Summary: The Winchester brothers return to one of Dean's old high schools where they believe a job could be waiting for them. To Sam it's just an ordinary hunt, despite the janitor's uniform he has to grudgingly don, but as Dean begins to allow memories he had buried ten years ago to resurface, he can't help but relive the past. He feels something familiar about the evil they are hunting, and Dean soon realizes that what he thought had been destroyed all those years ago has now returned for more.

Timeline: Set in two: one is when the boys are 17 and 13, the other is when they are 27 and 23, sometime after John's death.

Rating: M

Warnings: Foul language, violence, blood and gore, mature themes

THE SUPPLY

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"The difference between school and life? In school, you're taught a lesson and then given a test. In life, you're given a test that teaches you a lesson."

– Tom Bodett

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Chapter I

Several Pairs of Eyes

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Crowley County, Colorado

1996

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Dean was surprised when he caught himself thinking that the school actually looked, well… nice. But compared to most schools he had been forced to go to in his short seventeen years of life, that was not saying much.

The one-storey building was large and wide, constructed of tanned bricks and reddish shingles that formed several sloping roofs. Large windows lined the front of the school, most of them with blinds open to the sunlight cascading down from the clear morning sky. The colour green seemed to surround the area in the form of tall trees swaying slightly in the breeze and thick grass creating a lawn that stretched out on all three sides of the building. The entire scene created a type of peacefulness Dean was not used to feeling.

He didn't trust it for a second.

Slowing his steps as he neared the front entrance, Dean stared at the large doors swinging outward as a swarm of students pushed past him. The backpack slung across his shoulder was almost weightless, containing little more than a clunky cellular phone, a broken pen, a few crumpled pieces of paper, and several granola bars he had thrown in at the last second before leaving the motel. He had made sure Sam had taken some too before dropping him off at the junior high across town.

He would never admit it, but Dean always felt a little unsettled when his brother wasn't in yelling distance, for the kid was usually a few feet away at most; somewhere Dean could keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't get into any trouble. Sam would probably argue it was the other way around. The thought made Dean smile, but then he remembered that he was about to spend six hours of his life sitting in a desk, forced to watch as ordinary people went about their boring business.

A loud ringing filled the schoolyard and Dean cursed himself as he jumped slightly at the noise. It was the warning bell, reminding students that they only had a few minutes until classes officially started. Taking in a deep breath and pushing it out in a loud sigh, Dean joined the thinning crowd of teenagers as they pushed through the open doors and were met with an icy blast of air conditioning. The chilly air felt good on his skin as Dean let the familiar noises of high school wash over him.

The slamming of lockers, the summer gossip, the shrill screams of girls being reunited after the summer. Dean had to duck out of the way to avoid a collision with a girl running down the hall to greet her 'I-haven't-seen-you-in-forever!' friend. Unfamiliar faces were everywhere, people who obviously knew each other but didn't know him. All the commotion should have been a bit overwhelming, especially for a guy who rarely saw more than a dozen people gathered in one area at a time, but Dean was used to it. It seemed like every school day was the first day of school for him, because usually it was. He was in the twelfth grade now and already he had been to over fifteen different schools in the last two years alone.

Not that he was complaining, as Sam tended to do. No, Dean actually liked it. The constant moving kept his mind sharp, prepared him for anything. This way there were no friendships to break and no messy goodbyes. He would pass through schools, always the "new kid", and that was fine by him. As long as no one tried to figure him out and no one discovered what his life was really like, then he was content.

Sam often called him antisocial, which may be true, but at least he wasn't the one buried behind a pile of books, constantly studying one thing or another. Sam was only in the ninth grade and already he had plans for college, though he had never actually told Dean about them. He had never been very good at hiding his stuff, and when living with an older brother who sometimes had nothing better to do than snoop around, there really wasn't much he could hide. Dean reminded himself that he should probably squash this ridiculous dream his brother had before it got out of hand, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell his brother that he was never going to college. That just wasn't the life he was supposed to live, but maybe he could let Sam grow out of the idea. In time he'd realize he was meant for bigger things than defending people from their angry ex-wives or the government's faulty justice system.

