I finally posted a new story! Hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: I don't actually know much about Marquette, where this takes place, so I kinda just made stuff up about it :) Also I don't own Supernatural etc etc.

John

To the parent(s) of Samuel and Dean Winchester,

The time has come for the first semester parent-teacher conferences, held at Sandy Knoll School on Janurary 11, from 11am to 7pm. You are encouraged to attend, so your student(s)' teachers can have a chance to talk to you about what goes on in the classroom. We look forward to your attendance!

*For more information, please contact the Marquette Board of Education

Sincerely,

Heather Edger

President, Marquette Board Of Education

John Winchester glared at the foreign-looking slip of yellow paper in his hands. He hadn't seen one of these since his senior year in high school when, as he remembered all too clearly, his mother had come home and started crying about how she couldn't bear to see him going off to the Marines. That had been the last time he had anything to do with a school conference.

John had gotten the invitation in the mail only minutes before Sammy and Dean came home together, and he had to hide his horrified expression at the realization that he would have to go. They had moved to Marquette for a hunting job, but it was the middle of winter so they had been there since September before getting snowed in. It was bad enough that John tried not to go to anything like this, but the teachers would want to meet him, especially after four months.

Sam and Dean went to Sandy Knoll School, a K-8 public school where Sammy (4th grade) and Dean (8th grade) could be together but apart. It was one of the first times that Sam and Dean had gone to school and not been put in a classroom together, and now, four months later, they were just becoming used to that fact. John was glad to see that they were no longer so attached to each other, but at the same time he was concerned that they would become attached to people from the area, making it harder to leave.

"So what's for dinner?"

John nearly jumped back as he looked up to see Dean standing in front of him. He must have come up when John was thinking. Stupid.

Trying to look chill, John shrugged. Dean was almost 13 now. He was in the middle of a growth spurt and, though he was still short, he was catching up to John. Slowly. Puberty was doing good things for him.

"Check the fridge." John told him, moving over to the table in the kitchen. They had been renting an apartment (which was a first), and though it had cost more than the usual motel, John had decided that the boys could use something halfway decent for once. He told them not to get used to it.

Dean went over to the full-sized white fridge in the corner of the tiny kitchen. He looked inside and threw a glare at John before pulling out an empty egg container. And milk.

"I'm taking Sammy to the place up the road." Pause. "I got some money from a job I worked a few weeks ago." He looked a little reluctant to tell John that, and for good reasoning. John was instantly suspicious.

"What job?" He asked a little harshly.

"I mowed some lawns. I needed money for Sam." Dean murmured. He refused to meet John's eyes, and instead went to his and Sam's room to grab his brother. They left the apartment without another word.

John looked to the door that Sammy had shut so carefully and then down at the paper in his hand. The 11th was only two days away. Who know how the boys were doing. Honestly, John didn't really care. They were probably enjoying their time off the job. He sighed and went to look for something to eat.

It came faster than expected.

John was snapped into focus when he realized that he was already in the school parking lot, which was, of course, packed. He looked out the window of his '67 Chevy Impala, watching the parents of normal schoolchildren walking up to the school like they did it every day. Oh wait. Some of them did.

He got out of the car and began picking his way through the sea of vans and Hondas to where the front entrance. Damn this school was huge. The double doors were swarming with normal people, none of whom seemed to have any weapons on them. I remember when I was like that, John thought bitterly. A normal teenager who exceled at math and science.

For a moment John felt a blooming, bittersweet feeling of pity for his boys. Before Mary had died they had been a normal family. He and Mary had planned everything. Sammy and Dean would go to the best private school from kindergarten to 8th grade, and then go to the public high school in Lawrence, Kansas. It would have been perfect.

John shook his head and awkwardly pushed his way through the crowd. He pulled out the little slip of paper that Sammy had given him at the start of the school year of both his and Dean's teachers. He decided to go to Sammy's first, knowing that Dean would probably be a bit more of a handful. Like father, like son.

The first classroom was on the second level of the structure – the elementary part of the school. It was Sammy's English class, as well as his art class. John was once again taken back to some of the pictures that he had painted. Maybe Sammy was as good an artist as he used to be, though John was momentarily appalled at the thought that he would waste his time on that.

