Disclaimer: Wish I owned them…and if Jiminy Cricket were here, I'd stomp him flat.
Author's Note: Back by popular demand. AHAHAHA! Yeah, right. Back because I suddenly thought, "I wonder what the teachers' must have thought of the Winchester brothers?" I assume they had to go to at least high school, because Sam went to college, and I don't think they let you in if you have no schooling prior. I could be wrong, but that's what I'm going on. Also, I might be way off character in this, but since I'm making the guys in high school, I don't have much info to go on, except that Sam was apparently a pudgy 12 year old.
By the way, thanks to everyone who told me what that damned car was. I'm now trying to get a buddy of mine to buy it for a cross-country trip from Tucson, AZ, back to good ol' New England. Too bad he looks nothing like Dean… I have a vivid imagination though.
Katie Meyers looked over the files spread across her desk, rubbing her temples in an effort to soothe away her building headache. Her two newest students were proving to be most…difficult. Their files were much help either. They stated the boys had moved over a dozen times in as many years, with only a single parent who was unemployed more often than not. While that might not have been ideal situations, the boys weren't undernourished, they showed up to classes, did their work, and seemed more or less happy.
All right, that might've been a stretch. The youngest boy, age fourteen, Sam, seemed more relaxed and eager to learn and make friends than his eighteen year old brother, Dean. Perhaps it was because Sam didn't have to move during his senior year of high school and forced to leave all of the friends he'd grown up with for as long as his brother. Or perhaps it was just Dean's nature to be belligerent and contradictory. Katie Meyers had seen him much more often than some of her older students who had been in the school for four years, and every time he entered her office, he was always smiling, telling bad jokes, and generally friendly. Which is perhaps why it was so hard to punish him. That boy had a quicksilver tongue that could get him out of trouble just as quickly as it got him in up to his neck.
"Good morning, Principle Meyers! And a lovely day it is, isn't it? Blue skies, warm sun…"
Speak of the Devil…Principle Meyers shook her head. "Mr. Winchester, it's barely noon. Want to explain why you're here so early?"
"Big miscommunication in gym class. I assure you, it's slander. A misrepresentation of events," Dean said, smiling brilliantly.
"Coach says you purposely hit Mr. Brad Renshaw in the face with a football."
"Did not. It slipped. And even then, he should've caught it, what with him being Mr. Star Running Back of the team," Dean protested.
"Mr. Winchester, you've only been in school for what, two and a half months?" Meyers asked patiently.
"I've actually been in school for twelve years, not counting kindergarten. But if you mean in school here specifically, it's forty seven days and…" Dean glanced at his watch. "Four hours and twelve minutes."
"My point is that you've been in here almost every single day! Don't you have something more constructive to do besides pick fights and harass the other students? Mrs. Thompson said she saw you and Mr. Renshaw shouting at one another in the parking lot yesterday afternoon. Care to explain what that was about?"
"He stuck his nose where it didn't belong," Dean snapped.
Katie Meyers had to force herself not to jump at the sudden change in Dean's demeanor. The sunny, cheerful attitude had disappeared to be replaced abruptly by a much darker, threatening expression.
"Mr. Winchester…Dean, if another student has been bothering you, you need to tell a teacher. Don't try and sort it out on your own, you'll be the one in trouble, not him, understand?"
"I'm not being threatened, I'm not being bothered. I don't need or want your help, thank you, Principle Meyers." Dean stood abruptly. "And if that's all, I have a fascinating Latin class to get back to."
Meyers sighed, leaning back in her chair. "You're a bright boy, Dean. I'd hate for you to throw it all away because of another bully. Go back to class. Ms. Papadeas will give you a hall pass."
With that he was gone, but Katie still worried. Dean was smart, when he decided to care about something. She often wondered if he was bored in his classes, or just didn't care about some of them. His grades were all over the place, from A's in foreign languages to F's in math and certain sciences. The fact that it was only specific sciences that obviously interested him was why Katie was leaning more towards 'not caring'. He did surprisingly well in chemistry, but his physics grade was subterranean.
His brother, on the other hand, seemed to love school. He excelled in everything, sciences, languages, math…the only thing that he didn't seem to do well with was gym courses, but the principle assumed that was probably because Sam was a little overweight and small for his age, and, unlike his other classes, gym classes had freshmen and upperclassmen in it. She sighed, removing her glasses to absently rub away a smear near the corner. Kids could be cruel to each other, but so far she hadn't heard anything about possible concerns from the other teachers, so she had to assume everything was going fine.
Dean growled, throwing his backpack into his locker with a resounding crash and slamming the door shut before everything had a chance to spill out into the hall.
The day had been a waste of time. Whatever village moron had come up with Spirit Week deserved to die. Violently. And many, many times. All it meant was that half the day was wasted for some stupid pep rally, while the other half was spent listening to people talk about the pep rally and trying to get everyone else to cheer on their home team. Exactly which team it was never mattered. The whole point was to pit the upper classes against the lower ones, and it was usually the freshmen that got the brunt of it. Dean could care less. Cheering and clapping like a toy monkey with a pair of cymbals with a hundred others doing the exact same thing was not high on his list of priorities.
Fortunately, however, he had his car. His beautiful, beautiful car. Which could drive him far, far away from the school, wherever the hell he wanted while everyone else stayed in school to cheer on a bunch of assholes in uniform.
