"I'll be gone a month… two months, tops," John Winchester says to his two young sons as he stands in front of them in the sitting room of his friend, Bobby Singer. As the boys know, their father is joining a group of four other hunters to clear out all of the vampires in the New England area. There has been abnormal amounts of activity there lately, and the body count is rising dangerously. Russell McGuinty had called John a week ago to set up a posse so that they could handle it. This was a big job, bigger than usual, and it would take time. So he is leaving Sam and Dean with Bobby until he gets back.
Dean was resentful, of course. "I'm sixteen-years-old, Dad! I don't need a baby sitter!"
"You'll follow my orders," John had told him, his voice low and threatening.
Immediately, Dean's face had softened, his brows lowering and his mouth forming into a line. He straightened his shoulders and obediently replied, "Yes sir."
Now that the time has come for his father to leave, Dean is maintaining his good behavior, standing beside his little brother, nodding to his father as he gives him the usual check-list of responsibility. "Make sure you both do your homework. Don't get into fights at school. Don't slack off in your weapons training. If you're having trouble, Bobby's here to help. And you guys help him out too. Clean up around the house. Don't be assholes, 'cause he has every right to smack you back in place." The boys eyes wander up to Bobby who smirks at them behind their father's back. They both know that Uncle Bobby is as tough as nails, but he'd sooner chew them out than lay a hand on them. John kneels down in front of them and puts his hands on their shoulders. "Be good boys. I'll see you soon."
Dean follows his father out to the Impala to help him load up his gear. "I really can't come with you?" Dean asks, hands gripping the car's window ledge as John starts the engine. "I mean, it's not like I need high school anyway. I can help."
"You're helping me by going to school and watching out for Sammy. I'll be back in a couple months, and it will be back to business as usual. Now, go inside and help Bobby with dinner." Dean did as his father ordered and stepped away from the car. The engine purred, and John drove off with Dean watching somberly as the September sun glinted off of the vehicle the three Winchesters called home. Only when the Impala was out of sight did Dean look up at Bobby's house and give a sigh. "Well," he thought "I guess this is home now… for a little while, at least."
The next morning, Sammy's legs bounce nervously under the kitchen table. His jaw is clenched and his fists are balled into fight fists that he kneads into his jittery legs. Dean sits across from him, flipping aimlessly through a magazine he'd picked up at a gas station on their way into Sioux Falls. There's nothing really interesting, just a bunch of boring mumbo-jumbo about news bands and their shitty albums. Music surely isn't what it used to be. Dean silently pines away for the good old days when music was heart and not a fashion contest.
At the stove is Bobby Singer scraping away at a hot pan full of scrambled eggs… how very domestic of him, he thinks to himself with a snort. He doesn't even cook eggs for himself, but there's always been something about these kids that makes him want to treat them special. Bobby's never had children of his own; he never had the chance, but on occasion, John Winchester drops off Sam and Dean, so he plays the role of temporary caregiver. As it turns out, he's not half bad, he doesn't think. The boys like him just fine, and they've never died in his care. But he's never had them for as long as two months. Now could very well be the time for epically erring. He blows out a stream of air from his mouth and shovels equal portions of egg onto three plates already adorned with bacon and toast. Time will only tell, and he'll just have to do his best.
"Here you go, my little princesses," he mutters, placing the food down in front of the boys and taking his own seat at the table. Both boys nod in thanks to him, and Dean starts shoveling his food in his mouth, washing it down with the coffee he'd argued with Bobby into letting him drink. "Woah woah there! Are you trying to win a medal at the fair? Slow down; no one's taking it from you." Dean ducked his head embarrassed and swallowed hard on the lump of eggs caught in this throat, mumbling sorry in his doing so. "It's fine," Bobby assured him. "I know you aren't used to this sort of thing." Dean met his eyes and looked away quickly before Bobby's pity could bore into him any longer. "And you," Bobby said turning to Sam "eat would ya?"
"I'm too nervous to eat," Sam complains, pushing the eggs around on his plate.
"You're just going to make yourself sicker if you don't eat," Bobby argues. Sam groans and looks to Dean to back him up, but he has no such.
Dean rolls his eyes at his little brother. "Dude, you know he's right, so eat half. You'll be totally fine at school. You've done this a hundred times. "
Sam groans and raises the eggs to his lips, taking a careful bite. He continues to eat, his face screwed up in discomfort with each swallow. "It's great to know you like my cooking so much, Sam," Bobby teases.
