When had he gained twenty pounds and gotten a beer gut?
When had whiskey taken the place of his morning coffee?
When had his laugh lines turned to crow's feet?
When had he started thinking of Lisa's girlfriends when he made love to her?
When had his hands started shaking so badly that he could barely aim a gun?
When had he so conveniently forgotten Bobby's phone number?
When had he given up on Sam?
When had his life begun to spiral out of control?
More importantly, when had he lost the keys to the Impala?
A cab dropped Dean Winchester off in front of Richard Chaney High School - a hell mouth if there ever was one, he thought. It looked like any other older high school in Middle America despite its recent facelift and new name, much like the ones he'd attended sporadically until he was old enough to drop out. He'd been raised like a Witness. Why waste time on getting an education when Armageddon was just around the corner? Maybe, if he hadn't wasted so much time in school and spent more time in the field, he could have saved his brother but what was done was done, right?
Dean sat down on the cement steps leading up to the school and pulled a flask from his jacket pocket. He unscrewed the top and tilted it back and almost purred like a cat when the smooth liquid slipped down his throat. He had high hopes for not only drowning his sorrows but his constant companions, guilt and remorse, too. He sighed and looked around at the neat, tree lined streets surrounding Ben's school and wondered how many rougarous lived next door, how many shtrigas lived just down the block, how many demons were right now sitting at the bus barn waiting for the three o'clock run. Sex offenders had to register but not these guys. Dean took one last pull from the flask and stood up. It was time to beard the lion in her den.
Principal Fielding had called the house all in a tizzy and, although she hadn't said exactly what Ben had done, he was in trouble...big trouble...big enough trouble that Dean hadn't called Lisa. He would go to bat for the squirt and calm the principal down then figuratively charm the pants off of her and, when all was said and done, Lisa would be none the wiser and the kid would owe him big time. Easier said than done.
Mrs. Fielding ignored Dean's killer smile and his outstretched hand. His boyish good looks were totally lost on her as was his clever wit. None of it was lost on Ben as he sat in a straight backed wooden bench that was against the back wall of Fielding's office hoping to just disappear. If Dean couldn't bull crap his way out of this, Ben thought, Fielding would tell his mother and all hell would break loose.
Principal Fielding took a deep breath and told Dean flat out that she was appalled at Ben's abject recklessness and apparent disregard for the safety of his fellow students and, when the boy opened his mouth to defend himself, Dean told him to shut up. The first of many hurtful blows.
"Mrs. Fielding, I understand that Ben can be a little disruptive in class but boys will be boys," Dean told her as he sat down next to Ben on the bench, ostensibly for support.
"Aside from the leather jacket and a little rough housing in the locker room, Ben's deportment has been exemplary," she told him and Dean wondered what the hell all the fuss was about. "But this incident can't be excused or overlooked and truthfully the only reason I haven't called the police is to protect the school."
"The police?" Dean went still and his hand itched to retrieve the flask in his pocket.
"Ben, do you want to tell your father what you brought to school with you today?" she asked and Ben shrank further down in his seat.
Dean turned to the boy and stared at him with eyes that were uncharacteristically hard and waited.
One minute passed, then another and Ben's palms began to sweat and his mouth dried out. Another minute passed and he felt as if his heart would burst .
Dean's head began to pound and his flask began to call to him. "Ben..." he started and the boy cut him off.
"He's not my father," Ben fairly shouted at the woman.
Principal Fielding was taken aback and asked "You're not?"
Dean cleared his throat and said, "Technically no, but..."
"Legal guardian?" Principal Fielding asked and Dean shook his head.
"Then I need to call his mother," she said curtly and she stepped into the outer office.
Dean turned to Ben and asked him, "Why'd you tell her, dude? We coulda been outta here Scott free and eating pizza at Marconi's."
Ben continued to sit in silence until Dean reached over and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. Then Ben began to cry.
"Aw, come on. It can't be that bad," Dean said trying to console him and the boy's tears just came harder.
"Am I gonna go to jail?" Ben wailed convinced that he was.
"No, you're not." Dean assured him but wasn't so sure about himself if Fielding did call in the cops, "It can't be that bad. What'd you bring to show and tell, bud? One of my Busty Asian Babes magazines?"
"No," Ben said reluctant to finish, "...a gun."
Dean couldn't believe his ears and repeated, "A gun?"
Ben nodded and wiped his runny nose on his sleeve.
Who's gun?" Dean asked, his voice taking on a hard edge that scared Ben.
"Your gun," Ben confessed, his voice barely a whisper.
"Where'd you get it?"
"The trunk of the Impala."
Dean's face paled as he thought of the arsenal the boy had had access to. Weapons of all kinds to hunt not the occasional pheasant or deer but to hunt the haunted, the perverted, the blood thirsty, the evil. "What else did you take?" he asked as anger overwhelmed concern.
"Nothin'" Ben couldn't look Dean in the eyes, the one sure tell of an unaccomplished liar, and he clutched his back pack tighter.
"So you're a thief and a liar!" Dean shouted just as Fielding, with Lisa in tow, came back into the room.
The boy's foolish prank and betrayal fueled Dean's anger and he yanked the backpack roughly out of Ben's arms despite the boy's protests. It hit the ground and a warn leather book slid out and hit Lisa's sneaker.
She stooped to pick up the journal staring in disbelief, first at her son, then at Dean but for completely different reasons. She couldn't believe that Dean had so carelessly left a gun where Ben could find it and that Ben had actually taken it and brought it to school. Then there was the matter of her boyfriend calling her son a liar and a thief.
But Dean was on a tear and didn't give her a second thought when he stood up and turned to Ben and accused him of taking the keys to the Impala.
The boy's face reddened with impotent fury and he lashed out, "Mom hides 'em 'cause most of the time you're too drunk to drive!"
Lisa crossed the room and stepped between her angry boyfriend and her frightened son. She shoved John's journal into Dean's chest and said curtly, "You need to leave, Dean." He started to protest and she could smell the liquor on his breath and reiterated forcefully, "You need to leave, now!"
Dean Winchester would never hit a woman, or a kid for that matter, but he wanted to hit something -hard - and in his less than sober state of mind the most practical outlet for his long building anger and frustration was the wall and, just like a professional picture hanger, he located the stud on the first try.
