"No, my dad can't sign any papers. He's... busy." Dean lied.

"Mhm," the, clearly, sassy woman in the front office responded. "And I'm the president. Maybe, if your dad can take some time out of his schedule, we can get together over coffee and discuss the affairs of the nation."

He so did not need this right now.

"Listen," he looked down to the woman's name tag. "Missouri..."

"Ms. Moseley." She corrected.

"Ms. Moseley," he began again, flashing a nauseatingly charming smile. "You look wonderful in that blouse."

"You know how else this blouse would look wonderful?"


"If it was smothering your face."

"Isn't it illegal to say that to a student?"

"You ain't a student yet, honey." She said, gesturing her head to the line labeled 'Parent or Legal Guardian's Signature'.

"Just give me the damn form." He relented, grabbing the piece of paper and walking down the hall. His smile brightened a bit upon seeing his car. Well, it wasn't his car as much as it was his dad's, but it'd been years since he'd actually driven the thing. It was beautiful, a '67 Chevy Impala. It was John Winchester's pride and joy. Well, when he'd still had either.

The car had seen better days, but still had potential. Unlike their father, whom they simply hadn't seen in days.

Dean walked farther into the parking lot, seeing his brother's shaggy brown hair bounce about as he tried to get a better view of the empty school.

He opened the door, trying to suppress a grimace from forming.

"What'd they say?" Sam asked.

"We gotta get dad's signature."


"Yeah," Dean agreed.

"What are we gonna do?"

Dean could hear the desperation in his voice. The poor kid wanted to go to school more than anything, and that was rare and inspirational in and of itself. The least he could do to make Sam's transition to high school an easy one. He was nerdy as anything, and Dean loved him for it.

"It's no problem."

"How do you figure that?" He asked, incredulously.

"Through the magic of forging, Sammy."

"One: That's not legal, and you know it. Two: don't call me that."

"The best shortcuts never are, Sammy." Dean smirked.

Sam groaned, unsurprised and a little entertained.

The next morning greeted him with a swift slap across the face courtesy of an obnoxious beeping noise and the motel's complimentary brick-like pillow.

Dean smashed the snooze button with a force that easily would have destroyed anything more expensive and less clunky.

"Sam! C'mon, it's time to wake up." On one shoulder, he propped himself from the bed. He absently scratched at his eyes. His sleep-addled mind eventually took note of Sam's form lingering at the side of his own respective bed. He nervously fiddling with the batteries of the rabbit eared TV's remote control.

"What are you doing?" Dean let out with a yawn.

"Huh? Oh, nothing." Sam said, his fingers shaking as he shoved the batteries back into the half-functional piece of equipment.

"Don't worry, dude. High school's stupid! You've got nothing to worry about."

Sam stood and took out some cereal from the paint-chipped cabinet.

They settled into a sense of stability, at least for a few minutes. It was strange how easily they fell into a routine that had never existed. They showered, got dressed, ate breakfast. Really an average adolescent human morning. Dean was knocked out of his comfortable monotony upon hearing Sam slam the Impala's door.

"Hey!" Dean shouted. "Don't hurt her! It's okay," he rubbed comforting circles onto the car's hood. "He didn't mean it."

He looked up to find the offender long gone, his body slipping into a narrow doorway. For the second time in Dean's day, a ring hit his ears with such a fervor that he felt the instinct to start hitting things. But this time, it was different. This time there wasn't a snooze button. This time, it was the school bell.

"Shit," Dean said. Shoving his jacket sleeve aside to look at his watch: 8:30. Already late.

With a few mumbled sarcastic comments lost to the wind, his body disappeared inside the brick building, too.

Dean's first day went by in what felt like a particularly long and awkward movie montage. The music may have only been in his head, but he'd take what he could get. He made small talk, met people, ate lunch. He spent most of the day worrying about his Sam, really. He didn't feel like having to deal with his own life at the moment. This seemed easier, and it was practically his job anyway. There was one thing, though. There was a girl. Jo. She was hot. There was no denying that. She had beautiful blond hair, and her hazel eyes showed a different shade of brown each time he looked at them, a bit like Sam's.

He was leaning on the Impala when his phone vibrated:

'Be bk tomorow'

Although the text was from an unknown number, the numerous typos immediately destroyed the anonymity, it was from John. Dean didn't like to call him 'dad'. He didn't feel that the man deserved the term of endearment, and generally tried to avoid calling him anything. It seemed to be pretty affective considering how little they saw of him.

Dean actually preferred his father absent. He was always so on-edge whenever John was around. It was obvious that Sam was, too.

Dean stood there staring at his phone, deep in thought, when something hit him hard on the back, and before he knew it, he was face-down on the pavement.

Where the Hell is Sam?

Dean laid there for several years, or they could have been seconds. He really couldn't tell either way. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and yank him and somehow got him sitting on his ass. After a few attempts at blinking out the sunspots in his plane of vision, he gave up and looked for clues as to what in the Holy Hell had just happened. After abruptly turning his head in a fashion that would likely give a weaker neck whiplash, he saw a leg. He was pretty sure it wasn't his own. He was fairly certain he was sitting. Actually, the more he thought about, he kinda felt like he was flying. Or maybe he was asleep. Truth be told, he was pretty out of it.

