Title: run on for a long time
Chapter: I
Disclaimer: the Winchesters aren't mine. title from "God's Gonna Cut You Down" performed by Johnny Cash.
Warnings: AU, clearly
Pairings: OMC/OFC
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 3080
Point of view: third
Notes: written for reelspn, to the prompt of Dead Poets Society.
More notes: I don't speak Spanish, except for a smidge. Therefore, I'll say if they're talking in Spanish or not. If it's just Sam and Marcela, chances are it's Spanish they're speaking.
Marcela Anderson found the boys two days before Christmas of 1985. She was cleaning rooms at Chaz's motel and heard sobbing through a threadbare wall.
She knocked on the door, calling first in Spanish, then in broken English, to no avail. So she pulled out her master key and let herself in.
Two little boys—babies, really—huddled together in the far corner, the elder shielding the younger with his body. It was the smaller boy crying, wracking sobs that shook his tiny frame.
Marcela pegged their ages at six and two, going by her sister Maria's babies. She tried approaching, but the wild eyes of the older boy forced her back. She tried gaining their trust, but nothing worked, so she called the authorities.
Every day for six weeks, Marcela visited them in the orphanage, finally taking the younger home with her. All the authorities had learned, in the entire time, were the boys' names: Dean and Samuel.
Marcela, for the rest of her life, would be haunted by how the boys howled for each other.
Sam, the baby she'd fallen in love with, keened "Dean" to the sky as she carried him away.
And Dean, that fiercely protective child, shrieked "Sammy" so loudly that it echoed in her ears for miles down the road.
o0o
"C'mon, Mama," Sam whined in Spanish, "Do I really hafta go?"
She gave him That Look. "You're gifted, Samuel. You need to go to the best school possible." He pouted, but she continued, "You've passed every entry test with flying colors—they can't keep you out. So you're going."
Sam sighed. "Can't I stay with my friends? People my own age?"
Marcela shook her head. "Sorry, sweetling, but no. You have a gift and it needs to be honed."
He sighed again. "But, Mama, Welton Academy? It's a school full of rich, snobby kids. I don't belong there!"
She narrowed her eyes and straightened to her full height, all five foot one of her. "Never say that," she hissed, reaching out to cup his cheek. "You hear me, Sam? Never speak about yourself like that again." Marcela stared into his eyes. "Your grandpapa left us more than enough money, sweetling. Don't worry about that."
He sighed again, deeply, before leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I know, Mama. Honest, I do. I just…"
Marcela nodded. "You'll go to Welton at the end of summer, sweetling."
o0o
Marcela had planned everything out, taking Sam on a tour of his new school in early July. He made her proud on the trip, charming everyone they met. He spoke English as though it was his main language, without any hint of an accent at all. She watched him happily, glad to see that he'd decided to accept Welton.
Mr. Vernon, the principal, told them that Sam would have a roommate, like all the students, though his would be a senior, even though he was only fourteen. "The Board and I," Mr. Vernon explained, "decided it would be best for you to have a roommate from your class, rather than one your own age." He looked at Marcela. "However, if you have any objection, we can always change it."
She shook her head. "As long as the boy doesn't detract from Sam's studies," she said carefully in English, "it should be fine."
Mr. Vernon smiled. "Dean Perry is one of our best students."
o0o
School would start midway through August. Marcela wanted to have everything ready, everything perfect for Sam. He'd never been away from her before, not since she took him home twelve years ago, and she wondered what she'd do with herself those long, aching months without him.
Sam, of course, was about equal parts excited and petrified. He'd always enjoyed school, her sweetling, and excelled at it. That was why he was going so far away… Marcela sighed, bringing her attention back to Sam.
"Do you really need fifteen notebooks?" she asked.
He smiled at her, dropping the stack in the buggy. "You're the one who said we don't want for money, Mama."
She tried holding a serious expression, but finally had to smile back.
o0o
Marcela flew with her boy to New Hampshire, rode in the taxi all the way to Welton. She held his hand, cupped his face, wondered if she could be doing the wrong thing.