The room was all the way down the hall and on the left. A young woman, probably a mother, walked into the classroom before him. John followed her though and was faced with a traditional English class. The walls were covered with drawings by students of sunshine and rainbows and posters of rules and memes. They should have grown up like this…

He looked across the room, seeing the rows of desks, each with a nametag and a drawing on it. Sammy's desk was near the back, but he recognized the anti-possession symbol on the nametag with a pang of guilt. The desk next to him, belonging to some kid named Carly, had a drawing of a realistic-looking cat on the desk. Sam had an incredibly detailed drawing of a werewolf.

"Are you Sam's dad?" a female voice made him turn, which left him face-to-face with who he assumed was Sam's teacher. "I'm Cara Finn. I'm Sam's English teacher."

John gave a stupidly small smile as he took her in. She was beautiful, probably 25. She looked like she was fresh out of college. If she had been a high school teacher, she wouldn't have lasted the first week.

"Yeah. I mean, hi. I'm John. John Winchester. I'm Sam's father." He said quickly. Cara gave him a strange look and managed a smile.

"Your boy's a really talented artist, you know." When John said nothing, she gestured towards two empty seats. "Here, why don't we sit down."

They walked over to the seats and sat in silence for a moment. John cringed inwardly, realizing that this was the first time he'd ever done this.

"You know, Sam's very quiet. I don't know if you knew that or not, but I don't think I've seen him talking to any of the other students." A hint of concern edged its way into her voice. "All he does is sit and take notes and draw symbols on his papers." Pause. "He's a great kid and he has such a big heart, but none of the other kids know that. He refuses to speak to them. I don't think it's healthy for Sam to be that secluded. He's an incredibly bright kid. I mean, he aces all of his tests and does his homework, and his essays are amazing. The problem is that they're also very... Detailed. He writes about things that I don't think kids his age should know. Demons? Ghosts? And even if he does have knowledge on those things, he writes like those are his personal experiences. He draws pentagrams, Mr. Winchester. That's not what a 4th grader should be thinking."

John stared in silence. No, Sammy, no. People don't need to know this. After a moment he finally found his voice. "He watches a lot of… horror movies."

"Horror movies?!" Cara's voice rose just a tad. "Most of the movies that that kind of stuff is found in are rated "R" at least!"

This time John cringed visibly. "I-It was really nice talking to you, but I have to go now." He got up quickly and banged his elbow on the desk next to him, but that didn't stop his frantic attempt to leave Cara Finn's classroom.

"Mister Winchester! Please, your boy needs help. I haven't been a teacher for very long but I have never seen anything like Sam. He refuses to do speeches, and even when he does they're extremely short. He needs help." Her voice was edging on frantic, but John's thoughts had already moved ahead to Sammy. What exactly was he writing?

"I have to go." He was almost at the door when Cara was suddenly in front of him, a startled look on her face. John knew what she was getting at, considering he'd thought of it himself, but he knew that if he thought about it he would break. No way.

"Look, I need to show you something." She grabbed his hand and half-dragged him over to her desk. She forced him into a chair that was pulled up and started rummaging in her filing cabinets. She pulled out a sheet of paper.

"Sam drew this. I think that you know what's going on, but what I don't understand is why you would not get your son help. This is repelling other kids away from him, and he's depressed. Please let me at least help him."

John looked down at the picture that had made its way into his hands. It was a drawing of a man in a suit, incredibly pale and middle aged. His hair was silver and slicked back, but his eyes were blank spaces on his face. It was the first shape shifter that Sammy had ever seen, the one that John took Sam to help him hunt right before they ended up in Michigan. The image of shedding shifter burned into John's memory, and he knew he never should have taken Sammy. He overdid it that time.

"What is this?" Cara demanded. "I've gotten to know Sam since when he got here. He isn't like other boys, but he wants to be. He refuses to get close to them because he actually believes that he'll hurt them." She fell silent and buried her head in her hands. "He's such a sweet boy."

John stared. His mouth was half-open, yet no sound came out. He was at a complete loss for words.