Dean suddenly realized he had been walking for over five minutes, not really knowing where he was going. The halls were beginning to empty and he had yet to find his homeroom. The paper containing his schedule claimed his classroom was located in room 168. Dean glanced at the nearest door which had the number 118 sprawled across it in chipping red paint. The second bell rang, signalling the beginning of class, and Dean let out another sigh.

"Perfect."

/

The classroom was already crowded when he first walked in, nearly four minutes after the bell had rung and school had officially started. He had become lost while travelling the endless hallways that made Crowley County High School a maze, searching for his first period class; American history. Unfortunately, the teacher was in the midst of what appeared to be a very long and boring lecture as he stepped through the entrance, stopping as soon as his feet had crossed the invisible classroom line.

The room went quiet as the teacher's droning voice abruptly stopped and every head seemed to swivel in his direction. This would have slightly unnerved Dean in the past, preferring to enter a room unnoticed until he chose to have it otherwise, but it had occurred so many times he simply ignored the several pairs of eyes watching him. He knew they were analyzing him, trying hard to figure this stranger out in the first few moments they became aware of his existence. Luckily for Dean, he was good at hiding who he was.

"You must be Dean Winchester," the teacher announced in a deep voice cracking with age. He wore large round glasses that caught the fluorescent lighting of the classroom. He seemed to have been granted the gift of having a full head of white hair in his old age, but his tweed suit was stretched to the limit across his large belly. He stared at Dean with a stern look, obviously disapproving of his late arrival.

"Uh, yeah. That would be me," replied Dean as he matched his gaze. The man simply stood there for a moment, appearing to be sizing Dean up in that creepy way teachers did, but then he simply said, "You can take the empty seat next to Monica in the back."

Dean turned his head to the left and spotted the vacant desk positioned next to a girl with long black hair that hid most of her face from view. She had been staring at Dean throughout the entire exchange but quickly glanced down at her desk when he looked in her direction, as did most of the class. Dean readjusted the strap on his shoulder with a quick shrug and then made his way past the first five rows of seats to the sixth, where he pulled the chair from his desk and sat down, dumping his bag on the floor next to his feet.

A few of the students' heads had followed him but quickly snapped back to the front as the teacher cleared his throat loudly. "As I was about to do before Mr. Winchester decided to grace us with his presence, I will now introduce myself. As many of you already know, I am Mr. Jargon and I will be your teacher for the rest of the semester. I'd like you to understand immediately that I will not tolerate any type of disrespect directed towards me or to any other student in this classroom." He seemed to point this warning at Dean, and suddenly Dean wondered if he really was all that good at hiding who he was.

As Mr. Jargon continued with his rant Dean immediately zoned out, uninterested in what the old man had to say about civil war and dead presidents. The only way he'd become interested is if those dead presidents started murdering people from their graves. Maybe then he'd join in on a discussion about Abraham Lincoln, but only to talk about the guy's deep dark secrets.

Glancing around the room, Dean saw mainly the backs of heads. To his right was a large boy, muscles bulging beneath a shirt as tight as the one worn by the busty brunette girl sitting next to him. Dean had to stifle a laugh before he turned his attention to his left, where he was met with a curtain of dark hair. He found no interest in the other students and soon boredom dominated his mind.

Crossing his arms atop the desk and resting his chin on his forearms, Dean commented in a low voice, "The man really doesn't know when to stop talking, does he?"

He caught movement to his left as the girl named Monica turned her face in his direction but he kept his eyes trained to the front of the room where Mr. Jargon was still babbling on about what to expect in the course. Dean didn't really care considering that he'd probably be gone and away from this town in the next few weeks. Of course if Sam was here he would have been sitting in the front row, possibly taking notes.

"I mean, what if he runs out of air and has a heart attack or something? Shouldn't we stop him?" This time Dean did look as he heard Monica let out a timid giggle, shifting his eyes to the left. He could still barely see the girl's face but he saw part of a smile. Who knew, maybe there was a pretty face behind that curtain of hair. That would definitely ease his boredom.

