Dropout
Chapter Two
Team Winchester

Monday afternoon when the boys got home from school, John's truck was gone and there was a note on the table.

"Found a job a couple of towns over.
Will take a week at most.
Dean, you're in charge.
Call Bobby or Pastor Jim if you need anything."

"Great" Dean huffed and threw the note on the table. He wished he was on this hunt with Dad. He hated being left behind, and it would be a great way to blow off some steam. "We're on our own, Sammy."

"What else is new?" Sam laid his books on the bed. "I'm hungry."

"Yeah, me too," Dean sighed. "Want spaghetti?"

"Sounds good."

Dean got a couple of spaghetti dinners out of the freezer and popped them in the microwave. Sam got dishes from the cabinet and bag-o-salad from the refrigerator. They worked together as usual to make the meal and then cleaned up afterward. Soon Sam had books and notebooks spread out on the table.

"Need some room for your schoolwork?" Sam offered, waving his hand across the empty side of the table.

"No." Dean snorted. "Got a history test tomorrow and I'm already way behind. I'll never learn it now, so I might as well forget it."

"Dean, you can't wait 'til the last minute." Sam looked at Dean wide-eyed, as if he should know this—as if he somehow didn't know this. "You have to start studying ahead of time."

Well, duh! Dean turned to face his brother. This was as good a way as any to blow off steam. "Sammy! When exactly did you expect me to study? This weekend? Did you forget what all we did this weekend? And did you notice that when you were studying, I was fixing supper and buying groceries? I'm not a geek like you!" Sam's face fell and Dean knew he'd hit the mark. "Are you aware that I don't have a photographic memory like you do? I can't just read something and remember it forever." Dean was waving his hands over Sam's schoolwork strewn across the table. "I don't have time for all this."

Sam was quiet for a moment, staring at Dean with those soft, thoughtful eyes.

God help me. He's gonna be a girl about this. Dean braced himself.

"I'll help you study. I know history. We can get you through this."

"Dude! I'm not sure I get why this is so important to you." There was no possible way Sam was going to let this go and Dean knew he might as well give in. He walked over to the bed, picked up his history book and tossed it to Sam. "Have at it."

Tuesday afternoon, Sam was waiting for Dean after school. He fell into step with his brother as they headed for the Impala.

"How'd the test go?"

"I'm pretty sure I passed." Dean smiled at Sam's self-satisfied look. "Don't want to hear I told you so—but thanks, Sammy. You helped a lot."

"No problem." Sam's grin could light up the whole block. Clearly he thought he scored points in this fight—that somehow passing this test made a difference.

"Let's go to the gym and do some kickboxing," Dean said with a grin. Let Sam have his little victory. Dean could use a little sparring right now, but he was not up for another war of words with Sam. "You up for getting your ass kicked?"

"Bring it." Sam turned and broke into a run, his happy laughter trailing behind him as Dean raced to catch up.

It was later that evening when John called to check on his sons.

"You doing okay, Dean?"

"Yeah, we're good. You don't need to worry about us. How's the hunt going? Can I help you out, Dad?"

John didn't answer.

Dean sensed a weak spot. Maybe he could get Dad to cave. "I could take off a day."

"Dean..." John's voice was hesitant, as if he was considering it.

"It wouldn't make that much difference, Dad."

"No, Dean." Apparently John's brief moment of weakness evaporated. "You stay there and make sure you both get to school on time."

"Dad, let me help." Dean was desperate to get in on the hunt.

"We'll see. I'll call you again in a couple of days."

Dean was crushed. In his heart he knew John wanted him hunting. They were a perfect team and, truth be known, John needed the backup. He'd had a falling-out with just about every other hunter they knew at one time or another, and it was getting more difficult for John to find someone to hunt with. It was dangerous for him to be out there alone. If Dean could just get John to see how much he needed him.

"Dean, just take care of Sammy for me." John's voice cut through Dean's thoughts and ended the conversation. Dean had his job, and his job was Sammy.

"Of course, Dad. You know I will."

Sam waited until Dean hung up. "Want me to help you with schoolwork?"

"What's this, Sammy? You gonna tutor me every night now?" Dean couldn't help the bitter note in his voice. He knew he shouldn't take his frustration out on Sam. It wasn't his fault.

"I just want to help, Dean."

"Look, I'm glad you helped me with my history exam. I'm glad I passed, but it doesn't change anything." He tossed the phone onto the table and paced a few steps toward the bed before he turned to face Sam. "You don't get it. It's not about a history exam. It's about school. I can't do this anymore. I can't sit in a classroom and pretend to be something I'm not."