"Look, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I really have to go." He managed finally. The words felt sluggish on his tongue, and his vision blurred a little. He stood up as if he were in a bad dream and moved towards the door. Cara followed him out and watched him walk down the hall. John could feel her eyes burning into his back.

He turned into the stairwell and sat quietly on one of the steps. There was nobody there now, so he took his chance to just breathe. Against his will, John's regrets began to surface, all at once. Why now, dammit! He cursed Sam for letting Cara in on his life, though he knew that it was only a matter of time.

It was true – no 8-year-old should have to go through what Sammy had been through. In fact, nobody should. John knew this, but he also knew that whatever killed Mary was still out there, and whatever it was could be hunting him and his children. He would rather die than let his only sons get hurt. But at what cost?

The sound of a door slamming jolted John back to reality. He stood up quickly and started walking down the stairs, pretending that nothing had happened. He pulled out the slip of paper as two people walked up the stairs past him. Sammy should have been exceling at gym, but after everything he heard, maybe he wasn't. John decided on a whim to check anyway.

After asking for directions to the gym, John found his way to the conference area. Maybe he could get more information on Dean as well, considering they both had the same physical education teacher.

It was a short wait to see Isaac Harper, the gym teacher. He wasn't a very buff guy, but John could tell that he was stronger than he appeared. He was wearing the staff shirt (a white polo with the school name and mascot on it) and he wore glasses with his wavy hair. He didn't seem like a gym teacher, but Dean said good things about him.

As John sat down, a brief feeling of dread passed through him. What if they're not taking this seriously? No, no way. Dean always loved sports and gym. But Sammy…?

"Hey!" Isaac reached his hand out, which John grasped and shook. "Alright, and you're…?"

He's asking who I am. "John Winchester. I'm Sam and Dean's father." Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as before.

"Aah yes! Sam and Dean Winchester. Both are fine young boys. Have they always been as active as they seem in class?" At least Isaac seemed to be fond of them. Good sign.

"Oh yeah, you bet. They both love this kind of stuff." I hope.

"Well, that's clear. Not to mention Dean's the star quarterback of the football team. You must be proud of him." Wait, what?! Dean was on the football team?

"Super." John tried to keep his voice steady. "I haven't been able to make many of the games. How's Sam doing?" He was going to have to talk to Dean after this. Wait, no. They don't even know I'm here. They can't know that I'm here.

Isaac's face hardened a little. "Sam's also excellent at sports, but he doesn't talk much does he?" John shook his head, knowing that fact. "Well, I've never seen him talk to anyone, but I do hear people talking behind his back. I guess that could be expected with him being as introverted as he is. I've talked to his counselor about it, and she's talked with him a few times, but nothing seems to work. I've worked here for four years now and I've with kids like Sam in the past, but they've all been able to open up. Sam isn't letting anyone help him. You've probably talked to some of the teachers and counselors, so you might know what's up. He seems very attached to Dean, though. This is Sam's last hour, and every day Dean comes straight to the gym to walk with him. That's the only time I ever see him say more than a few words."

I guess it's not getting any better. "Yeah, I've been trying to work that out." John lied. "His mother died when he was an infant so Dean's been taking up that roll. Sam has been having a hard time lately." Why was he telling this guy?

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Dean seems to have loved him very much. And, on that note, he's gotten into a few fights here." John pretended to look interested, though it wasn't that hard to do. "Don't get me wrong, Dean is quite popular, and he has the respect of almost everyone. There are even a few girls who seem to have taken a keen interest in him." Isaac noted with a bit of a laugh. "However, it only takes as much as a wrong joke to set him off. Usually it's one of those 'Yo' mama' jokes that have been a thing with the students, but it was only a few weeks ago that one of the other boys must have said something like that and, though Dean isn't usually effected by those, he lost it and punched the kid. That was when he got the week of detention. He also gets very annoyed when the other students are talking about Sam. Lots of the 8th graders have 4th grade siblings, and they all consider Sam the 'odd kid out.' Dean has hit quite a few people who were talking about that. He's been to see counselors as well, and that seems to help a little, but still." Isaac looked at John questioningly.

"Dean has always been like that. It's been just as rough a time from him as it has been for Sam." You need to stop talking or you're gonna regret it.

