Disclaimer: I own only the 1st Season DVD.

At An End

Ten minutes left in class and Dean Winchester was going to go mad. Sitting in the back, listening to his teacher - Johnson? Jackson? Like it'll matter in two weeks when Dad announces we're leaving anyways – drone on about the evolution of a capitalist market system was excruciating. Well, not technically listening. Dean was much more involved with one of his favorite past times: scouting. Whether beautiful girls or evil supernatural creatures – sometimes both at the same time – Dean was game. Today, it was just beautiful girls. Actually, just one specific beautiful girl. She sat right in front of him, her long, red hair flowing across his desk and curling at the ends.

Dean couldn't remember her first name, but he knew that her favorite color was green because it was both the color of her backpack, her notebook and her pencils. He also knew that she used herbal shampoo, because her hair smelled exactly like the same crap Sam uses, every time she flicked it behind her shoulders. Normally he would've minded losing his precious nap hours snoozing in class, but being woken up by a girl's soft strands tickling your cheek? Way better than a bell or a teacher's ruler tap. Speaking of which, the bell was just about to ring in 30 seconds. Dean leaned over toward his backpack, putting his book away, when suddenly a green pencil landed right in front of his face on the floor. Dean glanced up.

"Oh! Sorry," the girl whispered uncomfortably, her face a slight shade of pink. But her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Would you mind grabbing that for me?"

"No problem, Mary Jane," Dean grinned dazzlingly, his hand reaching for the pencil, though he didn't take his eyes off her face.

Mary Jane smirked back, looking a little more relaxed. "Cute. I thought most boys outgrew comics when they were twelve. Apparently not."

"Oh, honey, I don't read comic books just for fun," Dean retorted. "They're for research."

"Like what, how to not get killed when you're attacked by some unearthly monster?"

"No." That's what Latin is for. Dean leaned back in his seat. "I read them so I know how to save pretty girls like you when you're attacked by some unearthly monster."

Mary Jane rolled her eyes. "Your pick-up lines could use a little work, y'know," she said condescendingly, though the teasing, flirting lilt to her voice remained.

"Yeah well, maybe you could give me some pointers while I carry your book bag for you?"

Mary Jane freckled cheeks turned a new shade of red. She smacked the gum in her mouth and replied, "I have to stop at my locker, then by the main office to pick up some college applications. But sure, why not?"

Dean smiled triumphantly.

ooooooooooooo

Sam sat outside Door #6, on the planter ledge, his feet dangling a foot or so above the concrete sidewalk. School had let out nearly twenty minutes ago, and yet Dean hadn't shown yet. Usually Dean was waiting for him when he got outside, already starting to walk the eight blocks to their apartment before Sam was halfway out the door. Sam had never understood Dean's hatred of school. Sure, sometimes it was boring if you had a bad teacher, and it could be a lot of work, but at least this way they were doing something safe. Sam knew Dean loved hunting, but sometimes it didn't add up to him.

Dean's favorite past time – after scouting (girls or evil supernatural creatures, heck, sometimes both at the same time, Sam annoyingly thought) – was teasing Sam. His favorite topic for the activity? School, of course. Because Dean and Sam agreed on pretty much everything, except for school. Just a month ago, back in August, Dean had begged their father to let him quit early.

"I can hunt full time, Dad! I've learned everything I need to from school. It's not going to help me later on, not with anything important," Dean had argued.

"No Dean. You need to get your degree, and then you never have to go back if you don't want to. But for now, you need to finish high school," John said, without even so much as looking up from his journal.

"But Dad, sitting at school doesn't save lives. And you know that's more important," Dean practically yelled. Sam remembered thinking Dean must really hate school if he was brave enough to almost yell at their dad about it. Either way, his tone got John to look up from his research on the wendigo, his eyes hard.

"It was important to your mother," he said stiffly, with finality. At this, Dean stepped down, but his eyes still blazed.