"Monica," the teacher's voice boomed across the classroom and Dean straightened his back as he saw the girl jump slightly at her name. "Is there something funny about what I just said?"

Monica sounded panicked as she tried to mumble an excuse. "No - No sir. I was just-"

"Sorry Mr. Jargon. It was my fault." Dean interrupted, trying to save this girl from the wrath of the old man.

"Mr. Winchester, would you like to tell the class what you said that Monica seemed to find so funny?"

"Well, uh…" Dean raked his mind for an answer but all that came to mind seemed to end with his getting expelled. He knew his dad would be pissed if he got kicked out of school again, so he tried flattery. "I was just saying how thrilled I am to learn history from a man who obviously has seen a lot of it."

There were several laughs from around the class and Dean suddenly realized he had worded that sentence horribly wrong. Mr. Jargon's face started to turn crimson, clashing with his snowy white hair.

"Uh, what I meant to say is-"

"Mr. Winchester I think it would be best if you left this classroom and made your way to the principal's office. I will not tolerate interruptions in my classroom."

Dean sighed, this the very thing he had been trying to avoid. His dad had always taught him to stay out of the limelight. Just blend in with the crowd, don't draw attention to yourself. But how was he supposed to do that when he didn't fit in at all? How was he supposed to sit in a classroom for six hours, learning about negative reciprocals and the Great Depression, cells and the human mind, Edgar Allen Poe and that whiny bitch Romeo, when he knew that innocent people were dying all around him? That evil was lurking in the shadows as everyone was oblivious to the danger they were constantly in? How was he supposed to sit there quietly when all he wanted to do was scream and shout and yell that everyone was a fucking moron because they couldn't see the truth?

Swallowing the inappropriate words that had risen in his throat, Dean reached down and grabbed the strap of his bag, his chair making a loud screeching sound as it was pushed back. "See yeah later," he said to Monica as he stood, leaving the classroom with several sets of eyes boring into his back.

He hoped he got lost on the way to the office.

/

Crowley County, Colorado

2006

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"I don't believe it. Crowley County High School. It hasn't changed a bit."

Dean gazed out of the Impala's window at the familiar building, remembering the day he had first seen it. It had been warmer then, September never tinged with the chilly winds that plagued November. Even so, the school looked exactly the same, with large windows lining the front, red shingles and brown brick, green everywhere else. It was almost as if he had stepped through a time warp and was now ten years in the past, seventeen-years-old and just passing the stage of amateur hunter.

"Must bring back some memories, huh?" Sam asked from the passenger seat. Dean didn't say anything as he nodded his head slowly. "Hey, is this the school where you beat up that jock? What was his name… um…"

Dean smiled as his brother fumbled around in his mind for the name. "Cory Delaware," he said, remembering the name well. "Biggest prick in high school history."

Sam let out a short laugh. "Yeah… Yeah, I remember you telling me the story. You came home with a pretty messed up looking face that night."

"Bastard couldn't take me by himself," Dean defended himself. "I think I looked pretty good after facing seven of his pals." The frown on his face was deep as he suddenly pushed down on the gas pedal and the car jerked forward.

"All right, didn't mean to upset you Dean," joked Sam as he noticed the look on his brother's face. However, the expression immediately vanished as Dean shot him a grin. "Remember how I got back at him?"

Sam simply laughed.

They continued to drive until they came to a motel on the outskirts of town, the sun just beginning to disappear over the horizon. Sam's face lit up as he looked out the window at the crumbling building. "Holy crap, I remember this place!" he announced as Dean pulled into the large driveway. "This is where they had that broken pop machine. I remember we emptied that thing in one night."

Dean smiled at the memory and other ones that began to return at the sight of the building. It had been ten years since they had lived in Crowley County, but even hundreds of motels later, he could still see themselves sitting on the second floor walkway. Legs dangling between the bars and over the parking lot, both of them sipping their stolen pop and watching cars drive by as they tried to guess what kind of people were behind the wheel. Were any of them as messed up as they were? Did any of them know the truth? Were they really monsters disguised as people?

