A/N: So yesterday I was thinking, where am I going with this? What do I want? Sure I had a vague idea, but I wasn't sure. I wrote chapter 1 at around 2 o'clock and I'm EVIL that late at night! So anyway, I've now decided that this story will be split over two different time frames because I don't think I can torture wee!Dean endlessly nor write that much really depressed!John. So I give you...

PRESENT

"Oh SHIT!" A loud clash comes from the kitchen followed by a string of expletives.

"Dean, are you alright?" Sam almost trips over the pants he's putting on. He quickly pulls them up and runs down the stairs. "Dean!"

"What?" Dean looks unharmed, but his face is a little red.

"I heard. Never mind, what happened?"

"Ileftthedraweropenandwalkedintoit." He speaks as quickly as he can, a crooked grin on his face, and Sam has no idea what he just said.

"What? Anyway, you owe, like, ten dollars."

"No I don't." There was no swearing allowed in the house. It was a rule they implemented after Sam entered the first grade and started to get in trouble because of his language. "You know what. You were upstairs. I only swore because I knew no one was here. It doesn't count."

"That's not how it works. No swearing in the house, one dollar each time."

"You're so annoying Sammy. Just wait until I'm done with this." Dean reaches behind him but misses the handle of the pan and touches the hot metal instead. "FUCK! Oh shit! This doesn't count right? It's justified. Sammy, Sam?" There's no reply except of a half coked sob. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Let me see your hand." He cradles Dean's right hand in his hands. "It's really red and a bit of the skin is peeling off. You should run it under the sink for a bit."

"It's fine."

"Just do it ok?" There's an edge to the young boy's voice that's oddly out of place.

"If you're going to cry about it."

"I'm sorry Dean." This time the sobs are a bit more pronounced and less held back.

"I'm already doing it. You don't really have to cry. What are you sorry about? For being so annoying? I know you can't help it."

"I always get you hurt, Dean." He's full on crying now. Tears coming out faster than his sleeves can mop them up.

"Come over here you. Sammy, you know that's not true. It was just a hot pan. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine."

"But…"

"But nothing, whatever's making you feel this way, it's not true. You know me; no one makes me do anything I don't want to do. Besides, what am I going to do without you? Hang out with dad? And who am I going to do this to?"

"Huh?" The moment the word leaves his lips, he could feel Dean grab him from behind but it all happens so fast he has not time to react. He's on the ground, sitting on his ass before he knows it. Dean's laugh is loud and uncontrolled and he can't help but do the same.

"Come on, we gotta get ready for school. Go get some forks. The eggs smell burnt. They look alright to you?"

"They're a bit burnt but they're fine." The eggs have a bit of grey tinge to them and some burnt brown bits in them. They still look edible though, which is more than he can say about anything he ever makes.

"Yeah, I know." Dean had already shovelled the entirety of his breakfast into his mouth in less than thirty seconds, doing so without leaving any trace of it on his face. "Hurry up; we're going to miss the bus."

"Dude, we still have ten minutes."

"Yeah whatever, wash the dishes when you're done."

It's raining hard enough for the rain to ricochet off the pavement and soak their jeans. When the bus does arrive, they're both freezing.

"Sorry guys, the weather's getting pretty crazy. Slowed everything right down, can't blame anyone though. Best be safe I say. There've been so many accidents lately. Real shame it is. All of them so young too, those poor parents."

"Don't worry about it Bill. We were just freezing our asses off." The two of them take the first two empty seats at the front of the bus. Once the chatter builds up enough, Dean turns towards Sam. "Do you think that it's something that dad will have to work on? Six kids, all within three blocks. He was really serious when he told us to stay away yesterday night."

"I don't know, Dean. He'll be back by tonight. We can ask him then."

Once they reach the school, the rain has only grown stronger, the dark grey sky threatening to erupt in thunder.

"Good luck with your test today."

"What, what test?"

"Dean, English grammar? You were talking about it all of last week. Nouns, pronouns, verbs adverbs, it was driving dad crazy."

"Why didn't you ask me about it yesterday? I'm going to get a zero Sammy. They're going to make me repeat the sixth grade."

"You are crazy; they aren't going to make you repeat the sixth grade because of some stupid test. You won't get a zero anyway. You do know how to speak English Dean. It probably won't be that hard anyway."

"Of course you'd say that genius. You're only in the second grade and you might as well be in middle school already. I'm going see what I can do about passing that test. Bye Sammy."

"Yeah, see you at lunch Dean."

On his way to class, Dean contemplates his options. He knows all of his concerns are irrational, there's no way that this stupid test will have any effect on his grades at all. But he really wants to do well. John insists that his sons do well and if there's any chance that the recent 'accidents' are actually a case, acing this test might help convince his dad to let him work on it. John never hid from his boys what he was up to during his weekend hunting trips. Knowledge was power and he taught them enough to ensure that they knew when to get out of a situation and what to do if they were caught somewhere they didn't want to be. The two of them were in charge of maintaining the salt lines around the house, knew what was made of iron, what was made of silver and when to use it. They also knew about the bottles of holy water around the house. John however, never told them any specifics about what he was working on and never involved them in any case. Sammy was still very young, but Dean felt that he was old enough and that John should let him in on some things at least some of the time.

