A note from the author:

Ahoy! Welcome to my story, so glad you decided to check it out! Before you start make sure you are on board for the following things: Destiel, slash, alcohol and drug references. Still here? Full steam ahead!

The mud brown bricks and dirt-stained windows created a carcass where there may have once been a proud school. The wheels of Dean's old pick-up created a dust storm in the parking lot. Once he had parked, he shifted the weight of his bag from his lap to his shoulder. It was heavy; full of textbooks, minus the homework.

Going to Cumberly Public High School wasn't his choice, but he was neither rich, nor smart. At least his younger brother, Sam, had gotten a scholarship to Shurley School of Music. Shurley was the only thing their town was known for. It being one of the most prestigious music schools in the country. "Whatever" Dean thought. At least he still had his good looks. Not that anyone at Cumberly was worth impressing.

Dean went to four morning classes, a record deserving a reward. So, he spent the rest of the day on the roof. Picking the lock to get up there had become a ritual part of his day.

He looked up at the grayless sky. The teen starting to hum a wordless song his brother had been composing at their 'Uncle' Bobby's house. There was no piano at their dad's house and Sam spent extra time anywhere he could find one. Dean missed the days when he saw his brother everyday. The sorrow spilled out of his mouth in a lonely note. Until more notes and words formed. Soon he was tapping his foot and singing like some heartbroken teenage girl.

"Under the cover of the too bright sky,

I can't find you,

you've said goodbye."

He came to an abrupt halt at the first clap, giving himself a light-headed rush as he sat up too fast. He took a couple breaths to calm to roller coaster movements of his stomach. Fuck. No one was supposed to know he enjoyed singing.

"Dean~" Shit. It was a sing-song tone, but he still recognised the voice.

Dean turned, Lilith stood there with her friend (and punching bag) Ruby. His fists curled. Dean would never hit a girl, but bitches didn't come in one gender.

"Well, Dean Winchester, you've left me speechless!" Lilith said.

Dean snarled at the snickering girls and pushed them out of the way. Halfway down the stairwell, he paused at the sound of his own voice. It blasted on high from the Iphone in Lilith's hand. Dean went slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Looking a lot like a fish out of water, he walked back up to the girls

He knew it was all over. His no-one-mess-with-me reputation was ruined. Finally, he was close enough to see the screen. Dean had known the queen of Cumberly worked fast, but Lilith had already put the video up. It had fifteen views on Youtube. Dean high-tailed it out of there. However, not before Ruby got a word in.

"Told you we'd get you back!"

Dean awoke in a mental fever. The truth of yesterday catching him off guard and sweeping him away. Maybe he could just head to some third world country without internet. It was a fleeting thought, someone had to take care of Sammy.

Dean rolled over and his mouth went dry. He reached out to touch the cool glass with a shaking hand. He hadn't. Had he? He'd promised Sammy. Hadn't he?

Turning the beer bottle over, he inspected the top, looking for any evidence that he had been the culprit. He stayed there too long in his mind, though it was only a few seconds before he pulled himself up.

The pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink had reached a momentous height. It had been this dirty and underused since they switched to take out full time three months ago.

Besides that, Dean saw a scene that played out every Friday. His father, passed out at the table and surrounded by filth. Ignoring it, the teen made his way towards the trash. Until something caught his eye. Detouring to the table, he checked to bottles surrounding John Winchester's head. Same label as the one in his hand. He was safe, at least in his mind.

"Dean." The warning was at home in the deep voice. Dean turned to look at his father's sleep deprived eyes. Recognising the look, he pursed his lips.

"Just cleaning up." Tossing the bottles in the trash, Dean headed back down the hall to his room.

Away from suspicious brown eyes, he paced. There was no way he could go anywhere. Eventually, he retreated to his shabby bed.

The old flip phone in the pocket of his leather jacket buzzed. Dean hid his head under his arm. The phone buzzed again. Dean lifted his head and slammed it against the pillow. Buzz. Dean gripped the phone in his hand. The phone slammed against the wall and dropped, laying silent on the carpet. He decided to sleep, because that seemed like the only way to escape.

The notes of Sam's song were warped and jagged. Dean was running from some kind of nightmare again. Monsters called to him. Dean, Dean, Dean…

"Dean!" Sam's voice called urgently.

Dean's eyelids cracked open, revealing green eyes. Eyebrows slid down Dean's face in irritation. He hadn't expected to see Sam this week. When he heard the voice he thought something was wrong. In reality, it was him having the nightmares and the kid was fine.

"You have to see this." Sam said, pulling his big brother up by his arm.

Sam was taller than Dean, and just about as good looking. Dean liked to think they got it from their mom. What advice would she give him now? It was overdone, but the first thing that popped into his head was 'just be yourself.'

Once they reached Sam's room, the younger brother went straight the the desk and the laptop on it. The school had graciously lent it to him. Dean didn't appreciate that at the moment. He could see his intuition was right about the webpage Sam wanted to show him. He walked over anyway.

It was the back of his head pictured on the screen, with the fence around Cumberly's roof in the back. His name plastered across the title, "The Secret Side of Dean Winchester." Dean rubbed his hands across his face.

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"465,203." Dean looked up at Sam. His face was pained, but only his brother would be able to tell.

"Views, Dean." Sam said slowly, sympathetically.

Dean kicked the desk chair out of the way. Scanning the screen with his narrowed eyes, he quickly moved the mouse. He watched the page refresh. Over half a million. Dean turned and was out of the house before Sam could say anything.

He sat in his car outside of town. Dean came here to think. Instead, he just stared, wishing his dad had let him dust off the old Impala in their imagined the hum of the engine he'd tune up. The rumble of the radio's bass as he blasted some classic rock. All caught up in the fantasy, he couldn't help himself. He sang an angry rock song. And maybe that made him happy enough to tap his foot and pound the air drums to a solo that only played in his head.

He got home late. Seeing the light shining from one of the back window, he felt a small sense of pride. That is, if Sammy was really doing his homework instead of surfing the internet.

Later that night, while Dean was staring at his cracked ceiling, a knock forced him to get up. Sam was standing there, dark circles under his eyes that made Dean squint in concern.

"Here." His younger brother handed him a folded pamphlet.

"What's this?"

Sam gave him puppy dog eyes.

"Just...think about it." Then, the taller boy walked back down the hall. Dean looked at what was in his hand.

"Shurley School of Music's third annual scholarship competition."

Dean shook his head and set the pamphlet on his dresser. Going back to staring at the ceiling, he couldn't keep his mind off the competition. His eyes drifted back to the announcement paper. A smile spread across his lips.

It was the perfect revenge.

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