Dean had soon learned that these questions were pointless to ask, except for maybe the last one. Still, the motel brought back a torrent of memories, and he watched as his brother looked around the place like he really was in the past. He had already parked the Impala in one of the many vacant parking spaces and had left Sam outside as he walked into the main office to rent a room. "Hey! Get room 208!" He heard his brother call as the door swung shut behind him. He recognized the number as belonging to the room they had rented last time; where they had lived for longer then a month.

Dean rang a bell on the desk as he waited for someone to notice that there was actually a customer here. He had to admit that the place looked dead, only two other cars parked outside, excluding his own. The motel looked like it could use a few touch ups. Scratch that. Maybe a whole renovation. Even so, Dean had seen worse.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps and an old man appeared, a welcoming smile on his lips. Dean almost had to steady himself on the front desk as he found he recognized the man. "Lou? Jesus, I thought you'd be dead by now!"

The old man looked confused for a second, his wrinkled smile vanishing for a moment, but then his lips peeled back to reveal an even larger grin as he let out a hearty laugh. "Dean Winchester. I barely even recognized you!"

"Yeah, well I've gotten a hell of a lot better looking over the years," Dean grinned back.

"I bet I could still pick up more babes than you, pipsqueak."

"Yeah, if you're talking about babes as in great great grandchildren." Dean was surprised how easy it was to resume the bantering friendship him and Lou had shared ten years ago. "Jesus, how old are you now, Lou? A hundred and three?"

"Eighty seven this year, actually," he said, not looking a day over seventy.

'Well I don't know how the hell you do it. I thought you would have dropped dead years ago from all those cigars you smoke." Dean shook his head in sincere puzzlement.

"You and me both, kid. Now what brings you back to good ol' Crowley County?"

"Oh, you know, me and my brother taking a road trip." Dean realized that Lou was one of the very few people he actually felt bad lying to. "Trying to strengthen the brotherly bond and all that."

"I remember you two used to fight like cats and dogs. Had a few complaints about the noise level when you two argued."

Dean chuckled. "Sorry 'bout that. I promise it won't happen again."

"Yeah, well I guess we were just lucky your dad was there to sort you two out. How is the man these days, anyway? Still working as a travelling salesman?"

"I don't think he'd retire from that job if given the chance." Dean forced himself to smile as Lou laughed, preferring not to tell the truth; that there dad was dead and rotting somewhere in hell. "Yeah, now it's just me and my brother. We'll probably be staying here for a few days, but we don't know how long yet. You got a room?"

"What are yeah, blind? Of course I got a room." The man threw up his arms in exaggerated exasperation. "I've got twenty rooms if you want 'em."

"Just a double for now, Lou," Dean replied, wishing that the man didn't end up going out of business. He was a nice guy, an ex-marine like his father, and he didn't deserve that. "Sam would actually like room 208 if it's possible. Guess he likes to relive childhood memories whenever he gets the chance."

"Room 208 it is." The old man disappeared for a moment again, returning with a set of worn down keys which he handed to Dean as he said, "Tell Sam to get his butt in here and say hello when he ain't too busy reliving those memories, eh?"

"Will do," Dean replied with one last smile before leaving the office. "And I'll take you up on your bet one of these nights. Take you out to the bar and see who the real babe magnet is."

\

"Reports say he was found in his bathtub along with his alarm clock. They're calling it a suicide, no questions asked." Sam glanced up at his brother as he began to pace the room, a look of frustration etched into his features.

"It just doesn't make any sense," he growled. "Out of all the stubborn bastards I have come to know in my time of life, he was the least likely to go like that. I swear Sam, something's not right here."

Sam stood up from the bed he had been sitting on, preferring to rest on the chair in the corner of the motel room. He carried the newspaper with him, a copy of the 'Crowley County Crow's Report'. He took another glance at the front page article, finally shrugging his shoulders as he tossed the paper onto the crooked table next to him and sat down. "Maybe the guy figured it was just time to go. Maybe it was just a suicide."