"Sorry Bobby. I just hate the first day of school."
"This isn't even the first day," Dean counters. "They're like a whole month in. We're just starting late."
"That makes it even worse," Sam mumbles, his legs jumping even more.
Fucking high school, man. Dean sauntered into Washington High School with a lazy grin and a bad attitude. He was a junior now so two years left of high school, and then he wouldn't have to worry about this stupid pony show ever again. Just like at every other school he'd been to, there are throngs of teens making a lot of noise about nothing of importance and smelling like last month's gym socks. The guys all size him up, trying to look threatening, but he just scoffs and walks past them, winking at their girlfriends who are smiling flirtatiously back at him.
He slumps into a desk at the back of the classroom and puts his feet up on the chair in front of him. The warning bell rings and a few stragglers hurry into the room, glancing skittishly at the teacher as they make their way to their seats. All toss looks of interest in Dean's direction. Most of them he ignores except for the occasional hot girl who he'd shoot a winning smile. Grinning roguishly is exactly what he was doing when the clearing of a throat catches his attention. Dean looks up through his lashes and his breath hitches as he sees a truly beautiful girl standing above him wearing a not so amused expression. "Get your feet off of my chair," she orders, large brown eyes blinking in annoyance.
Dean obeys automatically, his face looking dumbfounded. She smiles tightly and sits down as he continues to gape at the back of her head. There were few girls that caused Dean's stomach to drop so suddenly. And hardly any could make it happen just by looking at him. But this one… wow. Dean watched her long, dark hair pool on her shoulders and cascade down her back as she moved ever-so-slightly to situate her books on her desk. "This is the one," Dean decided right then and there. "This is the one I will pursue. Maybe Sioux Falls won't be so bad after all."
Just a few days ago Sam watched his dad and brother take down a Wendigo. Sam had tracked its location himself. John had made him sit in the car as he and Dean crept through the dark, misty woods and took aim at the monster's heart. He didn't mind that he didn't get to join them in the actual hunt; he'd much rather stay in the Impala reading his tattered copy of Tom Sawyer by the dull light of his flashlight. Reading kept his mind off of the fact that his father and brother could very well die in the Wendigo's cave. Still, his nerves dared to bubble over, but they didn't quite compare to what he was feeling now as he scanned the door frames for the room number 109, his first period class.
If there was one thing he hated more than the anticipation of a hunt, it was the first day at a new school. He always expected himself to get used to it, seeing how often it happened, but still his stomach was in knots and his palms kept sweating no matter how many times he dried them on his jeans. Thankfully he found the room before bell rang, so he walks in, keeping his head down. He chooses a seat in the middle of the room where he'd be recognized the least. He hated when the teacher made him introduce himself. It's not like any of the other kids actually cared. And he always had to lie. You couldn't' exactly stand in front of everyone and say that you'll be gone in a month to resume hunting monsters with your family.
Much to his relief, Mr. Bossum ignores the presence of a new student and goes straight to passing out the novel they would all be studying. Sam read Animal Farm last year. Uncle Bobby had given him a copy for his birthday. But Sam doesn't mind reading it again; it's a good book. Plus this way, he can focus on his other classes more closely. Not that he needs to. School has always come very easy to him. He was the brains of the family. That's what Dean always said.
Dean.
Sam slumps in his chair, thinking of his big brother. Dean never worried about anything. Sometimes he wished he could be more like him. Not caring about getting behind in school work or making friends that he'll just have to leave behind. Dean was always making their dad proud. He was a good hunter and never questioned his father's authority. Sam, on the other hand, he just made John angry. He never seemed to do anything right.
Shaking his head, Sam tries to focus on the lecture about symbolism in the novel. Now was not the time for an emotional break down about failing his father. For the entire time he was here in Sioux Falls, he did not want to think about his dad at all. All he wanted was to pretend that he was just an ordinary 8th grader going to an ordinary school. He wanted to pretend he had an ordinary family that he went home to. Bobby was his father. He cooked him eggs in the morning and told him to watch his attitude. His brother was the coolest person he knew, and he looked up to him and could talk to him about anything. Sam was going to be a writer when he grew up or maybe a lawyer. The world was his oyster, and he could do anything.
He knew this was all just a fantasy. But that's the beauty of dreams: you can make them as big as you like, and no one needs to know how badly it hurts for them not to come true.