Dean turned and saw his brother standing nearby, a stack of books in his hands that probably outweighed him, even if there were only three.
"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean smiled as his little brother cringed at the nickname.
"Can you please stop calling me that? I like 'Sam'," Sam argued, rolling his eyes in irritation.
"Depends. What do you want?"
"Can I catch a ride home with you now instead of walking home later?"
Dean would've let Sam go anywhere with him, except it was his right and duty as older brother to give him a hard time about it. "I dunno, Sammy. You being a freshman and all, they might stop us at the doors before we can make an escape. Are you worth the risk of getting caught and me having to sit through that god awful rally?"
Sam smiled brightly. "You actually have a better chance of getting out of here with me than by yourself."
Now Dean was intrigued. "Go on."
"Well, let's face it Dean. You're not a model student. You spend more than half your time in detention or in the office, so when people see you leaving early, who knows what you're up to? But…if you had your younger, sweet, innocent brother who the desk lady loves with you…." Sam let the sentence hang.
Dean couldn't resist a smile. "You're too smart for your own good. Come on, let's go."
Sure enough, Sam was right, though Dean would never admit it. When the desk lady first saw him, it looked like she was about to protest until she saw Sam next to him, slightly hidden behind his brother's larger frame. With a quick wave and a brilliant smile, Dean and Sam were in the clear.
"You know, you still haven't told me where you got this car," Sam said as they walked, eyeing the '65 Impala, which Dean had parked at the farthest end of the student parking lot. As far as Sam knew, Dean had just driven it home one day and that was that. He was pretty sure his brother didn't have enough money to buy a car like that, and he was really hoping he hadn't stolen it.
"And I'm not going to. Trade secret. If I did tell you, I'd have to kill you. And if I came home without you, dad'll kill me. So to avoid all the blood and death, I won't tell you."
"You are such a dick, you know that?" Sam said, shaking his head.
"I try, bro…I try." Dean smirked, rifling through his pockets looking for his keys. After going through his coat pockets and jeans and not finding them he groaned. "Goddammit! Sammy, I'll be right back, ok? Don't go anywhere and stay off the car."
"You forgot your keys in your backpack, didn't you?" Sam stated, unable to suppress a laugh.
"You want a ride home or not?"
Sam clamped his mouth shut, giving his best angelic look, which he full well knew was useless on his brother. Had been for years, but that didn't stop him from trying.
"Thought so." With that, Dean started jogging back towards the school.
"You know, this wouldn't happen if you just brought your bag home with you!" Sam called after him.
Either Dean was too far away to hear him, or he was ignoring him again, because he neither replied nor gave any indication Sam had spoken.
Blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, Sam dropped his bag on the ground and hopped up on the hood of the car. If he sat just the right way Dean couldn't tell at a distance whether or not he was standing and just leaning against the car, or actually sitting on it.
"Hey, if it isn't Pillsbury!"
Sam turned to see Brad Renshaw and his group of lackeys from the football team swaggering towards him. He didn't think people actually swaggered, like they did in books, but after the few months he'd spent here watching Brad walk around like he owned the school and everyone in it, he was proven incorrect.
"What do you want?" Sam grumbled.
"Hey, is that anyway to talk to me? Where's your brother?" Brad demanded. "I want to talk to him."
Sam suddenly smiled. "He the one that gave you that shiner?" he said, noting the bright purple and blue bruise on the football player's left cheek. "Some all star catcher you are."
Brad scowled, his hand immediately going to his face. Dean Winchester threw a football like marines threw grenades: with the intent to kill. Brad had gotten cocky during gym when he caught everything the usual team quarterback could throw, so the coach decided to send in the new kid, who rarely participated at all, just to see what he was capable of.
Of course, Brad would never admit that if he had kept his mouth shut about the kid's psycho dad and loser brother, Dean might not have tried to hit him with enough force to knock him unconscious for a minute with a football.
"Shut yer trap, Doughboy," Brad growled as shoved Sam off the hood of the car. Sam's books went scattering as he landed on his back, but there was no other damage done.
"Pretty sweet ride your brother's got here. How'd he manage to get it when you live out of a hotel?" Brad said, laying an appreciative hand on the glossy hood of the car.
"He stole it," Sam quipped, sitting up. Dean never minded if Sam made him out to be the big, bad criminal mastermind of the school. Sam suspected he was actually happy with the way it cleared the crowds for him in the halls. "Why, are you jealous? You're supposed to be rich, so what do you drive? Oh, that's right…a Volvo."
The unexpected kick to his hip wiped the grin off his face as he let out a small yelp. Before he knew it, one of Brad's friends, Josh, hauled him up by his shoulders, holding the smaller boy about three inches off the ground.
"I've decided to got too much of a mouth for a kid your size. I guess I'll have to help you correct it," Brad sneered, before punching Sam in the gut.
Sam coughed and tried to double over, but the way that Josh was holding him just didn't allow for movement.
As soon as he raised his head though, his eyes widened with horror. "NO! DEAN WAIT! DON'T!" he shouted, before Brad's fist connected with his cheek.
Yeah, okay, just finished this up before going to work. Hope it flows all right. Constructive criticism welcomed, even asked for. Let me know what you guys think!