--Alright this is my first Wee!chesters story so be nice, well, as nice as you can—
Basics, Sam's first day of Freshman year, Dean's first day of Senior year. Dean is 18, Sam is 14. Let's watch what happens.
Dean looked up at the high school with confidence. This place was his, familiar faces, lockers, teachers…girls. Ah the girls. He showed off for them, drove his car for them, and laid on a perfected charm that no straight one could resist. Over his high school career he'd had countless girlfriends and hundreds of crushes. But this year was the big one, the one that counted, his last one. After this none of it mattered. In all reality none of it mattered, but damn was it fun. He carried a C average throughout school, copying off of Sam when he could. That was another thing that made this year big, Sammy was a Freshman. He had to make it clear today that the first person that snickered, tripped, or made fun of his baby brother was going to have to pick up what was left of their face when he got through with them.
He hoped Sam would adjust alright. This place could be pretty intimidating on your first day, especially when this was one of the schools where all classman had classes together. Freshman and Seniors had classes together, though most of them were electives.
He had a few things to do today. Pick a table to sit at at lunch, find out where Becky Smith's locker was, and find out when football tryouts were. His previous year he had been on the team, and had been damn good too. It had got him a lot of cheerleader girlfriends, and a really bitchin' letterman's jacket. But he often ditched it for the leather one Dad had given him for his birthday last year.
"Hey Winchester!" Someone yelled behind him. "Get your sorry ass over here!" Dean smirked and turned. Bobby Dunn, one of his good friends was walking toward him. He was a big guy, played line-backer for Varsity last year, and his arms were spread wide. Dean knew the Famous Dunn Bear hug was coming. And he was right. Dunn had on his old jersey with the large 45 on the back. His hair was buzzed over his round face and dark blue eyes that almost looked black sometimes.
"What's up man?" Dean said, trying to catch his breath after Dunn let him go.
"Nothin' legal." He said with a grin. "You seen Berman yet?" He asked, referring to Trevor Berman, another one in their group. Dean shook his head. "Well if you see 'im tell him I still want my ten bucks." Dean smirked and nodded. Dunn walked away, waving a hand in goodbye. "See ya around Rifle." He said. Dean laughed slightly at his old nickname.
"Hey ya ugly son of a bitch," Another voice said behind him. Dean turned and grinned.
"Jet!" Dean said, hugging his best friend, Greg Windon. Greg's nickname came from his favorite movie "West Side Story." Dean had laughed so hard he cried when he learned this and started calling him Jet, after one of the gangs in the movie.
"What up Rifle?" He asked. Greg was about Dean's height; blonde hair longer in the front than it was in the back and swung into his eyes. One time when he complained about his nickname Dean suggested calling him DiCaprio because of his hair cut. Needless to say he didn't complain again. He was built thin but lean, his hazel eyes shining against his usually tanned skin.
"Same old same old. You?" He said, shrugging.
"Ditto. You seen Lipstick or Kirk yet?" Dean shook his head.
"Nah saw Bear a few minutes ago though." He said. Jet put his arm around Dean's shoulder and pointed toward a small group of girls.
"Ya see the new meat? She's in our grade, I asked Becky. Figured she'd be your type." Dean's eyes roved up and down the new girl's figure, liking what he saw more and more.
She had dark brown hair that fell to the middle of her back with streaks of auburn going through it, black boots that ended at the top of her knees, a short black leather skirt and a deep red short sleeve top, black lace at the collar. Her eyeliner was a little thicker than he was used to but hey, this was the nineties. She turned and looked at him. He smiled flirtatiously rather than look away like most people would, and to his surprise she smiled back. He turned and faced Jet.
"Call it." He said. Jet smirked.
"Knew you would dude."