"What are you talking about, Dean? You can do this. I don't want my big brother to be a dropout 'cause... 'cause..." Sam stumbled on the words, barely choking them out. "You're not stupid. You're the smartest person I know."

Dean could see the hurt in his little brother's eyes. He didn't want to hurt Sam, but he had to make Sam see his point of view. "How can I make you understand, Sammy? It's not about being smart or stupid. And it has nothing to do with you. You like school. You're good at it. But I'm not good at it. School is like torture for me."

Dean was pacing, turning to Sam, turning away from him and then turning back, all the while pleading with him. "I can't sit in class and read that Shakespeare stuff. I can't even figure out what he's saying! And dissecting worms and frogs and...and...figuring out triangles and parallelograms, that's stupid stuff!"

"I can help you figure it out, Dean." Sam's hazel eyes glistened and Dean thought Sam might cry, but he couldn't stop now.

"I've cleaned out bullet wounds and set broken bones. I've shot werewolves and watched them die. I've fought off angry spirits, dug up graves and burned bones. Please understand me. I can't keep pretending I'm just another kid in school. I'm not. I'm a hunter. It's in my blood. It's what I have to be."

"But—"

"Sam!" Dean was beyond reason. "This is it for me. It's what I want. It's what I am! It's what you are too. It's in your blood. You'll see! We make a hell of a team. Team Winchester." Dean was waving his hands passionately like he was preaching the Gospel. "The family business! You, me, and Dad. Hell, we just did our first hunt together, you and me. We kicked ass, Sammy!"

"Yeah, all right." Sam barely whispered his response.

Wednesday morning, Dean was leaning over his brother's face. "Rise and shine, Sammy! Get the lead out, princess!"

Sam's face scrunched and he pried one eye open, shaking his head. His long, tangled hair flipped from side to side. He threw back the covers and began scrubbing his eyes. Muttering something unintelligible, he stumbled to the bathroom.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth, kiddo! And use some mouthwash on your stinking breath!" Dean yelled after him.

Dean grinned when he heard Sam brushing his teeth, and he let out a wicked laugh when he heard Sam scream, "Dean!" Sam ran from the bathroom and squared off at his brother, his fists balled beside him, his eyes flashing angry.

Dean doubled over laughing, pointing at Sam's bright blue lips. "Ha!" Dean gasped through bouts of laughter. He held a jar of food coloring between forefinger and thumb, shaking it back and forth. "Let me see those pretty, blue teeth."

Sam dived headlong into Dean's gut, knocking him to the floor where they both rolled over each other. Sam was kicking and punching and Dean was trying to defend himself without hurting his younger brother.

Finally, they both sat up in the middle of the floor.

"Ah, Sammy, the girls are gonna love it. You look good in blue!" Dean snickered.

"Jerk!" Sam was still steaming as he headed back to the bathroom. "You better hope I can get this stuff out!"

Thursday morning, Dean was up and dressing while Sam was still in bed, as usual. That boy could sleep through the apocalypse.He shrugged. He could give him a few more minutes.

Dean finished buttoning his shirt, then grabbed his boots, thinking he would need to wash them soon because they were kind of stinky. He slipped his foot in and felt it glide over something soft and squishy. Not knowing what might have gotten into his boot during the night, he ripped it off and fell backward onto the bed as he flung the boot across the room. "Damn it!"

Sam threw off his covers and sat in the middle of the bed laughing until he fell over holding his sides.

"Bitch!" Dean peeled off his sock and took a whiff. His face scrunched up and his eyes rolled back. "Wheeewww. Sardines?"

"Yeah." Sam was still snickering.

"Good one, Sammy." Dean really didn't mind the prank. There was something magical about Sam's laughter, and this only meant that it was Dean's turn and Sam had just upped the ante.

Thursday afternoon, Dean wheeled the Impala in the parking lot next to John's truck. "Dad's back early," he said.

"You think that's good or bad?" Sam had a feeling this wasn't going to be good. It wouldn't be the first time they'd come home from school to spend an hour or so cleaning and stitching wounds. But Sam knew that at least Dad was alive and in good enough shape to drive home. That was a good sign.

"Don't know yet." Dean threw the car into park and bolted out, slamming the door hard behind him. Sam followed at a slower pace, dreading what he might find when he got inside.

When they entered the room, John was lying on the bed, fully clothed, his booted feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes were closed and his hands folded on his chest. He wasn't sleeping. He was resting while he waited.

