Yo! So, this is my baby, which I've been working on among other things for about 3 months. It's my first Spn fic, which is surprising considering how much other fanfiction I read and how truly, madly, deeply, in love I am with the show. To be honest, during the very early stages of my Supernatural obsession I said (and I quote), "Destiel? Ew, no". I would like to publicly apologize for this statement, seeing as Destiel is now my OTP and there is nothing more beautiful. Anyway, enjoy!

"You gotta work on that aim, boy!" John Winchester coughed, hauling himself to his feet and glancing at the smoldering heap of ashes on the ground in front of him. "That was too close."

"Yes, Sir." Dean's shoulders sagged in disappointment, the weight of his sawed off rifle on his shoulder not helping. He silently cursed himself for being too quick to shoot and not taking the extra second to guarantee accuracy. It was a stupid ghost, he scolded himself. That's gotta be one of the easiest jobs out there.

Today was supposed to have been the day Dean showed his dad that he was ready to leave school and take on the job. But now...well, John wanted perfect, and Dean certainly hadn't shown him that.

The car ride home was silent, save the quiet thrumming of the radio, and Dean was all too glad when the Impala jerked into the dingy motel parking lot.

"So, why don't you go on in with your brother, and I'll be in in a while."

John looked over at the bar, and Dean understood exactly what he meant. "Yes, sir."

He trudged across the parking lot to the motel room they were currently residing in. It was pretty crappy, as usual, but the obnoxiously vibrant green door seemed almost welcoming after such a long day. "Hey, Sammy." Dean dropped his duffel bag on the table where his younger brother was diligently finishing his homework and flopped onto the couch with a grunt.

Sam lifted his head from his studies and grinned upon seeing his brother enter the room. "Dean!"

Dean stretched out on the couch, yawning, letting out a loud, tired groan.

"Tough day?" Sam asked, lobbing a pillow at his head.

Dean let out a grunt as it collided with his face, and immediately chucked it back at his brother. "You have no idea." He said with a sigh, settling back into the couch.

"You missed your first day of school, y'know." Sam looked at him

Dean snorted. By now he'd pretty much given up on school. He wouldn't need it for the job. What was important was getting experience with his dad. "Y'see, Sammy, that's why I have you. I can send you in early, have you scope out the place and tell me if it's worth showing up to."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. Well, it is pretty nice actually."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "And the chick situation?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Have you picked up a single book in your entire life?"

"Yeah, man, remember like...two schools ago?"

Sam snorted and turned back to his homework.

"You make any friends today?" Dean asked, reaching over the coffee table to grab the TV remote.

Sam chewed on the cap of his pen as he stared down at a spot on the table, his eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah," he said, hesitating. "And no."

Dean quickly looked up from the muted television. Not the bullying again. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sam's shoulders sank, and he quickly shook his head. "Forget it, Dean."

"Sammy, what's his name?" Dean sat up angrily.

"Why does it matter? I can handle it!" Sam insisted.

"I want to know so when I show up tomorrow I can kick his ass!"

Sam groaned. "Yeah, that'd be a great way to start your year."

Dean ignored him. "What happened?"

"I was walking over to the gym for my 6th period class, and I got lost, and ended up in this alley thing near the dumpsters and I heard this girl crying, so I ran over to help, and he was...he was about to..." Sam stopped mid-sentence, cringing. "I don't even want to talk about it. But I ran in and yelled at him to stop, and he didn't really appreciate that." His eyes flicked down towards his left arm, which was hidden under the table. Dean followed his gaze, his jaw clenching. "What did he do to you, Sammy?"

Sam reluctantly pulled his hand into view. Dean cringed as he saw the makeshift splint on his brother's magnificently purple middle three fingers. "Shit." He leapt to his feet, his fists clenched, moving towards the door. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"Dean!" Sam insisted, annoyed. "Knock it off! She got away, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"Look at your hand, Sam! What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Sam protested, glaring at Dean.

Dean scraped a hand over his face in frustration. "I don't know. Shit, Sammy, why do you have to be such a hero when you don't fight back?"

Sam didn't answer, only stared miserably at his poorly bandaged hand.