Isaac nodded. "Yes, well, I would maybe talk with Dean. You're his father, and he seems to have a lot of respect for you. He says you're a mechanic?"

"It's the family business." A half-decent lie. "Dean wants to take over after me."

"That explains a lot. Well, maybe you can help those boys more than the counselors. They're great kids, John. All they need is someone to talk to." He smiled and looked at his watch. "Do you have any questions? I have to pick up my daughter in a few minutes, so I have to leave. You can email me if you'd like as well."

"Thank you. No, I think that's it." They shook hands again and both left the gym, John right in front of Isaac. The gym teacher closed the doors and put a sign up that said: "Back in 15."

John lingered outside the door for a moment, not wanting to go to Dean's next class. He's been to see the counselors, and that seems to help a little…. If that was really the case, then maybe the counselors knew something he didn't. Or worse, they knew.

His mind was made up before he even knew what he was doing. The front office was near the entrance, where the crowd was thinning out. John walked in and went to the secretary at the nearest desk.

The secretary looked up from her notepad. A pager beeped behind her. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Who's the counselor for Winchester?"

"That would be Isabelle Brooks. You can find her in the scheduling office. Down the hall and to the left; There's a sign." She looked back down at her computer.

"Thanks…" John said in mock gratitude. He made his way down the hall, pushing his way through the thinning crowd.

The scheduling office was a big room tucked away at the end of the hall. There were a few people inside, but for the most part the main area was empty. He spotted a sign above one of the doors in the back: Ms. Brooks.

"Can I help you with something?" John whirled around to come face-to-face with another woman, though older this time. She must have been one of the counselors.

"Yes, actually, is Ms. Brooks in?" John sighed inwardly.

"Yes she is. Right in that room over there." The counselor pointed to the door that he found only moments ago. John flashed a fake smile of almost thanks before moving to Isabelle Brooks' office. He knocked lightly on the door, which was quickly answered by a nice-looking woman. Is every girl here this hot?

"Hi." She smiled at him; her red lipstick was very distracting. It went perfectly with her long brown hair. So this is who they were seeing. I gotta say, they're lucky.

"Hi." He smiled back awkwardly, though it wasn't forced. "You're Isabelle Brooks?"

"In the flesh."

"I'm John Winchester. You've been speaking with my sons – Sam and Dean, correct?"

"Why yes I did. Sweet boys. Why don't you come on in?" Isabelle gestured for John to come in, and he sat down next to her desk. It was a comfortable chair.

"They came in here just a few days ago. Actually it was just Dean; he hit one of the other boys after he made a smart comment about Sam. There's been a lot of that going around. The poor kid is just getting one thing after another. He's very introverted, you know. That is, until he's around Dean. Those two are inseparable." She shrugged and sighed. "Sam won't open up much. It sounds like he's been through a lot, though."

John nodded slowly. What did she mean: he's been through a lot? What did she know? "So what have they been telling you?" He needed information.

"Oh, well, they know how busy you are, what with your job and all, so they don't really want to bother you with this kind of stuff. I think it's very sweet and all, but you should talk to them more. They have a lot of respect for you – especially Dean." Tell me something I don't know. "I know that Sam has been dealing with depression lately, and that definitely concerns his brother, but I think they're starting to get comfortable with things here. Maybe Sam can make a few friends soon and open up. I know for a fact that it would benefit everyone." Isabelle looked at John, waiting for him to say something.

"Yeah." He said bluntly, not knowing what else to say.

"They also tell me that you move around a lot for work. I hope you can stay here for a while; I know Dean loves it and he's really trying to help Sam get situated."

"We'll see where the job takes us, I guess." They're getting too comfortable…

"Dean's almost the complete opposite of Sam, too. He's so outgoing and he has so many friends. You should be proud of him."

"Of course I am," John managed. It was true – he was incredibly proud of Dean, but he couldn't risk staying here much longer, even though Dean was finally starting to fit in. He had found his place, and now it was about to get taken away from him. It wasn't like John liked doing it to the boys; he only wanted to keep them safe. If he couldn't do that, what would Mary think?

