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Badass Beta/Awesome Editor- Samanatha V

It's your decision

Dean had spent the last hour talking to no one, ignoring every lame teenage drama conversation his classmates were having and studied harder than he thought was humanly possible. He didn't know why he bothered, as everything he was trying to hopelessly cram into his brain seemed to dribble out of his ears anyhow. With a sigh he slammed his book shut and waited for the inevitable disaster to begin.

Looking around he couldn't help but notice how much the room resembled a prison. Grey walls, check, dour guards, check, nervous people waiting for their execution, check and check. Smirking to himself he thought that real prison was where he once thought he was doomed to be – maybe he still was - and now he was sitting in his very first exam hall, on a seat he hoped was his. He didn't know why, but whenever a teacher walked past his desk he half expected them to turn around, point and yell 'Out, get out! I know what you are and you don't belong here!' They'd know he was a fraud, was in the wrong place, an outsider, and wouldn't that just be awesome and smooth for his first ever hard core exam.

When the hairy woman at the front started droning on and finally said something about writing your name on the front of the paper, Dean guessed everyone was in the right seat and he could get on with the exam already.

Within seconds the hall filled with the deafening sounds of pages being opened and pens scratching on paper.

Scribbling a large Dean Turner on the paper he stared at what he had done for a heartbeat before panicking. He wasn't freakin' Dean Turner, he was Dean Winchester now! Or at least that's who he was on paper. Being truthful, he still felt like a guest... well... intruder, at the Winchester household. Two years and he still felt like he didn't belong - he hadn't even told Sam about that one. It was so insulting to the people who had looked after him better in that short time than his own flesh and blood had in seven years. It seemed insulting just wasn't a strong enough word.

He quickly scratched out Turner and wrote Winchester below it. Friggin' hell! Now they're going to think I'm an idiot before even looking at my stupid answers. He thought maybe he should write a little note on the side explaining to the examiner but decided against it when he remembered the hairy woman saying something about only using the spaced as instructed, no note making unless it was mathematical otherwise they'd make him stay in school forever or something.

Dean read the first question carefully like Sam told him to. Apparently misreading something is the biggest mistake people make and why some people get so many answers wrong, because they just didn't read the question properly.

Sam wasn't kidding, the first time Dean read the question he was sure it went in one eye and out the other.

A dog chasing a rabbit, which has a start of 45m, jumps 3m every time the rabbit jumps 2m. In how many leaps does the dog overtake the rabbit?

What? Who the hell cares! Where the hell is a calculator when you need one? Oh...non calculatorpaper...right...super...just my luck...

Dean began to panic, he tapped his pen on the desk until the guy pacing the tables looked at him funny.

Okay, if x is the number of jumps then the dog is 3x and the rabbit is 2x.. not that hard... head start is 45... Sam said I could make notes on the paper as well... 3x equals 45 – 2x so... x is 45 okay, that was easy enough, so I can do it. Next question...

Dean spent the whole rest of the exam reading, panicking, tapping his pen, then taking a deep breath and forcing himself to figure out the huge stupid numbers slowly just like Sam told him. He knew this stuff, he did, so why couldn't his mind just fucking co-operate. He only needed fifty percent to pass, but he could see his mark sinking with each tick of the clock.

When the bell chimed an hour and half later, just as he scrawled his last answer, he couldn't help the nauseouss feeling in his stomach. He stood up as soon as he was told his row could leave and, despite his leg, sprinted from the hall. He couldn't stand to be there one more second and there was no way he was letting the Winchester's know how stupid he was. And especially not Sam, the kid had faith in him, more than he ever thought possible! And he was sure he had just failed...miserably!

SPN

Later that day when John picked them both up, Dean was exhausted; who would have thought one exam would be so draining. He clung to the desperate hope that no one would ask him about it. John's first words dashed that particular dream.

"How'd it go boys?" John asked when they both got in the back.

"You first," Dean nudged Sam on the arm, he was proud of his little brother today, and not to mention he was avoiding the subject, if only for a few minutes it was better than nothing.

"Twenty five out of twenty five," Sam smiled. Okay, his was only a progress test in class but that didn't mean it was any less important to anyone.

"Awesome, is it going on the fridge?" John smirked into his mirror as he pulled out of the school gates.

Sam turned a not so subtle shade of pink and the grumble in the back of his throat was even more obvious.

"Damn straight," Dean answered for him before yawning.

"Dude don't swallow me," Sam didn't nudge Dean in the ribs today, he looked a little too off for his usual teasing right now. Something was definitely up with his older brother. He'd noticed it for the last little while but couldn't quite figure out what.

"What about you Dean?"

"We get the results in a few weeks, but I think it went okay," Dean replied cheerfully.

"Good job kiddos."

Sam's eyes narrowed. He'd spent the last two years observing and learning Dean's behaviour, and though his father obviously hadn't noticed, there were enough subtle tells to show that something was definitely up and maybe it wasn't just the test.