"Dad?" Sam knew the look—knew John was ready to leave again. He wondered why John had bothered to come by at all. They hadn't expected him home yet, and he wasn't hurt. He had everything he needed in the back of his truck.

"Boys, I need you. I need backup," John's deep voice rumbled.

Sam didn't like this. He felt sick. Dad needed backup, and once again the hunt was more important than anything else. It wasn't fair. "I got school tomorrow, Dad. I got a history exam," Sam whined. "What about Caleb or Travis? Can't you get one of them to back you up?"

John didn't have time to answer before Dean spoke up. "I'm in, Dad. I don't have any tests."

Sam turned a pleading look to Dean. "You don't need to miss any more school, Dean. You've missed too much already." He knew it was useless before the words left his lips, but he had to try.

Dean turned to stand between Sam and John so that only Sam could see his deadly eyes. "Shut up." Dean's voice was a lethal whisper.

Sam swallowed hard. There was no way he could fight this. His mouth fell open, and he watched dumbly as Dean turned to John.

"I'm ready in five, Dad!" Dean grabbed his duffel and started stuffing extra clothes and supplies into it.

John spoke softly to his youngest son. "Sam, this is important. Lives depend on us."

"I'm staying here," Sam replied. His voice trembled, you didn't defy Dad, but Sam was determined. School was important, and he wouldn't give it up without a fight. Sam's eyes were on Dean. He felt betrayed as he watched Dean prepare to leave with John.

John looked at his youngest son, and Sam couldn't tell what his father was thinking, but John turned without another word and walked out the door.

Sam followed them out the door, and they left Sam on the doorstep. He watched as they rolled away in John's truck. He wanted to scream. He'd won a small victory for himself. He would be in school tomorrow, but he was loosing the battle with Dean. Dean would miss another day, one of many—too many. School is important, he thought, but they're saving lives, hunting monsters. School can't compete with that, not for Dean."

"What are we hunting Dad?"

"Werewolf. Hunting grounds are in southwest Ohio, so it's not far. But it's a wooded area. That's why I need backup. If it'd been in town, I could have taken it myself."

"Yeah. Too many places to hide in the woods. I wish Sammy was with us. We could use him."

"Sammy's got to go to school, son. He's only thirteen."

"You saying I don't have to go to school? I can quit?"

John tightened his lip.

It was a little slip, but Dean didn't miss much. He was a smart kid. "I'm seventeen."

"I didn't say that!" John didn't say it, but he wanted it. He was deliberate in pulling Dean away from school. He couldn't admit it to himself and he couldn't tell Dean to quit. But he was making it impossible for his son to continue and he knew that if Dean did quit he'd have a full-time partner. John knew he was throwing out mixed signals, but he convinced himself that he was doing what he had to do—that he didn't have a choice. "You stay in school and finish. It's what your mother would want."

"Is that what you want, Dad?"

"Drop it, Dean."

John parked the truck on the side of the one-lane dirt road that led into the forest. Four hikers in the last two months had been found dead. They were supposedly mauled by a wild animal, one that hunted on the full moon and ate out the victims hearts. If anything spelled out werewolf, these were the signs.

It was already dark, nearly ten when they reached the hunting grounds. Tracking at night was difficult, but John had trained for years and he'd taught Dean well. He liked to have Dean's sharp young eyes on the trail, and he wished he could have Sam along too. It would've been good training for him.

They moved silently through the trees, slowly and methodically. They listened for sounds and searched for tracks, keeping each other in sight. The full moonlight filtered down through the leaves, helping the hunters visualize the clues. John saw Dean stop and bend low to the ground. Dean looked closely as his hand moved slowly, gracefully over a spot on the forest floor. Deep in concentration, his gaze moved farther up, then his hand followed as if he could feel heat coming up from the ground. He looked up at John and raised his hand. His motion confirmed what John thought. He's found the tracks! John was excited. The hunt was on!

It was still a slow, painstaking process to follow the tracks. Dean moved silently from print to print while John moved from tree to tree, undercover, off to the side, covering his son. John looked ahead for signs of the werewolf while Dean concentrated on following the trail. John had his rifle ready, loaded with silver bullets, and his pistol was in its holster at his side. Dean was armed in much the same way.

If they were lucky, they would be able to identify the werewolf from a distance and use the rifle. But real werewolves didn't turn into wolves like in the movies. They were humans with wolf-like characteristics—long, lethal claws and long, sharp, pointed teeth that ripped flesh like daggers. From a distance, they looked like people, which meant John and Dean had to get close. They had to be deadly quiet.