"Is there anything else they told you?" This meeting was making him uncomfortable. He didn't want to have to think about how much Sam and Dean (or Dean, anyways) were enjoying something only to have their father rip it from their lives. Maybe they could settle down for a while longer. They would finally begin to feel like actual human beings, not some outcasts who were shunned everywhere they went. Maybe he could—

"John?"

John's vision snapped back into focus. Had he been drifting? "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Isabelle smiled sideways at him. "I was just saying that, like I said before, they haven't told me much. I have been able to paint a picture with it, but only a vague one. You should be with them more; maybe go see a few of Dean's football games next year, help him with stuff. I know he'd appreciate it, maybe even more than you think." Her voice was lined with affection.

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your time." John stood up and shook Isabelle's hand quickly before reaching for the door. On the way out, he turned back slightly and whispered:

"Thank you for listening to them."

"Where were you all day?" Dean asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

John reached for a beer in the fridge. His head ached and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for an eternity. Sleep and not think. "Out. I had a small job to do."

Dean raised an eyebrow at his father, not believing him. He knew better than to question him, though, so that was all he did. In return, he got a tired glance and a deep sigh from John. Dean took a deep breath and tried not to yell a smart comeback; sometimes the man whom he looked up to and respected so much got on his nerves.

John moved through the small apartment to his room in silence, walking past Dean without a glance. He didn't see it, but behind his back Dean threw him a face, one that he probably would have gotten in trouble for had John seen it. He also threw John the finger.

John was oblivious (to Dean's relief). He stalked into his room, which he liked – small and practical. There was a single queen-sized bed in the corner and a big bookshelf across from it. John's few belongings were scattered across the floor, though his weapons were stacked neatly in the bookshelf.

He slid onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket or shoes. The cool crinkle of the pillow on his face was a strange comfort. Unexpected but appreciated.

The events of the day unfurled in John's mind, and soon he was coated in a thin layer of sweat. Sammy and Dean's teachers were right, and John knew this. They were right, but they didn't understand. They could never understand. Whatever killed Mary that night eight years ago was in Sammy's nursery, and John could only assume that it was after his Sam. He couldn't risk losing his son – either of his sons. Not like he lost Mary.

John sat in silence, allowing the pain to wash over him; he had made sure to lock the door after he came in. He curled into a ball as memories flooded in – the emotions that he had been pushing down before threw up in his mind. Maybe if he let them out now he wouldn't be weighed down later.

He fell asleep quickly after exhaustion wiped him out.

It could have been a minute or it could have been all night. All John knew was that he was woken up by his bladder, of all things. At first he refused to acknowledge it, but soon it was overpowering. He took a deep breath and sat up, partially blinded by sleep. He cautiously opened the door as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. The apartment was silent as John crept towards the single bathroom –

And froze.

Sam and Dean's room was right next to the bathroom. Usually it was dead quiet, but now John could hear voices beyond the shut door. John put his ear up to it, forgetting his need to pee momentarily.

"…hurt?" Sammy's last word came out muffled.

"Nah. I mean, sure, a little, but I'll be fine. Nothing I haven't been through before. Don't worry about it." Dean breathed in sharply, quickly followed by a squeak of apology from Sammy.

"Dean, it's not fair! You shouldn't have to fight like that." Pause. "Not for me…" Sam added quietly. John could hear the shuffling of feet on the carpet.

"Hey, Sammy, it's cool. You'll make friends eventually. Promise." Dean's voice was comforting. "I don't mind the fights. Actually, I kinda' need them."

Sammy laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say. I mean, you're freaking quarterback of the football team. People love you." There was a tinge of jealousy in his voice. "Does dad even know about that?"

Dean gave a single sharp laugh. "Of course not. We'd be out of this school in a second if dad caught us fitting in. This is the closest we've been to normal since mom –"

At that John broke away. Tears had begun to build up in his eyes as he stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He used the toilet and then stood, looking at himself in the mirror; his eyes were dark and shadowed, and he had a five-o'clock shadow (which was quickly growing into a full beard). He looked awful.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him, and his legs gave out from underneath his body. John slumped to the floor and shut his eyes, falling into a restless sleep against the bathroom wall, its single light still on above him.