"No, definitely not," Dean quickly proclaimed. "You didn't know Mr. Jargon. He freakin' loved his life. I mean, the guy got paid to do what he loved: torture his students with boring lectures and piles of homework. He wouldn't have given that up for anything."

Sam found it amusing how Dean still referred to his old history teacher as `Mr. Jargon`. "Maybe things changed. I mean, Dean, we haven't been back here for ten years. A lot of things could have happened. I don't mind you dragging me out here on a whim – we were passing by anyway – but I don't think there's a job here.

Dean was silent for a moment, his pacing having stopped abruptly. Sam watched as he slowly sat on the edge of his bed, his back slouching as he leaned forward slightly. "Something's going on here, Sam," he finally said as he stared at the flattened carpet. "Something I think I've seen before."

There was an emotion hidden behind his brother's words – pain? anger? regret? – but Sam couldn't discern it fully. Instead, he asked, "What is it?"

Dean looked up and met Sam's eyes. "Evil."

"Evil comes in many forms, Dean."

"Yeah, and usually there's a lot of ways to kill it too." He got up again and continued to pace the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sam recognized this as Dean's way of thinking, deciding to remain quiet as he watched the troubled look on his brother's face. Finally his feet stopped. "Look, I'm not sure if-" He paused for a moment, trying to rearrange his words. "When we were here last do you remember the hunt dad was on?"

Sam thought about it. "I think I remember him driving out to Utah to take care of some poltergeist thing."

"No, not that." Dean looked at his brother with a strange expression, almost as if he was contemplating whether to reveal a secret or not. "Dad never told you about the job that was here, in Crowley County?"

"Not that I can remember," replied Sam, curious now. "Does this have anything to do with why you're so convinced Larry Jargon didn't kill himself?"

Dean's gaze seemed to fade for a second before he grunted what seemed to be a 'yes'. He sat down on the end of the bed again, his elbows balancing on his knees. "When we lived here there were a few unexpected deaths."

Sam dug into his memory, trying to recall what he could about his preteen days. "Yeah, now I remember. Suicides, right?"

"They weren't suicides. Something killed them." The anger was unmistakable as it made Dean's words into a hiss.

Sam suddenly got the feeling that he should be treading carefully. "What was it?"

"We thought it was a ghost. Dad burnt its bones the day we left."

Sam remembered that day. He had been upset that he had to leave yet another town and another school and another group of friends, with little more than a three hour warning. He also remembered that Dean had been incredibly quiet for the next few weeks afterwards.

"But now you think it was something else. Something that's come back." It wasn't a question, because now Sam was recalling the strange behaviour Dean had displayed during those weeks. At first he had thought his brother was upset about leaving as well, but he had slowly realized that it was something much more.

He remembered how it had frightened him when his brother had left him in the car while his dad had run into a diner to get them some lunch, and how he hadn't returned for nearly two hours. Their father had barely said anything when he had returned to the car to find his eldest son gone. Instead, he had told Sam to come inside the diner and they had sat at a table by themselves as they waited for Dean to come back. When he finally showed up at the front entrance of the diner they had simply loaded themselves back into the car and drove away without a word. Little by little Dean had returned to his normal self; a smile here, a brotherly insult there. Eventually Sam had forgotten all about his quiet spree, simply glad to have his big brother back, until now.

He was wondering whether it was a good idea to bring up the topic when Dean suddenly shot up from the bed and stretched his arms above him. Yawning loudly, the frustrated look on his face seemed to disappear, leaving only a tired looking Dean. "Well Sammy, looks like we'll be finding out soon if there's a job here after all," he said with forced excitement in his voice. "And looks like we'll be getting up early tomorrow."

"Why is that?" Sam asked, not being able to recall when Dean had ever openly accepted waking up before ten o'clock.

Dean smiled mischievously. "We want to look our best when we become well mannered employees of the school board."

To be continued.