Hard Knocks: Of life and the headboard.

It's been a long day. Nothing has gone particularly wrong for Dean - school was as usual, people gave him a wide berth, no one challenged the tall kid from the wrong side of the tracks who wore a beat-up leather coat and a chip on his shoulder. Not to mention the knife in his boot.

School was solitary, but acceptable. Dean wanted it that way.

His jeans were ripped, and his t-shirt faded and frayed but thankfully, that seemed to be cool these days. The emptiness of his pockets, however, was less than appealing. God was he hungry. Too proud to admit he needed school-sponsored lunches, god knows he wasn't going to ask John for that signature, and too much of a loving big brother to stomach using his very imposing form to frighten lunch money out of the other kids, Dean hadn't eaten since breakfast this morning. Before he'd taken his brother to school then made his way across town to the high school, where classes droned on and his lunch period was spent out by the bleachers, pretending he wasn't hungry. He can smell fast food as he pushes the gate of their shit-hole apartment complex open, and it makes his stomach growl. His boots feel like lead on the sun-bleached cement as he makes his way across the complex to their ground floor apartment. He sighs at the cigarette butts at their stoop and kicks them over toward the neighbor's door. How many fucking times has he told them to keep their shit to themselves? Shaking his head Dean keys his way in, but he smiles when he sees Sammy lying on his stomach on the bed, with his workbook open in front of him. Sam sees him and smiles a huge, childish smile that makes Dean glad for the first time all day.

"Mrs. Tran drop you off right at the door?" Dean asks seriously.

Sam nods and adds, "She even waited for me to get in."

"Good." Dean hates having to leave Sam with others, knowing he won't be able to beat him home with the hike that he has from school to their neighborhood. In olden days he would have taken the car. But it appears John's latest bender has taken him far enough to forget to come home for awhile. Not that Dean is complaining. He's more relaxed with John gone. But no John means no Impala. And no paycheck coming in. And Dean hates knowing that he can't take care of Sam on his own. He is glad for Mrs. Tran, an honest if severe woman who takes to delivering Sam to their apartment after school like a Marine set on a mission. Her and her infant son live upstairs. There's no husband in the picture but Dean wouldn't do her the disservice of asking where the man is. Mrs. Tran, if anything, is an extremely capable woman.

Dean trudges across the room, letting out a sigh. He collapses onto the squeaky bed, smiling at the way Sammy laughs when the springs creak and mattress bounces. There apartment is little better than a motel room - one bedroom, one bathroom, this rickety bed just inside the doorway for Sam and a ratty couch for Dean, with a coffee table, a kitchenette and a broken thermostat. Home sweet home. But still, it's safe and familiar and Dean's glad to be settled, with a roof over his and Sammy's heads. He remembers those few years, after Mom died, when they seemed to live out of the car, they uprooted so often. He's glad Sam doesn't have to live like that, and was too young to really remember it.

"How was school, bud?" he asks the precious goofball.

"My name's not bud," Sam laughs.

"Ok, how was school Earl?" Dean jokes, eyes slipping closed, body heavy and ready to be done for the day.

"Noooo," Sam plays along.

"Gus?"

"No!"

"Jennifer?"

"No!"

"Mmm, Fred?"

"No!" Sam hefts himself onto Dean's body like a sack of potatoes (with elbows, unfortunately), giggling at his brother's responding groan, and buries his face in Dean's chest.

"Well who are ya then?" Dean jokes.

"I am Sam, Sam I am," he says simply, his chin resting on Dean's chest, big hazel eyes looking up at his brother.

"Oh well in that case, I know what you're having for dinner..." he cracks an eye open to look down at Sam, seeing he's smiling, knowing what comes next, "green eggs and ham-"

"Nooooo!"

"-and brussel sprouts!" Dean sits up suddenly gathering his wiggling little brother into his arms.

"Nooo!"

"And spinach! And onions!"

"No and no!" Sam shouts through laughter.

"You sure?" Dean asks, holding Sam like he did when he was a baby.

Sam beams up at him and nods.

"Well, alright then," Dean sighs, "spaghetti o's it is."

Sam screams his yay of relief, for which Dean is thankful. All they have is spaghetti o's. All they will have until dad's next check is spaghetti o's. Dean is extremely thankful that Sam seems to be obsessed with them right now. He could sing hymns of praise to his little brother's unyielding Spaghetti o's phase. It takes a lot of the pressure off. And alleviates the guilt of knowing that he can't do better.

They eat together, quietly. And then Dean sends Sam to the coffee table to do his homework. Sam sighs, not in the mood, preferring to watch Thundercats. But Dean's got a strict no TV until the homework's done policy. One that only stands for Sammy, because he himself doesn't bother with homework. Why would he? He'll be a drop out soon anyway, what with his absenteeism and pension for damning the man as a general rule. Dad's gone longer and longer all the time, and soon that'll leave him to feed his little brother on a paycheck of his own. High school in comparison to all that is... insignificant.

At school he is tough. At school he is an outsider. He's arranged it that way. He looks dangerous now, to the other kids. Like he knows scary, real-world things they don't want to have to know yet (which he does), and it puts them all off.

All, except one.

And the fucker is scratching at Dean's mind, pulling his focus like an annoying itch.

There is a pale boy, almost as tall as Dean, odd and a bit of a loner. He's got family. He's got friends, he must, or at least, amicable associations. And he's got money. He's got a bright future, Dean's sure. What he doesn't have, is manners.

In Dean's world, a strong stare means a challenge. But the more Dean responds to this guy's staring with his own challenging glare, the more the guy refuses to let up.

And Dean can't have pretty, rich boys staring at him. He just can't. He has to prove he's a man. More of a man than any of the others. It keeps him safe, keeps his dad off his back, and more importantly, it keeps everyone else at a distance.

At home he can read Dr. Seuss and be soft and make dinner and kiss his brother's hair before he goes to sleep. Out there in the world, he has no brother, none that they're allowed to know about. He has no weaknesses and no affections. He simply is. Like a stanchion the other students have to maneuver around without ever bothering to ask why it's there. He's not to be bothered.

Especially not by some guy, with beautiful dark blue eyes, and handsome hands, and distractingly kissable pink lips. Least of all by him. Because there's more at stake than his reputation at school, and Dean can't have his father thinking that he's... like that.

Hello good people of the interwebs. Have you missed me like I've missed you? (Maybe don't answer that, I really don't need to embarrass myself any more than usual.)

As always, reviews warm the cockles of my heart. (hehe - cockles) For my purposes I've made the age difference between Sam and Dean greater, as you could probably tell.