He turned around in his desk. "Mike, are you ready for the test? I'm so not."

"Oh man, I totally forgot about it." There's a loud shuffling of papers. "I don't even know where I put my notes."

"We are so screwed." He lets his head slump onto his desk. It should all be alright, as nervous as he gets, he still does well regardless.

"Dean, honey, are you alright?"

"Huh? Mrs. Miller?"

"You're looking a bit pale. Are you feeling sick?"

Here's his chance. Mrs. Miller was an experienced teacher but the diehard grandmotherly type. She did in fact talk about her grandchildren often, the oldest one about to graduate from college. He doesn't want to take advantage of her but he doesn't want to take this test. It wouldn't really be so bad though would it? He'd just have to make up for it tomorrow after he'd had some time to study.

"It's just my head. I think I'm getting a headache."

"Well maybe you should head down to the nurse's office. Do you have your medication with you?"

"It's in my backpack." He hasn't had them in a while. But there was a time when he used to get really bad migraines and he still carried his pills with him. He hopes they don't make him take them.

"Alright, I got your coat and your bag dear. Do you want to take my arm?"

He reaches with his right hand to find her elbow and stands up.

"Oh my! What happened to your hand?"

He'd already forgotten about that. "Had a bit of an accident this morning. It's fine though."

"Well, I think we should get Nurse Taylor to take a look nonetheless. Here we are."

"Mrs Miller, what do we have here? Dean Winchester. How're you feeling hon?"

"He's getting a bit of a headache."

"Yeah." He decides to say as little as possible. The less he says the less lying he'd be doing and the less he'd have to keep track of.

"You might want to take a look at his hand too. He says he had a bit of an accident this morning."

"Well, why don't you sit down on the bed here Dean and we'll take a look see."

"Feel better soon hon. I gotta head back to class."

"Thanks Mrs. Miller." He's beginning to feel a headache coming on for real now. Leave it to him to actually get sick pretending to be sick.

"Do you think you'll need your pills dear?"

"Maybe, I'm still alright for now though."

"Well, why don't you show me your hand then? What happened?"

"I was making breakfast and I missed the handle of the pan. It was stupid. It doesn't hurt anymore. I ran it under the tap for a bit."

"You cook a lot?"

"I like it and it'd probably be more dangerous eating anything my dad makes anyway. He tries, but he can't make anything edible unless it's from a cardboard box. He still manages to ruin it half the time though." He's sure that it's wise not to say that John is usually away over the weekend and thus wouldn't be able to make breakfast even if he wanted him to. It's true though, that he'd rather not eat anything his father makes.

"Well, dads usually aren't the best cooks are they? I'm going to clean this out, put some ointment on it and put a bandage on. You'll have to be careful not to get an infection. Scar tissue isn't as good as keeping the germs out as skin. This is going to sting a little."

It's more of a tingling feeling than it is stinging. His headache is getting worse though. He knows he's getting a migraine. There's a bit of a ringing in his ears, he's feeling less steady, and he's 'seeing' a strange glow. "Nurse Taylor? Can you get my pills please? They're in the front pocket of my bag pack."

"Sure thing." She stops what she's doing and rummages through his bag. "I'll go get you some water. Why don't you lie down for now dear?" When she returns, she drops the pills into his hand and hands him a cup. "You try and get some rest. I'm going to call your dad."

Would he be back yet? He wasn't supposed to be back until tonight and Dean doesn't want anyone to know that they were left alone.

"I feel better already. You don't have to call him."

"You're as white as a sheet. You're going home; now lie back down young man." There are some rustling noises, and then he hears her pick up the phone. "Nancy, can you get me John Winchester's number please? Yeah it's been a while but Dean's not feeling so well right now. Thanks" There's some more dialling and then a pause. "Mr. Winchester? This is Nurse Taylor from school. Dean's not feeling well. He's got quite a migraine. Would you be able to come and pick him up? Alright, see you soon." More dialling again. "Nancy, can you please go fetch Sam please? John's coming to pick Dean up and he wants to get Sam too. Thanks."

"Dean, your dad is going to come pick you and Sam up. Now let's finish up with your hand. Do you feel any better?"

He's not sure how he feels. His head doesn't feel like it's about to explode anymore and he's not feeling much of anything. He does think he may be about to throw up though but not so much that he can't open his mouth to speak. He wants to say yes but when he does open his mouth only a moan escapes. Embarrassing much?

"Oh darling, your daddy will be here soon." Just as she finishes up with his hand there is a knock at the door. "Here he comes."

P.S.: If you read this far, please leave a review. I don't care if you hated it, tell me still!