"It'll be fine, Mama," Sam told her softly. "I promise."
She smiled waveringly. "I just want you to be happy, sweetling. That's all."
"I will be."
o0o
Geena Perry remembers the first time she laid eyes on her youngest son. He was a dirty, nasty child, always ready with a glare and a curse. He was bitter and angry, waiting for a punch or kick.
Michael told her no, they couldn't take in the feral boy. They already had four children of their blood, and they were both getting on in years—it would be foolish to take on such a burden.
But Geena wanted the boy, so much it ached. She begged Michael for a week before he consented, and so when Dean was almost nine he finally came home.
Those first weeks were hard, as the boy ducked at every motion, flinched at every sound. Someone had misused him, terribly, enough that he was mostly broken by the time Geena found him.
Savannah, her cousin the social worker, said that the boy had been taken from a hotel room when he was about six. When no one claimed him, he was shoved into the foster system, and from there he floated for a long while, never staying long in one place. He'd had a couple good homes, but mostly bad ones, where he was—at best—neglected and—at worst—abused.
"It'll take hard work, healing him," Savannah told her.
"I know," Geena answered. "But I need this boy."
Her children were grown and gone, no longer needed or wanted her. This child, though… oh, she could save him. She just knew it.
o0o
"Dean!" Michael Perry called up the stairs. "Breakfast!" He waited for his wife's son to acknowledge him and then turned back to his own meal.
The boy would come when he got hungry enough.
o0o
Michael had never wanted another child, and he made that quite plain in the months following Dean's adoption. Geena adored the boy, though, so Michael suffered him. He spent as little time as possible in the feral boy's company, but even he had to admit the boy got better as the months passed.
Thomas and Rebecca, the twins, didn't understand adopting a child so late in their lives. Clara, though, the baby—until Dean, anyway—backed Geena all the way. And Alex hadn't talked to anyone in the family since he split town at age eighteen.
Dean kept out of Michael's way, as if he could sense how Michael felt. He stuck close to Geena, seeming to know that she was his only safe harbor. She taught him to read, basic math, history and Spanish, her father's native tongue.
The boy learned swiftly, soaking up knowledge. Once he chose to trust, apparently, he did so completely. He took to heart anything Geena said.
Then Geena died. It was so random, so sudden—a quick stop at a convenience store for a bag of M&M's and a bottle of water, a stop she made nearly every day on her way back from the stable. She and Dean entered a store they'd been in more than a thousand times before, but now… the robber whirled to meet them, firing two shots; Geena pushed Dean to the side and he fell hard, snapping his right arm. One bullet flew right where Dean's head had been. The other hit Geena in the neck, severing her spinal cord. She died instantly.
Michael met up with his children, Thomas and Rebecca and Clara, at the hospital, where he collapsed. Rebecca wrapped her arms around him, Thomas dealt with all the official matters, and Clara was the only one who spared a moment of thought for Dean, who was in a bed and silent. Still.
Thomas identified the body, Thomas spoke to Dean's doctor, Thomas even questioned the witnesses, just to be sure of how it all went down. Boy would've made a hell of a cop, if he hadn't gone the engineer route.
Thomas and Rebecca had their own lives to live, so after the funeral they left again. Alex didn't even come down for it; Michael considered disinheriting him for that, but Geena wouldn't have wanted him to do so, so he didn't.
Clara moved back home, took care of both Michael and Dean. It'd been three years since Geena adopted him and all her hard work was wiped away in one fell swoop. He didn't speak, rarely left his room, and never left the house. Clara was patient with him, far moreso than Michael, and it took almost a year for Dean to crawl back out of his shell.
Michael couldn't deal with him, had never been able to, so he left Dean's care in Clara's charge. Eventually, though, as the one-year marker of Geena's death approached, Clara began pulling away.
"I have a life, Daddy," she told him at the dinner table one night. "And I need to get back to it."
He nodded. "I understand," he assured her. "And everything you've done since…" He'd never be able to say the words. "Thank you, Clara."