John heard it first. A quiet snarling. Their prey was close. He motioned to Dean, tilting his head in the direction of the sound. Dean froze and listened, then nodded as he heard it too. John did a quick survey and motioned his son forward. Dean remained low to the ground. John fell in behind him at full height. They were close enough to identify the long animal teeth in the snarling face and know for sure it was a werewolf. It spotted them and instantly sprang away behind a rock. John got off a shot but the creature was too fast.

The chase was on. Too late for stealth now. Both hunters ran after the werewolf at top speed, crashing through the underbrush, keeping the prey in sight. John was trying to run and assess a place for a good shot. Dean was running full out. Suddenly, John ran up the side of a large boulder and, at the top, he got a good view of the creature. A short moment to aim, and he landed a bullet in the creature's torso.

Dean didn't hesitate. He was still running full speed toward it when he heard the werewolf's howl of pain. He knew it had been hit but not likely fatally. Werewolves could only be stopped by a silver bullet to the heart. And as good a shot as John was, they both knew it was not likely he'd hit the heart of a fast-moving target from that distance, but it should be a good enough wound to slow the creature down. Dean ran on until he came face to face with the snarling werewolf. He quickly emptied three rounds straight to the heart.

The werewolf fell to the ground, and Dean fell onto his knees next to its body, heaving deep breaths of precious air into his lungs.

John ran up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. "You okay?"

"Wheeeeew! That thing's got some stinking breath!"

John chuckled. "Damn, son. You're on your game tonight. Good job!" Then he breathed a sigh of relief.

They didn't make it back before Sam left for school the next morning, and Dean was still in bed when Sam got home that afternoon.

"Hey, Dean. What time'd you get in?" Sam threw his book bag on the bed next to his brother.

Dean was bleary eyed. "About nine, I guess." He yawned and then sat up, putting both feet on the floor and running his hands through his hair.

"Where's Dad?"

"Off on another hunt with Caleb." Dean snickered. "He said I had to come home and babysit you."

"Yeah, right." Sam gave Dean an affectionate punch on the shoulder.

"How was your history test? You ace it?"

"Yeah, I think so. Hey, Dean, what'd you hunt?"

"Werewolf, Sammy. Bad as the one you killed last year. We coulda used your help, but we wasted it without ya." Dean stood up and headed to the bathroom. "I'm gonna clean up and then we can go get something to eat. I'll tell you about it at supper."

Saturday morning came and the brothers followed their usual routine, eating breakfast and then cleaning the apartment and doing the laundry. Cash was tight, so they stayed at the apartment and had soup and sandwiches.

Sam was quiet, and Dean dreaded what he figured was coming. Sam had not talked about him quitting school since Tuesday. There was no chance in hell he'd forgotten. Sam was cooking up something in that big head of his. He knew there was about to be another heart-to-heart, and it would probably lead to another war of words. He didn't want to do this. He just really, really didn't.

Dean felt sick. Was it too much to hope? Last night Sam had listened in rapt attention to every detail of the hunt. He seemed to understand Dean's excitement. Hell, if Dean didn't know better, he would swear Sam was proud of him. Now Sam was going to spoil all his happiness with another big fight about school? Damn it!

"Just sit here." Sam cleared away the remnants of lunch and grabbed his book bag, bringing it over to the table. Dean gave a loud sigh and rolled his eyes.

"Sam!" Dean pushed away from the table, starting to get up.

"Just wait a minute. Please." Sam's voice was calm. He took a booklet out of his book bag and laid it on the table in front of Dean.

Dean saw big letters on the front. "GED." He was speechless.

"I get it, Dean. I understand. All I ask is that you get your GED."

Dean nodded. It was not easy to hold back the tears. Sam understood him. It was the best thing Dean could ask.

"This is a study book for the exam. We've got all weekend to learn the material, and you can take the test online Monday morning at the library."

"When did you get this?"

"Thursday afternoon, when you and Dad left on your Great Werewolf Caper." Sam smiled.

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean opened the booklet and returned his little brother's smile. "What about Dad?"

"Dad wants you hunting. He won't put up much of a fight. No worse than we've dealt with before, anyway." Sam grinned at his brother. "And we're in this together, you and me, Team Winchester. We're gonna kick this test in the ass." Sam chuckled at his big brother's wide grin. "We'll have your GED before Dad get's back from his hunt."

END