AN: This is my first supernatural fic. I don't own Sam and Dean, and I don't have a beta. I do however own a slightly unhealthy obsession for anything related to the show supernatural and all things Dean.

I sat in the corner, dusted in shadows, thoughts piling up on one another inside of my head. I knew I probably shouldn't be here. I was a teacher for God's sake, someone of respect and authority. Yet here I sat, in this dilapidated building, on the wrong side of town, a foaming beer clutched tightly in my hand. After the fight with my wife, over something silly I couldn't even remember now, I had just wanted to drive. So I did and somehow ended up here.

I watched the other patrons, most of them blending in to the atmosphere, contributing to the ambiance instead of drawing from it. Several men sat at the bar, hunched over the grainy wood, silently sucking back their personal poison. A few others were at tables like me, and more yet were at the pool tables. The bartender was behind the bar, lovingly wiping the wood, searching for a gleam that was long gone. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see the tiny screen illuminated with the green back glow. Home flashed across the window.

I sighed and stuffed the phone back in the cloth recess of my pants, fingers unconsciously worrying the fabric. I'd go home in a minute, once I'd collected my thoughts, found my bearings, and finished my beer. It was a school night and I found I dealt best with 16 year old students and their universal reluctance to learn proper grammar, on a full nights sleep. That coupled with the fact that papers didn't grade themselves had me raising the rich amber liquid to my mouth. I was already contemplating how to fix the situation with my wife, figuring if I played my cards right maybe I could work a little make up sex in before grading those papers.

I heard the laugh first, followed by low smoky tones rolling over the syllables, caressing them like warm molasses, warming the room like the burn of a good brandy. The words themselves weren't what were so shocking; it was the fact that I knew the voice, listened to it every third period.

What the hell was Dean Winchester doing in a hole in the wall bar after midnight on a Wednesday? He was 16 years old for cripes sake, how did he even get here, why did they serve him? Did his parents even realize he had snuck out?

Probably not. I had first hand experience how much respect Dean Winchester held for authority, had felt the slice and bite of his rapier sharp wit, followed closely with sarcasm and at times thinly veiled violence.

Turning my head to follow the voice, I focused on the words even as I took in the appearance. Short spiky hair covered his head as he gave the attractive woman next to him his full attention. His expressive green eyes seemed to be swallowing her whole and I couldn't help but notice that here and now he seemed more man than the boy I knew.

Dean raised one hand to signal the bartender, and then slapped cash on the mahogany surface to pay for the two filled to the brim shot glasses which sat before him. He handed one to the woman sitting next to him and together they threw them back like seasoned professionals, Dean didn't even blink. Instead he set the glass back down and grabbing his beer by the slender brown neck, he leaned into the blonds' personal space. Way in. Whatever he said she found it very funny because she followed his movement with melodic giggles and strategically placed a hand up high on the denim of Dean's thigh. I could see her fingers rhythmically massaging and I found myself mesmerized at the sheer audacity of the teen as he kissed her mouth, pulling away only to ask "how far away is your place?"

Okay now I usually preferred to mind my own business but how could I not be morally and legally obligated to step in and make sure he got home safely when despite his cocksure appearance and overflowing confidence he was still an underage minor who had just consumed alcohol and was now about to go home with a stranger to engage in more illegal and possibly unsafe activities. My own beer forgotten on the rickety table, I stood and managed to cross over to the bar before the overly touchy feely couple made it off the stools. I cleared my throat expecting him to look up at me but he didn't even flinch. So I put on my best teacher voice and tried again.

"Mr. Winchester, just what exactly do you think you're doing?" If I hadn't known him I wouldn't even had known he was surprised. But as it was I noticed the corners of his eyes widen just the tiniest bit. I had seen that look last week at the announcement of a pop quiz.

"Just a minute sweetheart," he drawled. "Hold that thought." And with those words he passed right by me and headed over to a table by the door. He didn't walk like a kid who knew he'd been caught; instead he ambled towards the shadows by the exit, moving in and around the bar like he'd been there his whole life.

