new chappy up!! thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)

Chapter Two

Sam awoke with a start at the sound of the alarm, glanced at the clock, and noticing it was six am, let out a stream of curses his brother would be proud of. "Damn it, Dean. Why the hell didn't you wake me?" he yelled to his brother who was sleeping in the bed opposite of him in the tiny room they shared.

A shiver of panic raced through him as he thought of Mr. Modedey and his unfinished eight thousand word paper.

"Unfinished, hell, I haven't even started it yet." He glared at his brother who had just lifted his head a few inches off his pillow. "Told you to wake me, Dean. Told you I had homework to do."

"Huh?" Dean tiredly rubbed his eyes, and then glanced at the clock. "Damn, Sammy, it's only six in the morning."

"Yeah, six in the morning as in school starts in an hour. As in I asked you to wake me up well before six in the morning."

Dean rolled on his side, and sat up in bed to watch Sam stalk round the room gathering his clothes and books together in a hurry. "What's the big freakin' deal, dude, so you slept in a little. Just tell your teachers you were sick." Stretching, he yawned loudly, and ruffled his fingers through his short cropped hair. "That's what I always do. Works like a charm."

Sam stopped what he was doing for a moment and stared incredulously at him. "What the hell kinda homework could you possibly have? A twenty freakin' word essay on the meaning of torque? I mean seriously, do they give you extra credit if you use words with more than one syllable?"

"Huh, will have to ask cause I'm sure I used the words perpendicular and rotation on that essay." Dean chuckled, not in the least insulted by the comment.

"You don't even get it do you, Dean?" Sam fumed, his face flushing with anger. "I had an eight thousand word essay due today. Eight thousand words!" Yanking his t-shirt over his head, he pulled his arms threw the sleeves. "An' I'm pretty damn sure, Mr. Modedey isn't gonna

accept — " Sam stopped speaking abruptly, noticing Dean staring at him oddly. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Dean raised a quizzical brow, and bobbed his head toward Sam's chest. "The bruises. They're gone."

"What are you talking about?" Sam lifted his shirt, and glanced down at his chest and stomach, and noticed that Dean was right. "Told you it was a allergic reaction to somethin'," Sam said trying to make light of it, but even as the words left his mouth, the thought of welts just disappearing as if they never were, worried him. He knew what Dean was thinking. Knew it made them seem more supernatural in nature, and Sam didn't have the time to get into an argument about them, not with an eight thousand word essay due after lunchtime.

"Look, Dean, I gotta go. Got to get to school early an' try an finish this damn paper before seventh period."

Sam bent and snatch up his books off the floor, and headed for the door, not waiting to hear Dean's reply. He'd almost made it out the door when his brother's arm snaked around his upper arm and jerked him backward.

"Not so fast, Sammy, I'm driving you today."

"Don't need you to drive me. It's only three blocks to school," Sam tried to argue, but knew Dean's mind was made up by the determined gleam in his green eyes. And truthfully, if Dean did drive him, he would have more time to write his paper, so he gave in. "Fine, but you better be ready to go in like five minutes or I'm outta here."

"Just let me wash up a bit, an' brush my teeth, and we'll go." Dean pushed past him, and ran to get to the bathroom first.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was sitting at the small kitchen table in their apartment, nervously tapping his fingers on his book, watching the clock anxiously, still waiting for Dean to get out of the bathroom so he could get in there to get himself ready to go. A few more seconds, and he was back on his feet, stalking to the bathroom, and pounding on the door. "Come on, Dean. I gotta get in there."

When Dean failed to respond, Sam pounded even harder, rattling a few pictures on the wall that had been left behind by the previous tenants. Finally he heard the water turn off, and a few seconds later, Dean opened the door, and casually strolled out.

"It's all yours, dude, but hurry up cause I don't wanna be late." He smirked. "If there's one thing Dean Winchester isn't, it's tardy." Chuckling, Dean headed for the kitchen to get something to eat for breakfast.

