Authors Notes:

I don't own these characters, I just like to mess with them. No money has been made.

This is an AU and they are not related.

Shit, Dean thought as he stared down at the crumpled paper in his hand dejectedly. He knew his transcripts were a mess and that the math test was something the school needed to place him, but all he wanted was to get through a month or so at this damn school before he moved on once more. Instead he had the misfortune of attracting a teacher who "cared" who decided that, despite the mess of Dean's school records that he was a decent student in everything but math. Hence the reason why Dean is sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair in the classroom waiting for said teacher so they could discuss his "future".

At that Dean snorted. He knew what his future entailed, whether he wanted to or not. Saving people and killing things, the family business. He had been a hunter for what seemed like his whole life, and he knew it was an important job. However, as his Dad repeatedly lectured him, their covers were also important which was why Dean, at 19 years old, was trying to get his high school diploma in a little Boston suburb that he couldn't name if you asked him.

With his good looks, cool car and bad boy persona, Dean never had a problem fitting in wherever he ended up. Girls wanted to be with him and guys tried to copy him. And for a while, Dean had liked the attention. God knows his Dad only noticed him when he didn't do something right. But lately he had found the attention from strangers wearing and shallow and in this school he was keeping a low profile. Not that he was that successful, judging from the love note slipped into his locker from some chick named Angie and the teacher who wanted to "challenge him."

The door opened and his head jerked up in time to see Mr. Cross walk into the classroom with someone following behind him.

"Ahh, Dean, thank you for coming, sorry about the wait, I had to track down Mr. Morgan here, " gesturing to the hunched figure behind him.

Mr. Cross moved to sit behind his desk and Dean got his first look at Mr. Morgan. He was tall and thin, but his face still had some baby to it, like he had grown too fast and the rest of him was trying to catch up with it. His shaggy brown hair went in every direction including in front of his eyes, which didn't meet Dean's. His face was flushed and he was biting on his lower lip with straight even teeth. He wore an oversized hoodie with a Red Sox logo and his jeans looked stiff and new and Dean couldn't help comparing them to the threadbare pair he was wearing.

Dropping into the chair beside Dean, the kid placed his overstuffed backpack between his legs and looked up at the teacher, blowing his bangs out of his eyes with impatience.

Mr. Cross looked a few papers on his desk and began to speak. "Dean, this is Sam. He is a junior, but in all advanced math classes. I have asked him to tutor you for extra credit and thankfully," at that the teacher smiles at Sam, "he agreed. So, now we just have to work out a schedule for you boys."

Sam turned and looked directly at Dean and Dean felt his stomach lurch a little. His eyes were slanted, tipped up like an exotic animal and seemed to be a myriad of colors. Dean gulped a little. The kid, Sam was hot. Like. Stupid hot. Not a complication Dean needed. Shit.

Sam had not wanted to tutor some stupid new guy, but Mr. Cross was a good teacher and had said the magic words "extra credit" that had Sam following him to his classroom.

Sam was a math whiz but it wasn't something that interested him. He did, however need a scholarship and every little bit helped. He had big dreams and he knew the only way he was getting to college was through scholarships because his mother's waitressing job sure as shit couldn't do it. Not that he expected her to. But he knew she would feel bad and probably work her fingers to the bone to put him through school and that was the last thing he wanted. He could do it on his own.

Ever since he was small people had thrown around the words genius and special and advanced when it came to Sam. Those words changed when he got to high school. Now they were more like, loser, retard and faggot. He wasn't sure how any of his classmates could know his sexual preferences since he himself wasn't sure but apparently he gave off a gay "vibe" or so the captain of the football team seemed to think. So he kept to himself, excelled in his studies, helped his mom out and dreamed of the day he could leave this town behind and go to college.

Sam believed that anything was possible. Everything could be real, and until it was completely discounted, Sam figured keeping an open mind was something a smart person should do. He was fascinated with urban legends, myths and folklore. He fervently believed in ghosts and angels and everything in between. And when he finished college, he was going to become a paranormal investigator and prove it to the world.

When Mr. Cross had mentioned that Sam and the new guy needed a schedule, Sam had inadvertently made eye contact. Oh how he wished he hadn't. The guy was gorgeous, like out of a magazine, beat off material for a month, make the tongue stick to the roof of your mouth gorgeous. Short, dark blonde hair spiked up carelessly, lightly tanned skin, amazing green eyes fringed with the longest eyelashes Sam had ever seen, full lips that begged to be kissed and sucked and freckles. Honest to fucking God freckles. That's it, Sam decided. God hated him. How the fuck else could he explain the fact he was being forcibly paired with the biggest wet dream he had ever laid eyes on?

Sam had sort of zoned out so when Dean mentioned days he was available in a low, sexy voice, Sam had been picturing them making out in the closet to the side of the room. Dean had an eyebrow raised and a small, knowing smirk on his face, which brought Sam back into the present really quickly.

Hoping against hope he had heard right between pornographic fantasies, Sam mumbled, "Wednesday and Friday are OK. Long as we meet at the diner."

"Diner?" Dean's face lit up a bit and Sam puffed out his chest, although the diner had nothing to do with him, save his mother's never ending work schedule.

"Yeah, Charlie's Cupboard, on main and 10th. We can uh, meet there." He shrugged and looked down.

Dean was silent for a moment and then said, "They got pie?"

Sam smiled and met Dean's eyes again, his breath only catching for an instant before he boasted in a soft voice. "Every flavor you can think of and probably some you can't."

Dean smiled at him and Sam swooned a little on the inside. "I dunno, I can think up a LOT of stuff."

Sam suddenly wished they weren't talking about pie anymore.

What do you guys think? Worth continuing?