And, nearly four weeks later, Sam still caught himself wondering if Dean would find a way to get Dad to let him quit. But today, he'd come to school with Sam. And he wasn't here yet to walk home. Sam glanced around again, his eyes and ears searching for the familiar face and voice. But the place was empty, except for an older kid standing at the bottom the steps, smoking. The guy looked pissed every time his gaze traveled back to the door from the parking lot. He completely ignored Sam, but Sam didn't mind. He had a feeling this wasn't the kind of guy you wanted to get noticed by, anyway.

Maybe Dean skipped, Sam thought. But he would still come and get me, right? He wouldn't just leave me out here to wait. Dean's lots of things, but cruel isn't one of them.

Suddenly, Sam heard the door open behind him. He didn't even have to see Dean to recognize the small chuckle. He turned around, ready to attack Dean with spiteful questions for making him wait, but his voice died on his lips. It wasn't just Dean who walked out. It was Dean and a girl.

Great, Dean, was all he managed to think before a new, unfamiliar voice latched on to his mind.

"What the hell do you think you're doing with her, you punk?"

oooooooooooooo

Dean had waited patiently while Mary Ja – uh, Sophie – took her time switching books at her locker, then stopping by the office for the college stuff.

"What schools are you applying to?" she'd asked as they wandered out the office and down the hallway.

"Stanford, naturally," Dean replied smoothly.

"Really?! Me, too," Sophie said. Actually, Dean had sneaked a glance at her application choices through the office window, but she didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, it just seems like the logical choice, what with the full ride they're offering me and all," Dean answered, appreciating the admiration that shown in Sophie's eyes. "Hey, which way do you live? I gotta stop by door number six and tell my brother he'll have to walk home by himself today, then we can head out."

"Okay, no problem," Sophie said. "I live just three blocks south. If you leave from door number six, you probably walk by my house every day. I'll just walk with you."

They carried a conversation all the way to the door, and Dean was just about to ask her if she wanted to go on a date Friday night when they stepped out into the sunlight. The first thing Dean saw was Sammy crouched on the ledge, his backpack in his lap. He saw Sam turn his head, his face accusing, when suddenly it panned out into one of surprise. Dean just smiled, chuckling, when –

"What the hell do you think you're doing with her, you punk?"

Dean turned to look at to his right, and saw a guy from his government class – a dumb football jock, he vaguely remember thinking to himself once or twice – step up to the top stair. Sophie interrupted any comeback he had, though.

"Greg!" she said, her voice softening. "I thought you'd have left by now."

"Well, why would I do that, when you said you'd grab a coffee with me after school today?"

Dean had to laugh at that. A football jock who asks girls to go drink coffee with him? He probably spouts poetry too. What a sap. "Dude," he said, before he could stop himself, "I don't think a latte is going to get you any action, anyways."

Sophie's attention snapped back to Dean. Unfortunately, so did Greg's. Without a second's hesitation, Greg took one large step towards Dean, took him by the collar of his t-shirt and rammed him into the door. Behind Greg, Dean saw Sam jump up, ready to attack from behind. Dean barely shook his head in Sam's direction, but it was enough to get Sam to wait.

"And who do you think you are, you piece of shit?" Greg yelled into Dean's face. "Who do you think you are, trying to steal my girlfriend and then insulting me?"

Dude, your breath reeks! was Dean's first thought, but then, an idea occurred to him. A great idea. In the span of second, he had a plan. "If you don't let go of me right now, you'll regret it."

Greg just smiled. "We'll see about that."

"No! Wait!" Sophie had finally piped in.

"Greg, just let him go and then we'll get out of here," Sophie said, her eyes pleading. Greg glanced over at her, and that was just what Dean was waiting for. He bashed Greg in the head with his right fist, then landed a quick punch to the stomach and Greg was on the ground, moaning.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Sophie screamed at Dean, her face stained with tears and suddenly Dean didn't care at all what she looked like, he just wanted to have nothing more to do with her.

"He'll be fine, he gets worse at practice I'm sure," Dean answered, rubbing his neck where Greg had pinched his Adam's apple going after his shirt. "Though, if all the rest are wimps like he is, maybe not."