"I thought I smelled smart ass." Trevor Berman, or Lipstick, said. He got his nickname during a pep rally last year after he emerged from under the bleachers with lipstick smeared across his face and neck. He had a strong jaw, and cold eyes, and he had a reputation to be an asshole. He was always in trouble with somebody about owing them money. He slicked his black hair back with way too much hair gel and always reeked of too much cologne. But when it came to being a good friend, he was at the top of the list. "What's up assholes?"
"Nothin' oh, by the way Bear's lookin' for ya."
"Yeah, yeah I know I got his damn ten dollars. That ass don't forget anything does he?" He said bitterly.
"Not when it comes to money dude." Dean said.
"Jeez," Another familiar voice said. "My dad drives like he's ninety."
They turned and saw the last of their gang, Keith Spangler, or Kirk because of his Star Trek knowledge, walking toward them. Kirk's light brown hair barely grazed his shoulders, the ends wrapped in faint curls. He was a sweet guy, and a major nerd. They made fun of his brains for years; he was the only one of them that held a 4.0 his entire life. They had become friends in the eighth grade when Tommy Hartman and his goons were throwing his books back and forth between them.
Dean hated bullies, always had, so he gestured for Jet, Bear, and Lipstick to follow him. Though Kirk had contacts now he didn't then, and Tommy had just crushed his glasses under his shoe. Keith had been on his hands and knees looking for them, and winced when he heard the glass crunch.
"Hey asshole!" Dean had yelled. "Why don't ya pick on somebody your own size huh?" Tommy had looked Dean up and down and laughed.
"What are ya gonna do? There's six of us and four of you. Besides, what are ya stickin' up for a twerp like him for anyway?"
"Cause I copied off him last week on a math quiz, figure I owe him one."
"Then bring it." And they brought it. They kicked Tommy and his bitch's asses until they went cryin' home to their Mommies. Afterward Keith had stood up, dusted himself off and held out his hand.
"Keith Spangler." He had said. One by one the rest of them shook his hand. "Thank you."
"Awe don't mention it." Bear said. "You ever need anything just ring."
"Yeah, those bastards have issues." Dean said. Jet came up behind Keith and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.
"And hey, with friends like us, they'll never bother you again."
They did bother Keith again, for another year in fact. But the summer after ninth grade Keith took a couple classes, filled out, worked out, and kicked Tommy Hartman's ass the first time he even suggested a hint of picking on him. After that Keith had become a total chick magnet. But he was still such a nerd that he'd study for a test before he'd make out with a girl.
Tommy was still an asshole, but he wasn't dumb enough to get involved in a fist fight with them anymore. Tommy's bunch of dickheads were called, by their preppy friends, The Socs, like the kids in The Outsider.
This entire school ran around movies. Old movies, new movies, ancient movies, I didn't matter. When they had a chance to put a label on something, they chose movies.
Dean and his friends were Greasers, but not because, well all of them, had a lot of hair grease in. They loved cars, and their trips into the school parking lot.
Dean drove his pride and joy, a 1967 Impala Dad gave him on his sixteenth birthday, and wooed almost every girl in sight with it. Bear drove an old Ford pickup truck that wasn't much on the inside, but under the hood and inside it was a beauty. Jet's '66 Mustang spoke for itself. Lipstick's Harley was a thing of beauty, and roared like one too. It was a bitch riding in the rain, but the girls definitely appreciated it.
Keith was still working on his car. His Dad had bought him a rust bucket with a good engine a year back and told him this was how he was going to learn about cars. He came to everybody else for some help, and they discovered the rust bucket was a 1977 Trans AM, just like Burt Reynolds. Kirk of course had no idea what that meant but they filled him in pretty quick. They needed about another weekend and that rust bucket would be in full operating condition.
The bell rang inside the school and the doors opened.
"Here we go again." Dean said. The people walked in at a slow, steady pace. Dean saw the girl he had been staring at earlier give him a small smile as she waltzed in. And as he glanced up the steps he saw a mess of brown hair on top of a skinny kid who was obviously a freshman walk in.
"Good luck Sammy."
--Did you like? Remember this is my first shot at this so try and be nice, pwease?--