"Yeah, right." Sam rushed into the bathroom to get ready, and within ten minutes reemerged.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam and Dean entered the building just as the bell for first period rang. Sam silently cursed under his breath, kicking himself for agreeing to drive to school with school with his brother who had never been on time once since they'd started there. After they signed in at the office, Dean headed off to auto shop, muttering something about rebuilding an engine.

Sam sprinted off toward his calculus class at the other end of the building. Rounding the corner, he slammed directly Mr. Modedey. His books flew out of his hands and landed with a loud clatter on the ground. Without offering a word of apology, he stooped to retrieve them, but Lyle stepped on one of them, and Sam's gaze was drawn back upwards to him.

Mr. Modedey glanced at his watch, and clucked his tongue in an irritating fashion. "Late to class, Mr. Winchester? And running in the halls?" He shook his head. "I'm sure you know that is not permitted."

"I was . . . I um — "

"Ah, using that expansive vocabulary you've attained from all your hard years of studying, I see."

Cocking a brow, Mr. Modedey crossed his arms in front of himself, and waited for Sam to respond. "Did you by chance go to a vocational school before transferring to Roth?"

"Have a test in calculous, Mr. Modedey, can I please have my book back," Sam said, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone.

"Guess you should've thought of that before you decided to show up late." Mr. Modedey turned on his heel, and gestured for Sam to follow him. "Come with me, Sam."

"But, sir, my test — "

"If you were that concerned about your test, you would be in there taking it right now. But in stead, you've chosen to go the slacker route once again. Now follow me."

Reluctantly, Sam snatched up his remaining books, and fell in line behind his teacher. They turned right and headed for Mr. Modedey's classroom. Sam kept his vision trained on the ground, knowing that the few student's milling around in the hallway were staring at him. Angrily, he wondered why his teacher didn't bother to confront them on their tardiness.

Once inside Mr. Modedey's classroom, he motioned for Sam to take a seat in he front row, and took a seat behind his own desk. Pulling out a thick file from one of the drawers, he flipped it open, and started studying the pages.

Sam glanced up at the clock, and realized his teacher had no intention of letting him get to his calculous class, and turned to glare at him.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester, do you have something you would like to say?" Lyle asked, without looking up at him.

"I have a test, sir. One I can't make up."

"Should have thought of that before you decided to come to school late, now shouldn't you have, Sam?"

Sam didn't bother answering, knew whatever he said would just make matters worse. Mr. Modedey had taken a immediately dislike to him, and he doubted the fact that he was an A student who had never gotten in any sort of trouble, would persuade the teacher to think otherwise.

Mr. Modedey, closed the thick file, folded his arms and rested them on top of it. Leaning over the desk, he stared intently into Sam's eyes, silently daring Sam to look away. "I've taken it upon myself to take a look into your transcripts after yesterday's interruption of my class, Sam, and find them quite interesting."

"My transcripts, sir." Gulping down a deep breath, Sam swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as if his lungs would explode from lack of oxygen. Sweat beaded on his brow, and dripped down into his eyes.

"Yes, quite interesting to find that you have transferred from more than twenty schools since you started."

"Father's j-job requires we move a lot." Sam lied, wiping the sweat from his brow. He felt a twinge of pain behind his eyes, and squinched them closed against the growing ache in his temples.

"Ah, yes, I can see how being an auto mechanic would require a lot of moving around. It must be so tough finding cars to repair these days." Lyle licked his lips, a derisive smirk on his face. "Couldn't possibly be as easy as finding work as say, oh, I don't know, an ice fisherman perhaps, where work abounds." His teacher leaned back against his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, smiling at Sam. "Abound means plentiful, in case you didn't know."

"I k-know what it means, sir," Sam choked out, his throat constricting painfully as his stomach and chest burned with pain.

"Oh, that's right, you're an A student, I nearly forgot," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your brother, Dean, appears to be as shiftless as your father," he went on to say as if he hadn't just insulted Sam, "Failed tenth grade, barely scraping by this year. Absent from school twenty-four days the first half of the year, tardy . . . well, tardy nearly every day." He shrugged, glancing up at Sam. "Guess it's true about the apple not falling far from the tree."