"You're a jerk, you know that?" Sophie said, helping Greg to his feet.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea," Dean remarked, then turned around and walked down the steps to where Sam stood. Sam stared at the ground as Dean came up to him, and refused to meet his eyes.

"Sammy, you all right?" Dean asked, though he knew Sam couldn't have gotten hurt. Sam continued his stare for a moment, then looked back up at Dean, his face one of surprised anger.

"You didn't have to hit him, Dean," Sam said. "He would've let you go, he was about to."

"Yeah well, he shoulda let me go right away, not get the girl to do it for him," Dean answered coldly, looking back behind him across the parking lot to the jock and Sophie. With the adrenaline running through his veins right now, he wasn't sure he wouldn't go off on Sam too. He turned his gaze back to Sam, who was looking at him with something close to concern.

"Dean, you don't have to fight all the time, you know," Sam said. "Sometimes, it's like you don't even know the difference between people and monsters." A light of epiphany flashed across Sam's face, then. He stopped walking, and just stared at Dean. "You knew, didn't you?"

oooooooooooooo

When the thought occurred to Sam, he at first dismissed it. But it all fell into place. Dean had known Sophie had a boyfriend. He had known Greg would attack him. He had planned it, with the hopes that he'd have a reason to kick the crap out of Greg so that he'd get suspended, and then... then Dad would get so fed up, he'd let Dean quit. Sam couldn't believe Dean, the brother he knew, would ever do it. But Dean, the hunter, he would do whatever it took. The thought scared Sam more than anything. He had to stop this, before Dean took it any further.

Just as Dean turned to Sam, ready to argue, Sam took the risk.

"Dean, you can't hurt Greg! I know you think he's stupid and all, but you can't hurt him!" Sam pleaded. Dean stopped walking after that, already ten paces ahead of Sam, having refused to stop when Sam had. He turned around, his face furious.

His voice barely above a whisper, Dean raged, "Jesus Sam, it's not like I planned it! I didn't know she had a boyfriend!"

"But once you found that out, you were quick to go after him! I know what this is about, Dean, I can see it in your face. You just want a reason to get Dad to let you quit. Why, though, Dean? You only have eight months left. Just eight months, and then you don't ever have to go back. Why beat someone up over eight months?" Sam felt a feeling of dread wash over him when he focused from his words to Dean's face. Dean looked ready to kick Sam's ass. And Sam knew it wasn't because he was wrong.

It was because he was right.

oooooooooooooo

"Let's go," Dean said. He was pissed beyond all hell, pissed at Sophie for leading him on when she had a boyfriend. Pissed at Greg for attacking him. Pissed at Sam for figuring out his sudden plan so quick, and worse, making him feel ashamed about it. Pissed at his Dad for forcing him to stay in school when it was all such bullshit. Most of all he was pissed off at himself though, for allowing himself to lose control of reason. Logically, he shouldn't have hit Greg, he knew Greg was about to let him go. Logically, he should just stay in school and get it done with, for his mom if for nobody else. Logically, Sam was right. But right then Dean hadn't cared about logic, and now hardly ten minutes later he was already feeling bad about it.

Not knowing what else to do, and with a lack of anything to hit, Dean turned away from Sam and began to walk. Just as he did, though, he heard a car door slam from on the road and something running toward him out of the corner of his eye. Before he could do anything, Dean felt all the air pushed out of his lungs as he landed hard on the ground, Greg straddling his chest.

"You son of a bitch! I'll show you who's a wimp now!" Greg seethed, slamming Dean in the face with a fist. Dean bit his tongue and tasted blood, and his ears rang. In the background he heard Sam cry out his name, but before he could even raise his fists to get Greg back, another punch slammed into his temple.

Damn it, Dean had time to think, then a weightless feeling settled over him and he was out for the count.

ooooooooooooo

Sam barely registered what was happening before he saw Greg on top of Dean. Greg, his voice so low Sam couldn't make it out, whispered something into Dean's ear before he raised his fist and slammed it down across Dean's cheekbone.

