"You should take care of him sometime", the long and thin man said.
"I know. I know Alistair, but trust me, I haven't found the correct way to introduce my help yet." he folded his hands behind his back and peered out into the misty morning. The weather was not the least little bit unusual for November and the two men were happy that they could sit in their heated bureaus with hot coffee or tea and cookies. They were talking about a student, a certain Dean Winchester. No one really knew who his father was or how he treated him, but it was known for sure that his little brother, Sam, had either committed suicide or run away. Actually they didn't know anything but the fact that Samuel Winchester was gone. But the father had never bothered to inform anyone about his missing son. Alistair grabbed a pile of maths tests and skimmed through the names on the papers.
"Here", he handed one to the headmaster. "He's not dumb, but his missing school definitely ruins his chances." Crowley stared at the narrow and small and chaotic writing in horror.
"What exactly is that?" He asked, pointing at a series of numbers and letters, mixed with equasion symbols. Alistair grinned: "the work of a genius! He's such a brilliant kid! He just ... all the stuff I taught the kids when he was gone he figured out during the test, he just ran out of time before he could use the formula!" Crowleys eyebrow shot up, wrinkling his forehead and giving him an unusual puzzled expression.
"What do you recommend, what actions shall I take?" His nasal voice went up several tunes, as always when he was stressed. Apparently this Winchester kid really bothered him. Alistair chuckled. He knew how he would save Dean. They had a deal going on. Maybe it wasn't a great one and it definitely was morally incorrect, but it made sure Dean wouldn't flunk out of high school.
"Dean, would you mind staying after lesson a little longer?" The teenage boy stared up into the needy face of his maths and physics teacher. He saw the pure, animalic desire in his eyes. He sat down the pieces of the ball pen on the table, sighed and then nodded. In agony. He hated this. These extra-lessons. But he was helpless, his father a drunk, and since his little Sammy had disappeared (Dean couldn't image his baby brother killing himself) the father had turned on his older son. Dean had seen it on his brother before, the blue and green bruised abuse and the gushing red violence from arms and legs covered in long and knobby scars, and now he knew it himself. The urgent need to pull a knife through his sweet, but dirtied flesh. The burning pain, the sudden frost before he collapsed another time on the bathroom floor, the dull throb when he didn't get up fast enough again and John had "taken care of business". Which basically meant hitting and kicking an injured, desperate, broken and unconscious boy. But Dean was dependant on that father. He couldn't afford him being sent away, because then he'd be brought to another place, an orphanage and little Sammy would never find him again.
"Yes, sir." Dean watched the man have a little chat with two very hot chicks before sending the rest of the people out, wishing them a nice weekend, locking the door and closing the shutters of the classroom windows.
"Where have you been last week? I thought about calling the local police. But then I decided to be merciful, as your little brother wouldn't know about your whereabouts." Dean pressed his lips together. He had skipped school because he didn't feel like sucking the old man's cock. It was ugly, it was disgusting, it reminded him of his dirty work. Dean was bar-keeper in a strip club, but he hated it. It was loud, the clients were ugly and the chicks only smelled of sex and sweat and alcohol and they weren't hot. They looked worn out and broken, and there were only three who weren't addicted to heroin.
"My father beat me up. My face was bruised all over." Alistair stroked across Dean's cheek lovingly, unbuttoning his trousers. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then drew a deep breath. That man let him suffer if he dared missing their weekly 'extra lessons'. Dean wondered, if the headmaster knew of this. But on the other hand, mister McLeod surely had other stuff to fix.
"Yours too", the teacher ordered.
"What?" Dean backed away. Alistair, now he was allowed to call him by his first name, grinned, dirty, and the evil promise behind it hit Dean like a lightning bolt, this man would rape him if he didn't do as he was told to. "No... Sir, please..." he dropped to his knees, his eyes widened in fear, begging the man to stop and just let him do the usual, which was disgusting enough, but not as shameful as sex. Alistair just laughed and pulled the student up from the floor. He dragged him over to the desk, throwing the stiff body over it and then ... well, Dean didn't feel it, didn't want to feel the teacher penetrating him, so painfully and without a warning, Dean felt ripped apart, completely loosing himself in the void he entered whenever this extra lesson was on Alisatirs mind. Tears of agony and shame were rolling over his cheeks, he did feel very worthless.
Sorry Sam, he thought, but maybe suicide is a way out. Why did you leave me here?