Dean sighed. "Was she okay?" He asked, trying not to reprimand his brother for helping someone else. "The girl?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Understandably a bit shaken up, but she's alright." He held up his hand. "Her brother helped me patch it up."

"Let me see that." Dean took a look at the splint, shaking his head slightly. "What is this, a pen?"

He turned and pulled a little medical kit out of his duffel bag and began treating Sam's hand.

"Let me guess," he said, replacing Sam's badly splinted wrappings with more effective supplies. "They're the friends you made?"

Sam nodded. "I guess you could call them that. Gabriel and Anna Novak. He's a senior and she's a junior."

"Did you get her number?" Dean teased, meriting a punch on the shoulder from Sam's good hand. "Hey, just askin'!"

Despite Dean's attempt to lighten the mood, Sam still looked worried. "What do I tell Dad?"

Dean frowned. He could guess how their dad would react, and it probably wouldn't be pretty. He decided in this case, coming up with an alternative story would be best for everyone.

"I dunno, what were you thinking?"

"I thought maybe I could say that I fell," Sam said, looking up hopefully. "Would that work?"

"You're freakin' clumsy alright, but are you bad enough to break a couple fingers from just a fall?" Dean shook his head. "No, he wouldn't believe that."

Sam frowned again, fidgeting with his pen. "I got it stuck in a door?"

Dean nodded. "That'll work. He's not going to be happy though."

Sam cringed. "I know, but he can't find out. Remember Tulsa?"

Dean remembered the occasion clearly. They were out of the state before dawn the next morning, with an identity change once again.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Well, Sammy, I'm glad to hear you've had such a low key first day."

Sam snorted, and turned back to his homework.

"You're such a geek." Dean plopped back down on the couch and turned up the volume.

The night got darker, and eventually Dean decided to whip up a pot of boxed Mac 'n Cheese. They ate without John, and went to bed later that night, coming to the conclusion that they weren't going to see him until the next morning.

"Dean, wake up!"

Dean groaned into his pillow, trying to shut out the sunlight filtering through the musty motel curtains. School could wait, he thought groggily, allowing himself to slip back into the depths of sleep. He was just starting to get back into his dream when he was rudely awakened by the collision of a projectile with his head, causing him to shoot up, knife in hand.

"Get up, dude." Sam said, hands up in surrender, laughing. "We have to leave in 20 minutes if you want to be on time."

He cut Dean off as soon as he noticed him open his mouth to throw out a snarky comment. "And I want to be on time, so get your ass up."

Dean groaned, too tired to argue, and, rubbing a hand over his sleep-heavy eyes, he hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Breakfast consisted of a stale bowl of knockoff cereal each, washed down with the dregs of the orange juice.

"Dad home?" Dean asked through a mouthful of cereal.

Sam nodded towards the back room, where John was no doubt sprawled on his bed, fast asleep. After years of dealing with their father's in and outs, the boys had learned not to ask questions. "He left this." Sam gestured towards the center of the table, where Dean noticed a hastily written note thrown next to $35 in crumpled bills. It read, Take the car to school. I'm leaving around noon and I'll be gone for a couple days. You know the drill.

Dean nodded. John up and leaving for a couple days wasn't a new concept, and he was secretly glad to be trusted with the Impala.

Several minutes later, Sam sat shotgun miserably while Dean blared his AC/DC tracks as they pulled into the school parking lot. Dean smirked as Sam sank lower into his seat, trying to avoid the stares of the kids disturbed by the deafening noise of the car.

As soon as they parked, Sam leapt out of the car, swinging his backpack over his shoulders.

"What's this school called again?" Dean got out much less enthusiastically, pulling his leather jacket over his green Henley and grudgingly picking up his single notebook and pen.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Madison L. Wagner High School. Or just Wagner, apparently. Really, Dean, would it kill you to try?"

Dean snorted "'Course it would."

They set off towards the front doors, joining the steady stream of students already filing in.