"Dean!" Sam cried, his voice hitting a pitch he thought he'd ridden himself of six months ago. Sam saw Dean's face contort in pain and a small trickle of blood escape his mouth. Then he watched in horror as Greg slipped something on his hand. Sam was running at Greg before he even found the name of the object. All he could think was Bad! This is really bad!

Just as Greg slammed the brass knuckles into Dean's temple, Sam rammed into Greg with all the upper body strength he could muster.

Both Greg and Sam tumbled across the sidewalk, Sam a little farther since he weighed less. Without missing a beat Sam was on his feet and running back toward Greg. Greg had lost the knuckles and whatever he saw in Sam's face must have scared the shit out of him because suddenly his hands were jammed into one of his pockets, and he was grabbing something as fast as he could.

Sam saw what he was doing, but at the moment he was so angry he wasn't thinking straight. All that registered in his mind was that Dean, Sam's protector, Sam's brother, Sam's world was lying on the ground, and he wasn't getting up. And Greg had been the one to do that. For all Sam knew, Greg had killed him. And that thought, Sam could not bear. For that reason, Sam did not care what Greg had in his hand, because Sam would do anything for his brother, and kicking the shit out of dumb football jocks was definitely on that list.

Sam was just about to Greg, a yell of suppressed rage escaping him, when Greg raised his arm up to Sam, as though he was pointing at him. Sam saw the new weapon in Greg's hand, and at the last minute instinct, not control, forced him to a halt. But not before Greg whipped his arm straight out toward Sam, his face one of grim triumph.

ooooooooooooo

At first, Sam didn't feel any pain. His scream of rage died to a whimper though, and that he definitely took note of. It was just like in the movies, and as Sam felt his scream die, he stared Greg in the eyes, wanting to ask him a question but not sure what it was. How? or maybe just Why? Before he got the chance another whimper escaped him, and he felt himself slipping toward the ground.

Greg, at least, let go of the knife's handle and stepped back, his look of grim triumph now one of utter panic. Sam, now on his knees, watched as Greg wiped his hands on his shirt, then they went up to the back of his head as he began to a whispered litany of "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh-"

Greg's eyes were no longer on Sam's, they were now on something below Sam, some part of Sam. Sam absently looked down, and Hmmm, that's not right. Because something was sticking out of him. A handle of some sort? And, Sam noted, coming out from around the handle in spurts, was something warm and sticky.

Sam brought his hands up to the wound, wanting to pull the handle, see if it would open a door to some place where the pain wouldn't get him. Right when he thought of pain was when he felt it hit him, like a freight train, and Sam groaned and slowly sunk to the ground. His head hit the pavement and he coughed and felt a trickle of blood escape his mouth and that's when he remembered Dean.

"Dean. Dean," he cried because he knew Dean was there, Dean was always there when something happened to him and Dean would save him now like he always did. But instead, the only person Sam saw was Greg, who crouched in front of him, now silent, his face a blank.

Greg reached for him, and for a second Sam thought Greg would put pressure on the wound, try to stop the bleeding, but then he felt a coldness seep through him, he felt his insides slide a little, and now Greg was holding something in his hand, and wasn't it that damn knife? Without a second glance Greg jumped up and ran back to his car, and sped away.

"No. No. Dea-"

Sam's pleading eyes followed the car, and then rolled down to his stomach, where a puddle of blood had formed around him.

"Dddd..." he tried again, but there was no answer, no touch of comfort to ease the cold that had fallen upon him. From where he was lying, he was facing the street and not the sidewalk where he knew Dean lay. What if he's dead? Sam felt the dread of hopelessness come over him. But no, Dean's alive, Dean wouldn't let some dumb football player kill him.

Sam's second-to-last thought before the darkness took him was hope for Dean, that Dean wouldn't blame himself when he woke up to find Sam not just gone, but dead. But he will, Sam knew. He closed his eyes, his vision fading anyway, his last bit of strength nearly vanished.

And though he could see nothing he could somehow see Dean.

He will. He's my brother.