"Mr. Andrews," he said finally turning to face me, green eyes boring into mine. His legs widened, feet planted firmly and capably on the floor, almost like a gunslingers stance from the old movies I watched as a kid. He raised one eye brow and a self deprecating smile tugged gently at his lips.

"Come here often."

His brassy sarcasm was enough to jar me from my internal dialogue and I motioned with one jerk of my shoulder.

"Come on I'm driving you home, I'm sure your parents are wondering where you are. Not to mentions tonight is a school night and you have been drinking. Actually on that note, you can be sure I'll inquire as to how this establishment saw fit to serve an underage minor alcohol. So get your things and I'll drive you home."

I was wound up, my astonishment and anger at the situation fueling my words, didn't Dean understand the danger he had put himself in. Everything from alcohol poisoning, death by crazy stranger to an STD from the random sex he'd been about to participate in, he was just a kid. A kid entrusted to my care 5 days a week during 3rd period English and I intended to nip this situation in the bud. I'd always thought Dean had unlimited untapped potential but he just didn't seem to believe in himself enough to try and use it. Now in addition to selling himself short here he was endangering himself as well. All my previous mad from my marital argument turned and redirected towards Dean and his parents. I was half outside the door when I noticed he still hadn't moved. His head was cocked to the side almost as if he was trying to decide if he was going to listen to me or not. I could see the indecision warring in his eyes and once again I couldn't help but notice that here and now he looked and acted more the man than the teenager he was.

Enough was enough. I squared my shoulders, tugging my authority into place like a well loved blanket in the middle of frigid winter. I was the adult and he was the child and that's just all there was to it.

Only he still hadn't moved.

I wrapped one hand around his bicep, intending to physically remove him if I had to. His arm was muscled and firm under my grip in a way no child's should be, and the look in his eyes when I touched him. It wasn't fear at being caught or annoyance at being challenged; it was irritation like I was a fly buzzing around his picnic coupled with complete confidence that a fly such as me couldn't ruin his day.

And to top it all off he still hadn't moved.

Suddenly a finely manicured hand sporting a hellacious shade of bubble gum pink moved into my field of vision, as she gripped Dean's other arm, clearly restating her claim. "Baby," she purred "we going or what?"

His mouth set, lips pressed firmly together, all 6 feet of athletic teenage boy, there he stood trapped between the two of us. It was eerily reminiscent of the good and bad angles on your shoulders.

I faced his clinging groupie, "he's underage, perhaps I should call the police and CPS, and have them help me sort this out." Now suddenly I saw the fear I had been expecting all along. His eyes shuttered, his gaze like fractured agate, and I saw his fingers unconsciously grip and worry the fading hem of his shirt. He turned to look at her and I could see regret outlined in the sudden slump of his frame.

"Sorry sweetheart, maybe another time."

"Your underage, ewww gross." With a practiced flounce of her hips she stalked away, presumably to go find other prospects for her evening's entertainment.

"Dean, get your things," I reminded him quietly as I watched the fight leave his features. He silently complied, slipping into the faded leather jacket he seemed to wear regardless of the weather. We stepped out into the night, the gloom from the bar stretching and sliding until it became the thick dark of the in between. There were no stars out and the only light came from a flickering glow of the old and worn streetlight next to the dumpster.

Dean stopped next to the classic beauty I had seen him drive to and from school. Even I, with no head for cars, had spent a few moments mentally lusting after it, all black, with shiny chrome, and leather. However it would have to stay here tonight, there was no way I was letting that kid get behind the wheel. I held out my hand.

"Give me the keys Dean. You can't drive after you've been drinking." He looked at me as if he wanted to say something and he certainly looked sober. I hoped he disregarded the fact that we had previously been in a bar and both had been patrons. Eyeing me, as if to gauge my resolve, he grudgingly yet silently dropped the keys in the palm of my outstretched hand. I guided him over to my car and waited until he was settled and seat belted before I asked him for directions to his house.