"B-brother's not shiftless," as Sam said this, he cringed, another wave of pain crashing over him with tidal force. He doubled over in his seat, fearing he might throw up again.

"And then there's you." He tapped his finger on Sam's file, and then his determined gaze sought out Sam, swooping in for the kill. "I find it truly amazing that you can be an A student with as many sick days as you've had since the beginning of the year. Not as many as your brother, mind you, but enough to set of my radar that something might be going on in your household."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a familiar figure pass by the doorway, and turned just in time to see his brother back up to stand directly in front of the entrance. Sam's movement was not lost on the his teacher who also turned to look at Dean. Dean eyed Sam for a moment and then his steely gaze shifted to the teacher, a scowl forming on his lips.

"Yes, can I help you?" Mr. Modedey asked in a most pleasant tone.

"My brother, Sam, is supposed to be in calculous right now." Dean leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, and staring defiantly at the older man. "I've come to make sure he gets there."

"Well, as you can see, Sam is in detention right now, and isn't going anywhere until I say so." Although Lyle's tone remained calm and pleasant, the look he gave Dean was a definite challenge.

"The hell he isn't." Dean turned his head to Sam, and ordered, "Get your stuff, Sammy. I'm taking you home, you look like shit."

Sam wanted desperately to go with his brother, but feared that if he did the next time he went to English class things would be far worse than they were now. "M'okay, Dean," he said in a shaky voice which elicited an even more fierce protective look on his brother's face.

"Sam, if you don't get your stuff together this minute, I'm gonna come in there and haul your ass outta that classroom."

Hearing this, Mr. Modedey shifted in his seat to look at Sam, the simpering smile never wavering from his face. "Now that you mention it, he does look sort of ill. Sam, should have told me. Had I known, I would have sent you to the nurse's office."

"I . . . I can leave then?" Sam asked warily, knowing that he was going to pay dearly for his brother's intrusion later.

"Of course you can." He motioned for Dean to come in and help Sam get his books and book bag together. "You really should have spoken up, and said you weren't feeling well. I was so busy with my paperwork, I failed to notice." He hesitated for a moment, and then added, "Please forgive me. Being a new teacher, I sometimes get lost in all the workload, but I am sure you understand, don't you, Sam?"

Sam noticed the subtle tick in the man's right cheek and the narrowing of his dark eyes, a clear warning of what would happen if he spoke out against him. "Yeah." was all he could manage to say, his stomach tempting to revolt at any moment.

Dean stalked to Sam's desk, grabbed his book bag, and help Sam to his feet. Wrapping his arm around Sam's back, he helped him to the door. Once there, he turned and eyed the teacher, a look of clear warning crossing his features. "Next time, Sam is supposed to be in a class, and I find him in detention with you, believe me, I'm not gonna be so nice about it. Understood?"

"Perfectly." The boys were just about to leave, when Mr. Modedey called out, "Sam, if you are leaving school, I will need both of your homework assignments now."

"Both?" Sam uttered, then glanced at Dean, a pained expression on his face, knowing full-well that Mr. Modedey wasn't going to accept his excuse of being ill as a reason not to finish his assignments.

"Yes, both. Your essay and the regular assignment that was posted on the board. He gestured to the blackboard, and underneath his name was the other assignment. "You do have them, right?"

"No." He shook his head, causing the ache in his temples to throb even more viciously. "Wasn't feeling well."

"Then I am afraid you will have to receive an F for both papers, Sam. Can't show favoritism, now can I?" Lyle pursed his lips, the corners of his eyes wrinkling at the faint smile he graced Sam with. "You understand, don't you?"

Sam saw the challenge, knew Mr. Modedey wanted him to argue, wanted Sam to plead with him to reconsider, but knew nothing he said would any difference to this man. So instead he replied, "Perfectly," mimicking the derision he'd heard in the teacher's voice since the moment he'd met up with him in the hallway.

"Very well, I shall see you tomorrow then. Feel better and get some rest." He smiled one last time at Dean, and then resumed with his paperwork.