed and was quiet. Dean figured it was all the trauma of the evening, what with being dumped and all.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, Sam finally pulled himself out of his reverie to ask where they were going. Since they had been driving in the opposite direction of their house for at least ten minutes, Dean couldn’t help but be impressed that it had taken Sam this long to realize it. That must be some bad shit going through his brain.

“Dean?” Sam prompted, when he hadn’t gotten a response to his question.

Still not answering, Dean pulled the car into the field bordering the highway and drove inward, stopping only when they were hiding behind enough brush that the cars passing by wouldn’t notice them. He grabbed the beer from the backseat and pulled out two bottles, handing one to Sam, who accepted with a surprised look on his face.

“Don’t tell Dad,” Dean said.

Sam snorted. “As if we talk, anyway.”

Dean felt frustration bubble up from inside at the reminder that Sam and their father were at each other’s throats every day, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t the time.

“So,” he asked Sam, “what happened?”

Sam looked over at him, and for a moment Dean thought he’d refuse to answer, but then, “I caught Marie with her hand down the front of Jason Davis’ pants. Right in front of me, man! She didn’t even leave the fucking room, she was jacking him under the table!”

Damn. What a bitch.

“Well,” Dean finally said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but man, you can do a hell of a lot better than some slutty girl who can’t even keep her hands to herself at prom, for God’s sake.”

Sam snorted again. “Yeah, because chicks are knocking down the door.”

“They are,” Dean insisted.

“Yeah, for you.”

Dean looked at his little brother. Sam had shot up over the last couple of years, had hit six feet and kept going, and he hadn’t really begun to fill out yet, he was still skinny and a little awkward, plus, he was going through this stage where he flat-out refused to cut his hair, making it fall in his eyes all the time, but even with all that, he was still an attractive kid.

“You’re not a dog, Sam,” Dean said mildly. “If the girls aren’t knocking, it’s because you’re not giving off the right signals or something.”

Sam gave him a disgusted look.

“No, seriously,” Dean insisted, gearing up to the subject. “Knowing you, you’re being all sensitive to them and shit, and they think you’re great ‘friend’ material, right?”

Sam nodded sulkily.

“Yeah, you gotta cut that shit out, man,” Dean said. “You have to act like a jerk sometimes, and then believe me, the girls will come.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “I’m not going to act like you, Dean.”

Feeling a bit insulted, Dean said, “Fine, then. Keep getting stuck being the friend.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam took a drink from the bottle of beer he was holding.

For a long time, they sat in silence, drinking their beers and staring out at the stars that blanketed the field.

After they’d finished their first beers and Dean had grabbed two more for them, Sam finally spoke again.

“The thing is,” he said, “I kind of thought tonight was going to be the night, you know?”

“The night?” Dean asked, confused.

Sam gave him a look. “You know. The night.”

Oh. “Oh,” he said, dumbly. He’d kind of thought Sam had already had that night. They’d never talked about it, but he figured, well, Sam was eighteen already! Dean had lost his cherry when he was fifteen, for Christ’s sake. For a second, his mind wandered back to that night and a smile crossed his features. Good old Janice Roberts back in Bakersfield. She could do things with her mouth that he’d thought were only fiction.

Sam slapped Dean’s shoulder, startling him from his nostalgia. “Dean, for God’s sake, whatever you’re thinking about isn’t going to help me, so cut it the fuck out.”

Clearing his throat, Dean muttered, “Sorry.” He shifted in his seat, turning to look at Sam fully, trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he just opened his mouth and sent a prayer up that he wouldn’t fuck this up too much. “Sam, look. So tonight didn’t happen. Did you really want to lose your cherry to some slutty girl who can’t keep her hands to herself? I know you , Sam, and something like this should mean something to you, okay? You should be able to look back at it and say, ‘God, that girl was awesome. I really loved her.’ Because if you don’t have some sort of emotion attached to it, attached to her, all you’ll feel is shitty the next day.”

Sam considered that for a long time, then, “You’re so full of shit.”

Sighing, Dean let his head fall back against the seat. “Yeah, I know. It was worth a try, though.”

Sam laughed a little. “It’s okay, Dean. You don’t have to try and make me feel better about this. I mean, I know it’ll happen eventually.” He paused. “I just wish I’d gotten a blow job or something.”

Surprised, Dean laughed. Reaching over, he cuffed Sam on the back of the head, causing his brother to duck his head and grin over at Dean.

After another long moment of silence, Dean started the car and put it into reverse. “C’mon, Sam. Let’s go pick up a hooker or something.”

And together, they made their way home.
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Comments

Aww! Boys!

Poor Sammy can't get laid, and Dean just wants to remember his time. :D

There's something about this--it's both cheesy and solemn at the same time. I don't know.

So long as the hooker isn't someone we both know, and the slut isn't someone else, this present WINS!
So long as the hooker isn't someone we both know, and the slut isn't someone else
Don't worry. No hookers or sluts were hurt in the writing of this fic.

I'm so glad you liked it, and happy birthday!
Sam slapped Dean’s shoulder, startling him from his nostalgia. “Dean, for God’s sake, whatever you’re thinking about isn’t going to help me, so cut it the fuck out.”

SO. EFFING. PERFECTLY. THEM.
HEE! Thanks! I kind of thought it was.
Awwww, little baby Sammy is stuck in the "Just friends" category can't get any...eh, no worries...it'll get better for him. ;-)
Oh, it'll totally get better for Sam. :) Thanks for the comment!
Yeppers! :-D
Good job! Very funny and much nicer than the "djinn" universe where Dean nailed Sam's prom date. :)
Thank you so much!
I love it! Dean is SUCH wonderful big brother and he knows it! Haha! And Sammy, oh Sammy, not always of the noble impulses art thou, Samuel? *giggles madly* Well, Dean HAD to rub off on you SOMEHOW.

Great piece of writing! *thumbs up*

The ages threw me off, though. If Dean is a brand-new twenty-one, shouldn't Sam be only 17? Or is the legal drinking age 22 over there? *puzzles*
Well, when I wrote it I was actually thinking "brand new" in the sense that he'd just made it. Perhaps not the most well thought-out sentence. :)

Thank you so much for the comment, and I'm happy you liked it!
DAWWWWWW, boys!

LOVE this! Love you. <3
I can totally see teenaged Sam not knowing how to work itwith the girls, despite his height and looks. Luckily he's got a good brother. ;)