As I drove I kept my hands on the steering wheel and my eyes stalwartly forward. I was pretending not to notice Dean who was busy pretending not to notice me pretending not to notice him. It was all very awkward and the air in the vehicle continued to grow with tension. Any other child would be lamenting their misfortune at being caught and nervously pondering which privilege denying vein their punishment would take. I was unsure as to what Dean was thinking about, but considering the plans he had had for tonight, the fear of reprimands and groundings obviously weren't a driving force in the Winchester household. Well, I'd talk to the parents. Maybe they were just as blinded by his charming smile and silver tongue as most of the students at the high school and over half the teachers. Charm, Dean had it in spades, and a penchant for trouble.

I followed his quietly murmured directions, my car steadily taking us further into a part of town I had rarely frequented. I assumed the Winchesters didn't have much in the way of money considering the worn state of the boys' clothes and school supplies, but I hadn't thought they lived way out here. The area was desolate and run down, dark in a way that had nothing to do with the time of night.

I turned into the parking lot of apartments which looked about ready to crumble at any given moment, as if the people sheltering within its aged and imperfect walls were the only thing holding the brick and mortar together. Once I parked Dean turned and looked at me; his expressive green eyes staring imploringly back at me.

"Thanks Mr. Andrews for seeing me home."

Cue appropriately sheepish half grin, look down at feet, shuffle toes before looking back up beseechingly at your acquired target. Oh yeah I was not the first adult Dean had pegged as an easy mark.

"I know it was stupid to put myself in danger like that. I promise it won't happen again. I'm just going to go on inside so I'll get enough sleep to be properly rested for your class."

Cue alarmingly disarming sheepish grin again. Uhh huh. I wasn't buying it.

"Dean, I really need to see you all the way home. I feel that I need to speak with your parents. You could have been severely hurt or hurt someone else. This was not just run of the mill adolescent stupidity. Not to mention I'm sure your parents will want to address the issue of the bar actually serving you, and confiscate your id."

He wrinkled his nose at that thought and a half smile ghosted across his features, seemingly out of place with the night's events. He looked at me again as if to read the strength of my resolve regarding the finality of my decisions. I met his gaze and hoped he could read what I was silently saying.

Not gonna budge here kiddo might as well get the show on the road.

He slumped again in the seat, eyes dejectedly forward. It occurred to me in the wake of his extreme reluctance to allow me to walk him up and meet his parents, that maybe there were other reasons to be considered here for his feelings. Regardless of how repugnant the thoughts, I still had to ask.

"Dean," I began making my voice as gentle as possible. "Do you not want me to walk you up because you are afraid of what I might see? Are you afraid if your parents find out what you were doing you'll be hurt in some way."

"What, no!" His eyes skittered to mine again. I wasn't quite sure I believed him. He must have reached an internal decision of some sorts because his hand was already on the handle of the door and his weight already sliding to shift on the foot placed outside my car before he turned to me.

"Are you coming or what?"

As I hurried my movement to join him I thought I heard him muttering under his breath, "god forbid we don't satisfy your insatiable curiosity." He stalked in from of me, long legs eating up the ground in angry jerky strides, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. I followed him around until we reached a first floor apartment on the back corner, apt 11A. As we walked up the path I noticed the face of little Sammy Winchester pressed into the glass window, obviously awaiting big brother's return. His eyes widened comically at the sight of me and consequently he ducked out of view. I handled Dean the keys I had earlier taken possession of, but before he could get a key into the lock the door was wretched loudly and jarringly open.

In the doorway stood the man I presumed to be Dean's father. God but he was big, making my own 5'10 feel momentarily undignified and short. His height and bulk were impressive, as was the roughly stubbled jaw line and shuttered gaze boring from his dark brown eyes. I unconsciously tried to find enough spit in my suddenly dry mouth to lather up a swallow. The man screamed danger and I began to question the wisdom of bringing Dean home. Perhaps I should have called the police and let CPS sort it all out after all. Once the black onyx gaze settled on his son however it softened; and I found myself finally able to draw in a decent breath.

"Dean" spoke the roughened voice like hot whisky over smoldering coals. Dean snapped to attention like I had never before witnessed in all the time I had know him. His back was straight, arms held at his sides, head up and eyes forward. He looked like a soldier awaiting command.

