Middle school was hell for Dean Winchester. That's when his life started to get really weird, and took a lovely downward spiral, straight into a metaphorical dark, dank pit. His class mates avoided him, laughed at him and teased him. To avoid similar treatment, Sam moved to a different school to make his life easier. No one knew what to do with Dean after he started changing, and even though the doctors said it was just a phase, a nagging voice in the back of his mind told Dean it was something else.

He was twelve, sitting through one of the most boring sixth grade science lessons of his life when something interesting happened. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice like gravel whisper in his ear. "Dean, keep yours eyes straight ahead," the whispered breath caught in Dean's ear and gave him shivers. Turning his head to the side, Dean couldn't see anything. The voice whispered again, "Dean, I told you not to turn around." The grip on his shoulder tightened to indicate the seriousness of the order. Dean's eyes fixed onto the blackboard at the front of the room, not daring to turn around again.

"I'm going to introduce you to something quite... nice. I'm sure you'll enjoy it." There was something hidden beneath that whisper that Dean couldn't quite comprehend, and a desire he wasn't old enough to understand. Dean felt a tentative stroking on his jeans, as though there were a older man's strong hand caressing the fly of his jeans. Dean's breath caught in his throat, but he didn't dare look away from the board. The feeling continued in deliberate strokes, and before long Dean could feel his belt loosen followed by the unzipping of his pants. "Don't be concerned," the rough whispered consoled him, "I would never hurt you. Dean, let me take care of you."

Dean's breathing hitched again as the unknown groping continued. He could feel skin on skin as his private areas were thoroghly exlored. Dean closed his eyes, unsure of how to act next. Whatever this was, judging by the squeezed sholder earlier, it was able to inflict pain. And apparently, it was also able to evoke pleasure. Dean let out a half stifled moan as his penis was pulled free of his boxers and made contact with the brisk open air.

"Baby, you have no idea what's in store for you," the whisper became more of a growl, more aggressive, and the rhythmic pumping increased with a tightened grip. Dean yelped in surprise and opened his eyes from the start. His teacher was slack jawed, and Dean found he had the attention of all his class mates focused on him, all with similiar expressions of shock and disgust.

"S-stop," Dean stammered in protest, but the grip on his shoulder vanished before he even needed to ask, and as the haze cleared, Dean realized that it was his own hand that was loosening its grip on his cock. The owner of the voice was no where to be found, leaving him alone to try and explain what had happened.

"Young man, pull up your pants and get to the principal's office. Now." The teacher looked like she wanted to be angry, but looked too conflicted with with confusion and disgust to get there.

Dean nodded, unsure of what else to do. He fixed his jeans and left the class room.

Dean waited twenty minutes after his father was called before the angry man came in to talk to him. John walked over to Dean, but didn't get too close. "Boy, your teacher told me what happened."

Dean shook his head, the teacher had no idea what happened, so how could she have explained anything to him?

"I don't know what you were thinking or where you picked up on that and I don't want to know. Dean, you can't just pull out and start jerking off in the middle of class. You're not even-!" John brought a hand up to rub his temples and calm himself. "I don't ever want to hear about anything like this again. Ever. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Dean nodded, not making eye contact with his dad. Something else was in that room. "Dad, it wasn't me," Dean tried to explain.

"Don't you pull that crap! I don't know how you even thought that excuse would work in this situation! Dean, of course it was you. Don't talk like that or people will start to think you're crazy."

"But dad, it really wasn't me. Someone was there, he was talking to me."

"HE?" John shouted at Dean in astonishment. "You're imagining men when you do this?"

The significance of that statement was almost lost on the twelve year old Winchester boy, but he knew enough to know that his dad didn't like it. "He told me to be quiet and keep still. I didn't do that on purpose! I don't know what's going on!" Dean's eyes were brimming with tears, and he tried desperately to fight it. If his own dad wouldn't listen, who would?

John could tell that his son was severely troubled by what had transpired, and moreover that he honestly believed that there was another individual involved. Sighing and shaking his head, John ran through his options. What could he do? His son was only twleve, and considering that, this sort of behaviour was less than expected. It only made matters worse that the whole ordeal seemed to scare Dean.

"Get in the car, let's go."

"Where are we going?" Dean didn't want to stay at school, but he also couldn't help his curiousity. What was his dad's answer going to be to this, how could he fix it? Dean followed his dad out of the school. Several of his peers were standing around watching them. When Dean looked at them they all turned away and began to talk amongst themselves. Dean turned his gaze back to the ground behind his dad's footsteps.