Author's Note: So Fuzzball457 asked someone to pick up this story idea. So, me being nice and thinking it was a pretty good story idea and I decided to picked it up.

Now, Sam hasn't been himself. He's been eating less and less to the point where he's hiding it from Dean that he's pretty much eating nothing. Dean is 17 and Sam is 13.

I won't get into much more detail because I want you to find out as I go :P

Now, let's get started.

XxXxXx

It was one of those things. One of those things that I should have noticed earlier. A lot earlier. If I had noticed earlier, then this wouldn't have happened. Sam would be alright. Sam would be his normal self. Dad wouldn't be mad at me or be feeling guilty. I wish I would have noticed. Dad isn't the only one feeling guilty. I'm right along with him.

Now, you may be asking why I'm talking about this. Now Sam had been acting like himself for the past couple of weeks. But something was just… I don't know. Off. I couldn't place my finger on it until it was almost too late.

Instead of leaving you in the dark, I'll go ahead and tell the story.

XxXxXx

I glanced over at Sam. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

Sam looked at his food and pushed it towards me. "Nah, go ahead and eat it."

"Alright, thanks," I took the sandwich that Sam hadn't touched. Taking a bite, I said, "You know, you're missing out on a lot of good stuff."

"Yeah, whatever," Sam shrugged.

I looked at my brother weird swallowing my food. "You alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine." Sam got up from the table and got his backpack. We were living in a motel. Like always. Dad was away on a hunt. He said it would take him four to six weeks to complete. So, he rolled us in the nearest school called Smith High School. It was a tiny school where everyone knew everyone and the new kids stood out. Hence, Sam and I.

It was about two weeks into the possible six that we were staying here. I hated it. I hated going to school. I hated having to get up so early. I hated having to socialize with people I didn't know. Sam on the other hand, he loved it. I will never fully understand my little brother. Why he loved school so much. Maybe it was because he could get away from all the hunting. I knew Sam wasn't a fan of it. Unlike me. I loved to hunt. I loved the rush and the adrenaline that hunting gave you. Yeah, there were some days when I didn't want to kill or salt and burn the bastard but still, everyone has those days? Right?

Sam started to do his homework like a good little school boy. I on the other hand, didn't want to do my homework. So therefore, I wasn't going to do it. My classes weren't bad. Taking Algebra Two, Biology, American Folklore (that class was a joke. None of the lore was correct), and American History. The high school was on a block schedule so I only had four classes a day. That was awesome. The one flaw? They were all ninety minutes long. Now that, was boring as hell.

"How's the homework c'min along?" I asked Sam who was sitting on his bed. He looked tiny in the bed. Almost too tiny to be thirteen.

"Good," Sam responded clearly too involved in his homework to say anything else.

"Whatever," I muttered turning on the TV.

XxXxXx

I was sitting in American Folklore class listening to some story about a women who saw a Mammoth even years after they had become instinct. She had told her husband but he didn't believe her. The mammoth had attacked them in the night killing her husband. She fled with her babe in her arms. She found another tribe of people and told them what happened. They made holes in the ice hoping the mammoth would fall into the water and drown. The mammoth did that but only came back out of the water. The tribe people were frightened when it came up to them. As the tribe people stood frozen in fear, the women saw a boy come out with a bladder of a moose on his head. He called upon his grandmother who gave him a special bow and arrow. The boy killed the Mammoth and he became the leader of his tribe.

I had sat there and listened to the folktale. I was rather bored having heard that before. Dad had taught us that folklore when I was eight and Sammy was four. For me, this class was even more of a blow off class then what people thought it was.

"Dean what do you think about this story?" The teacher asked just as my eyes closed – teachers loved to call on me as soon as I closed my eyes.

"I think the man was crazy not to believe his wife," I responded. I would have said something smartass-ey but Dad had told me no smartass remarks in class. 'Cuz apparently that was bad or something. It wasn't like I was breaking the law right now with a gun in my backpack.

The teacher nodded calling on someone to get their opinion.

XxXxXx

It was the last class of the day and I was so ready to go home. I was sitting in American History learning about the Civil War. The funny thing is about this class, the teachers never tell you about all the ghost and lore during those times. They only tell you about the battles and nothing else. No ghosts, no demons, no shifters, no anything supernatural.

The teacher was droning on and on about the Civil War when the bell rang. I was one of the first people out of the room. The teacher said something about homework that I wasn't going to do.

I scanned the hallway looking for Sam. I did that everyday no matter what time of day it was. If I saw him, I knew he was alright. If I didn't, I knew something had happened. But, there was that one instance when I didn't see him so I went to find him and he was staying after to get some help. I chuckled thinking about that how I had pretty much ran all over the school looking for him and there he was. Sitting in his math class getting extra help. I spotted Sam talking to some kid. I went up to them. "Hey Sammy," I said as both Sam and the kid looked up at me.

"Hey Dean," Sam mumbled. "I gotta go Jeff, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, see you Sam," The kid, I guess Jeff was his name, walked away catching up with some other kid.

"How was your day?" I asked as we walked through the halls. I looked at Sam's face. His cheeks were drawn in and he looked pale. "Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam muttered brushing off my concern.

"Alright, whatever you say," I sarcastically muttered back. I didn't believe him. Not one bit. But, if Sam said he was alright, then he had to be okay. He would tell me if something was wrong? Right? Or at least that's what I hopped.