"You need to be careful with Dean." Clara's voice and face were as serious as he'd ever seen her. "I need you to promise me that, before I can leave. He's…" She sighed. "Daddy, he's just so fragile."
Michael met her eyes. "I'll do my best," he promised.
Clara left a few weeks later. Dean didn't leave his room for six days.
o0o
Dean slipped into the kitchen about half an hour after Michael finished breakfast. He moved silently and kept to himself, loading a plate with cold bacon and eggs.
"I'm taking you to Welton today," Michael told him as Dean sat down.
"Yes, sir," Dean responded softly, keeping his eyes on his plate. He ate everything, Michael reading the paper across the table, and then straightened up the kitchen, did a load of dishes.
He was a good boy, Michael had to admit that.
o0o
Michael had never attended Welton, though Geena's father graduated from there. Thomas spent his sophomore and junior years there, but then Geena pulled him out. Dean has been going to Welton since the year after Geena died. It gets him out of Michael's hair, takes away all worries of schooling.
Dean is a good student, quiet, keeps to himself. He only comes home in the summer, an arrangement that suits Michael well. The teachers always speak highly of him—Geena's influence, Michael knows. He was also on the baseball team junior year, and probably senior year, too. Geena would be so proud.
Of course, if Geena were alive, Dean wouldn't have gone to Welton in the first place.
o0o
Nathaniel Vernon remembers the first time he laid eyes on Sam Anderson. The boy stood at his mother's side, taking in everything around him with a wondering, wary gaze. He wasn't the woman's birth son, though Nathaniel only knew that because Ms. Anderson had told him so. They looked similar enough to be blood.
Sam was tall for his age, easily clocking in at over six foot. He was gangly and awkward, reminding Nathaniel of a newborn colt.
Ms. Anderson asked questions and finally Sam got involved, displaying a mature wit and dedication to his studies.
Nathaniel had talked it over with the Board, once Sam was approved for Welton(really, with his grades and test scores, they'd have been nothing more than fools to turn him away) and they had decided, with only two votes to the contrary, that Sam have a roommate from his grade, rather than one his age. Out of the seventy-eight possible candidates, they chose Dean Perry.
He is a good student, quiet, never getting in trouble. In his five years at Welton, he'd been in a single fight, started by the other boy, Gregory Hynes. It was his second week at the school and the fight ended abruptly, when Dean smashed Gregory's nose, breaking it. Since then, no students have dared bother him.
Nathaniel witnessed the fight, so Dean wasn't penalized beyond having to make a formal apology. Gregory was so awed that he actually approached Dean the next day at lunch and spoke to him. After that, they became close friends. Nathaniel's fairly sure that Gregory is the only person at Welton that Dean considers a friend.
Nathaniel has rarely had any reason to interact with Dean, knows almost nothing of him beyond his actions and attitude at school. But after talking with his teachers and Sam Anderson, Nathaniel can be reasonably certain that the boys will be good for each other.
o0o
First days of school always suck, even for straight A students who know where they're going in life. Gregory Hynes, on the other hand, was not a straight A student, never had been, never would be. He coasted, happily in the middle of the spectrum, getting by on baseball.
He'd attended Welton since second grade and hated every minute of it until sixth, when he picked a fight with the new kid and had his ass handed to him. Dad would've wanted him to start a rivalry with the boy—Dean Perry—but Gregory didn't. Instead, the next day at lunch he sat beside Dean and asked where he'd learned to fight like that.
Gregory's popular at Welton. He's personable and charming, able to speak easily in any crowd. He's friendly with everybody, from the little kids to the oldest, crankiest teachers. There isn't a person there that doesn't like him.
Dean, though… he's a different story. It's not that people dislike him, it's just that no one gets him. He keeps to himself, rarely speaks, and he could easily be the most popular boy at school… Gregory doesn't understand. Dean has the looks, the smarts, and the skills—but he just doesn't care.