The aforementioned leg's owner stooped down, meeting Dean at eye-level. This kid's eyes were damn blue. Dean had never seen the ocean, but he could've sworn he was getting a brief glimpse of one right now. He could have stared into them forever, and the other kid, who seemed about his age, looked content to do the same. It was pretty unnerving, actually. This unadulterated focus completely on him. Wait, the kid wasn't just staring longingly into his eyes. He was adjusting his eyelids to get a better look, he was literally examining him.

"What the... What?" He attempted.

"What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Dean countered.

"Would you please answer my question?"

"I asked you first!"

"No, you didn't." The boy reasoned.

"Yes I... wait, no I didn't. Never mind."

"Hold still." He said, pulling his eyelids apart and finding a keychain with a tiny-flashlight attached.

"Woah there, buddy-boy." Dean replied, attempting to swat at the incoming light.

"Hold still." He repeated, forcefully.

"Okay, ma'am, no need to get your panties in a twist."

"I'm not a woman."

"Are you sure? Because you can never be totally sure."

"No, I have a penis and identify as male. I'm quite sure."

"You have a penis? I have a penis! Huh. That's funny."

"Hilarious," he dead-panned. He shined the light in Dean's left eye, then his right, watching his pupils dilate and making a diagnosis. "You are concussed." He concluded.

"Oh yeah, talk dirty to me."

"We should get you to the nurse and check you out."

"What's your name, blue-eyed wonder?"

"Here's hoping that, that nickname doesn't stick." He mumbled.

"I heard that! I hear things."

"Congratulations. Let's get you inside." The boy said, picking Dean up bridal style.

Sam walked to the car, and upon seeing Dean being carried away, quickly changed his previous destination.

"Can I help you?" Sam asked, approaching the pair. The other boy froze in his tracks, dropping Dean onto his feet. "Dean, what's going on?"

"We're going to Disney World!"

"We uh- we're what?"

"'I wanna go-o-o out tonight'." Dean sang.

"Oh my God. That's Rent. Isn't it? He's singing show tunes!"

"'You wanna prowl, be my night owl'." He started to mumble.

"Did you drug him?!" Sam turned to the boy.

"No!" He sputtered, backing away.

"Who are you?"

Another man came to them, then. He was shorter than them, with light brown hair and honey-colored eyes.

"I'm Gabriel, and that," he gestured to the other boy. "Is Castiel."

"What's wrong with my brother?" Sam asked, not calming down at all.

"He- uh- concussion." Castiel stuttered, and Gabriel glanced at him, his expression indiscernible.

"A concussion? How?" Sam proceeded.

"I've fallen and I can't get up!" Dean exclaimed.

"He fell. The kid fell." Gabriel said, frustratedly.

"Shouldn't we get him some help?" Sam asked.

"Based on his numerous pop culture references, I'd say he needs all kinds of help." Gabriel responded.

"I... I was taking him to the nurse." Castiel added.

"I'll help you." Sam said.

"What's your name?" Gabriel asked.


"And his?"


"Well, nice to meet you both."

Sam and Castiel wrapped their arms around Dean's waist and helped him walk toward the building.

"Okay!" Gabriel called. "I'll be right here if anyone needs me!"


Dean left the office with a bag of ice atop his head, a vomit-pail, and a body pumped full of Advil.

"I will never let you live this down. Ever." Sam promised, still assisting Dean's walking with Castiel's help.

"Rent is awesome, and you know it."

"Maybe we can sign you up for dance lessons later."



"There you are!" Gabriel called. "I was starting to think they were performing major surgery in there!"

"Gabriel, could you start the car, please?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, no problem, kiddo."

Castiel leaned down and picked up Dean's abandoned phone.

"Thanks, Castiel." Sam said, graciously taking it.

"I know you have a penis." Dean yelled.

"Dean!" Sam scolded.

"You don't wear panties. Well, you might. That isn't any of my business, now is it? Unless you want to tell me. I'd actually kinda like to know. You seem like the type to-"

"Dean, enough!" Sam said, not too harshly. "I swear, it's like I'm the older brother sometimes." He shook his head.

"Thanks." Dean grabbed Castiel's arm and squeezed it several times.

"What are you doing?" Sam whispered to Dean.

"Being sociable." Dean responded.

"No, you're molesting his shoulder."

"It's affectionate. It's good molesting."

"We should go." Sam said. "Dean, let go of the shoulder."

"But it's a nice shoulder!"

"He really needs a nap." Sam extracted Dean's arm from Castiel's.

"Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I hope so." Castiel smiled, and grabbed Dean's arm and squeezed it in friendly competition. He reached toward Castiel's arm, but the boy was already out of reach and running toward his car.

"You are insane." Sam waited until Castiel was out of ear-shot.

"Rent really does have a fantastic soundtrack."