Dean tried to maintain an air of self-confidence, and immediately set out to achieve the status he rose to in every single school he transferred to. He shot the passing group of girls a sly smile, even breaking out a winning head nod of acknowledgement to a pretty brunette wearing a paisley dress with a rather low cut top. Sam noticed his brother's attempt to create a reputation, and looked pointedly at the brunette. "Lisa Braeden," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's a sophomore. That's a little young for you, don't you think?"

Dean ignored his younger brother's disapproval, laying out the charm and throwing her a wink, causing her to blush and look down at her feet. He chuckled, and threw his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Maybe, little brother, but there are some serious perks to having a car to myself for a couple days."

"Gross," Sam said, rolling his eyes and wriggling out of his brother's arm. "You need more Jesus."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, sure."

Sam's eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey," he nodded down the hall, towards a short boy with brown hair foraging through his locker. "That's Gabriel. You know, the guy from yesterday?"

"Should I say hi?" He asked, worry creasing his forehead.

"You're such a girl!" Dean groaned, lightly smacking him on the back of the head.

Sam needn't have worried. As soon as the boy looked up, his face split into a grin. "Hey, Samsquatch!"

He slammed his locker shut, and sauntered over to the pair of them. "How's that hand?"

Sam held up his splinted fingers. "All patched up."

Gabriel nodded appreciatively, then focused in on Dean. He studied the taller boy, sizing him up.

"Lemme guess...big brother?" His tone was as bright as his golden eyes, but Dean immediately picked up on the sarcastic layer underneath.

Sam nodded quickly, clearly self-conscious about making a good impression. "Yeah, this is Dean."

Dean stuck out a hand. "Hey, man. Gabriel, right?"

Gabriel gave a crafty smile, reaching to shake. "That's me!"

Dean nodded, then folded his arms awkwardly. "Um, I just wanted to say, thanks for yesterday." Gabriel's smirk dropped for a split second, then picked right back up again so fast that Dean wondered if his expression had changed at all. Dean continued hastily, "You know with Sam's hand and everything."

Gabriel snorted. "I didn't do anything. Samsquatch here is the real MVP."

Sam's cheeks took on a pink tinge, and he looked at the ground.

"Who was it?" Dean asked carefully, knowing that it was a sensitive subject for both boys.

Gabriel darkened noticeably. "Some creep from around town." His voice was tight. "He doesn't go here."

Dean heard the finality in the sentence and let the matter drop, sensing the boy's anger. "Right. So, um, Sammy tells me you're a senior too?"

Gabriel nodded, that cheeky smile flickering back to his face. "That's right. Hey, what's your schedule? Maybe we have classes together!"

Dean blinked. He'd forgotten to go to the counselor's office to pick up his schedule. "Crap," he said, starting to look around, then realized he had no idea where anything was. "I haven't gotten my schedule yet. Where's the office?"

"Right down there," Gabriel said, gesturing towards the opposite hallway.

"Thanks, man." Dean threw a glance at his brother, who clearly, from the way he hovered towards Gabriel, was reluctant to leave. A small voice nagged at the back his mind, whispering, don't let him get attached. Over the years of slipping in and out of schools, Dean had learned not to make friends. The routine had been hard wired into his brain. Sidle into town, get a reputation, have a little fun, and pack his bags when John said so. He didn't let himself get attached to people. The inevitability of their departure hung over him like a gloomy cloud, keeping him from making any relationships that would cause him pain when they left. He had long since accepted that this was simply the way it was. Sam, however, found it practically impossible to build these preemptive barriers, resulting in misery every time they hit the road. And it was because of the repetitive nature of this ordeal that for a moment, Dean considered dragging Sam away from the potential friendship of this curious boy. He could nip this right in the bud, and save them both a whole lot of pain in a couple weeks time. But something stopped him from hauling his brother away from the other boy. Screw it, Dean thought, deciding to let it slide. "See you later, Sammy," he said, nodding his goodbye as he turned in the direction Gabriel had pointed him in. Ten minutes later, Dean exited the office, now armed with his schedule and his newly established bad reputation among the faculty. Apparently, he thought with a smirk, most teachers didn't appreciate their students calling them "sweetheart".

So, how was that? Have a wonderful week, my lovelies, and review por favor!

Love, Clodagh