"Sir," came Dean's reply so quick on the heels of his name that I could only assume it to be repetitive and automatic in nature. John Winchester gave one enigmatic tilt of the head and Dean was off in compliance while I still struggled to infer what had been transmuted over the silent communication.

He looked at me, his long measuring glance made me uncomfortable and I fought to remember I was the position of authority and I had valid questions requiring answers.

"Mr. Winchester," I began, "were you aware your son was not at home in his bed? Instead I found him at a bar, being illegally served alcohol, and about 30 seconds away from engaging in illicit behavior with an adult older than your son's own 16 years. I can only assume he must have snuck out."

"I see, and you are?"

"William Andrews, I teach your son's English class during 3rd period. I couldn't very well leave him to his own devices, nor could I allow him to operate a vehicle in his inebriated state, so your car is still in the lot of the bar." At the end of this declaration John Winchester's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared ever so slightly, he looked angry.

"Thank you for seeing Dean safely home Mr. Andrews, you can rest assured everything will be seen to in the morning."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, so while still feeling unnerved by the whole situation, I resigned myself to not being able to do anything about it currently. Shortly after the door was summarily shut in my face and I was left to stare at the vague outline of father and son behind the dim curtain in the window. I admit it was still preposterous to still be standing there but I found myself drawn to the low timber of their voices, leaning further even as I strained to make out the words.

"What the fuck Dean. I send you on a simple mission to hustle some cash for the road and you manage to alert to attention of a damn teacher. What part about we do what we do and we shut up about it did you not remember."

"Nothing sir, honest. I played a couple of games, won the money and made it out clean. I wasn't going to stay long it's just…"

"Since when is a piece of ass more important than the safety of this family and the sanctity of the mission?

"Never sir"

"And the impala?"

"The lot sir."

"Was he correct in saying you were impaired to drive?"

"No sir, honest. I had a couple of shots and a beer. Just enough to pull of the hustle."

"Damn't Dean, we've managed to fly under the radar the whole time and now we'll be leaving under suspicion. Retrieve the impala Dean, run if you have to, but I'm leaving in an hour. I expect this situation to be rectified by then."

"Yes sir"

That was the weirdest conversation I think I had ever heard and I was definitely regretting my hasty decision to not involve CPS. The door once more began to open and I found myself melting back against the shadows lest I get caught loitering around my student's apartment at 1 in the morning. Probably not the best situation for a teacher to be in.

It was Dean and Sam this time. They stood shoulder to shoulder, although Sam's hit more around Dean's middle than his actual shoulder.

"What'cha gonna do Dean, how you gonna make it in time? Are you gonna hotwire a car?"

"Nah, heats already on and if I get caught Dad will just be even more pissed. Hold him off as long as you can okay. I better get running."

"Okay," replied Sam hugging his thin frame with the bony growing arms of a recently turned adolescent on the cusp of a growth spurt. With that Dean took off at a steady run and Sam returned to the apartment. I took off as well. I wanted to catch up with Dean to see what was going on, offer him a ride, call the police anything to help fix the strange and disconcerting situation I currently found myself in. When I got to the parking lot he was already gone, no trace of his lanky frame anywhere against the murky night.

I spent an hour that night retracing our drive trying to spot a boy jogging; finally I drove to wait by his car. When I got there the gleaming black beauty was gone and I knew in my heart that the Winchesters were too. Still I drove back to the apartments just to double check and found 11A significantly and empirically empty. The only thing remaining were Sam and Dean's school issued text books stacked nearly on a pile on the kitchen table. There was a 50 stuck under a note on the table. When I looked more closely I saw it was addressed to me. To Mr. Andrews it said, for my gas and trouble. I couldn't decide if I was insulted or amused.

I did end up calling the police and CPS in the morning. I filed an official compliant as I still strongly feel something was not right in that house. But it was to no avail as no one ever saw or heard from any of the Winchesters again.

I still teach English and I made up with my wife. I got on with my life as people are wont to do, but I still think of Dean from time to time. I wonder where is he and what is he doing. And I hope for his sake that someone makes him stop and take the time to be the boy he is still supposed to be. But somehow I doubt it.