He'd shrugged, the few times Gregory brought up over the years, so he finally quit asking. Dean seemed content with his life, so even though Gregory didn't understand it—it was cool.
o0o
Welton started the year with a major chapel service, like always. Gregory had quit paying attention in third grade, so he watched Dean, like always. Dean's father sat rigidly beside him, and Gregory noticed how uncomfortable Dean seemed. He never spoke of his homelife or family, and Gregory'd wondered—
Father Reling thundered at the pulpit, disturbing Gregory's train of thought. He spoke of the four foundations of Welton—Excellence, Discipline, Determination, and Pride—and how they were to be the best in everything they attempted.
Mr. Perry nodded along with Father Reling and Dean sat up straight, but Gregory could tell his friend wasn't in the room.
o0o
After much groaning, Mom and Dad finally left. Gregory headed for Dean's room and showed up just in time to hear Mr. Perry tell Dean to drop Drama.
"You're taking too many classes, Dean. You won't be able to maintain your grades."
Gregory's mouth dropped open and he inched in closer; the door to Dean's room wasn't closed all the way and he could barely hear Mr. Perry over the bustle.
"Yes, sir," Dean said quietly. It was all Gregory had ever heard him say to authority figures.
"Make Geena proud, Dean," Mr. Perry concluded and strode out of the room, not even glancing at Gregory, who jumped back out of the way.
"Dean," Gregory called, entering the room. "Man, you love Drama."
With a shrug, Dean looked up. "Doesn't matter. It's his money paying for school, so he gets the final say on my classes."
Gregory scoffed lightly. "I knew you'd say that."
o0o
Nathaniel led Ms. Anderson and her son to Sam's room. Ms. Anderson hadn't released Sam's hand yet and tears were pooling in her eyes. Sam didn't seem to mind her clinginess, which surprised Nathaniel—most boys he'd met were mortified by displays of affection.
At the doorway, Nathaniel turned to Ms. Anderson. "Here we are," he told her with a gentle smile.
She looked up at Sam. "I'll be fine, Mama," he said, hugging her close. She answered in Spanish, which Nathaniel had never mastered. Sam nodded, leaning down so she could kiss his forehead.
Sam smiled at her before walking into the room. Nathaniel followed so that he could introduce the boys, knowing that Ms. Anderson would want to find her way back alone, compose herself.
Dean and Gregory were the only ones present, Dean by the window and Gregory stretched out on the bed. Dean turned to face them and Gregory shot to his feet.
"At ease, boys," Nathaniel joked, noticing that only Gregory followed his command. "Sam Anderson, this is your roommate Dean Perry." He nodded to Dean. "And his friend, Gregory Hynes."
"Hello," Sam said, eyes flicking from Dean to Gregory, then back to Nathaniel.
"Sir," Gregory began, titling his head. "Isn't he a bit young?"
Sam flushed.
"He's fourteen, but a senior," Nathaniel explained patiently. "So, he gets a senior roommate."
Dean shrugged. "As you say, sir."
Sam's grip shifted on his suitcase, the backpack slipping from his shoulder.
"Well, Dean'll get you settled, Sam," Nathaniel told the boy. "I need to head back."
Sam nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Vernon."
o0o
Gregory studied Dean's roommate with a careful eye. Tall; dark, floppy hair; sharp green eyes; very, very nervous. "You'll do," he decided.
The kid blinked. "Um, yay?"
Dean sank down onto his bed. "Ignore him," he advised the kid. "Paying attention only encourages him."
Gregory laughed. "I need to make sure I've got the good bed. See you later?" he asked Dean. Dean nodded and smiled; for a moment, Gregory wondered if Dean had always been so damned attractive, but he quickly shook that thought off and left.
No doubt, Taylor had already chosen the bed by the window, which wouldn't do at all. He knew Gregory needed the fresh air—damn… had Dean always been so hot? Gregory couldn't remember.
As he slipped into his room—and, yep, Taylor'd already taken the bed by the window—Gregory knew he was in trouble. He was developing a crush on his best friend.
Well, shit.