"So dad...how did the social worker thing go today?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean's fake happy mood slipped away instantly, only to be slammed firmly back into place. What the hell else could go wrong today?

"Nothing we didn't already know, don't pick on the new kid, keep feeding him, don't spoil him too much. The end."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, thankful beyond belief because he didn't think there was much more he could take. He wasn't sure why, but he was always expecting something else when they talked about those meetings, but with the way John and Mary described them, they seemed pretty boring actually.

"But uh Dean, there was one thing?"

Tiredness over, Dean felt his stomach drop, he knew all good things came to an end sooner or later. He wondered what Harrison, their social worker had to say this time.

"What?" he knew neither John nor Sam missed the crack in his voice.

"Harrison said there's a doctor here in Lawrence interested in your case."

"What case? I'm not sick."

Okay, maybe I am, but not enough to need a doctor.

"He's a plastic surgeon."

"I think I like my boobs how they are."

"Not that kind of surgeon, he specialises in skin grafts, and is developing new technology to heal scars."

"You mean like the ones on my back?" Dean asked grimly, his eyes going to the floor.

John's expression softened. "Yeah, pretty much son."

"I don't want any surgery," Dean answered before anything else could be said.

"Dean-"

"I said I don't fucking want any!"

That was the first time Dean had raised his voice and swore in quite a while and given the subject matter, John let it slide. The kid had every right to be touchy about his scars, but he needed to know this was for his own good.

"Dean, this doctor said unless you have some sort of corrective surgery soon, you could run the risk of severe mobility problems when you're older. I'm talking no movement in your shoulders, in your arms, in your entire back because your skin is so tight. If you could just hear this guy out you might-"

"I don't wanna talk to any doctors!"

"Dean for the love of-"

"No damn it! Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice and curse in front of me son!"

Sam kept his head down, maybe then they wouldn't see the tears building in his eyes, he hated when his father yelled, and he hated it even more when it was at Dean, but the thing he hated the most was when they both yelled together. He felt like he had to choose between them or something, his own father vs. his new brother.

"I'm not your damn son! And I can swear all the fuck I like! I said no! It's my life so keep the fuck out!"

"Dean," John growled warningly, looking into his mirror at the purple faced teen.

"What? You gonna ground me? Oh yeah, that'll teach me."

"Dean stop it!"

"What could you possibly do to make me obey you besides a good kick in my ass? You forget I've already lived that life once jackass?"

John's rapidly wearing patience abruptly snapped. "Dean this is for your own good! I thought we could talk about this like adults! But if you wanna walk around being close to paralyzed for the rest of your miserable life, knock yourself out you selfish brat! And if staying under my roof is so damn bad why haven't you left already?"

The only sounds that could be heard was Dean's harsh and ragged breathing, he looked like a wolf ready to kill even as his eyes shimmered too brightly. Sam sank back as far back into his seat as possible without digging a hole into the trunk, fingers unconsciously twining the strap of his book bag, he anxiously glanced between his dad and his brother. As the car pulled up to the drive, John shut off the engine and nobody moved.

"Yeah, I thought so. And, for the record, yes you are grounded now. Before you storm off to your room you can apologize to Sam for ruining his week too."

"Fuck you."

"Make that two weeks. And if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to that doctors office and pin you down while they put you under, I will, no doubt about it, I'll handcuff you to the damn hospital bed if I must."

Sam was the last one in the car after Dean and his father slammed their doors. He was twelve years old and crying alone in the car over a stupid argument that shouldn't have ever happened, didn't even have to happen. His dad shouldn't have said anything, or maybe Dean shouldn't have taken it the wrong way so badly, he wasn't really sure, but he did know he wasn't the one that was going to fix it this time, he was sick of playing piggy in the middle.

When he got in the house his father was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Dean. Scrubbing off the last traces of wetness on his cheeks he wandered into the kitchen.

"Hi honey," his mom looked up from chopping vegetables, with a small smile. "I'd ask how your day was but I just saw two hurricanes blow in so I know how it ended. Your dad's upstairs pacing our bedroom carpet threadbare and Dean's in the garage pounding on his punching bag. What happened sweetie?" Mary asked hating herself for putting the weight on her youngest when he clearly just wanted to be left alone right now, but it wasn't like she was going to get anything out of her other two.

"His test went great," Apparently, Sam added secretly, "but then dad told him about that surgeon, Dean said no but dad said he had to listen first before making his mind up...he didn't take it too well, so they got into a huge fight."

"I noticed," Mary winced looking down the hall to the garage door. "You wanna go talk to Dean?"

Sam shook his head, "not really."

She smiled sympathetically then cupped her son's cheek. "If he doesn't come out in half an hour we'll check on him. You want to keep me company while I cook dinner?"

"Okay," Sam nodded, wasn't like he planned on going upstairs anytime soon until his father had cooled off. He took his bag from his shoulder and started on his homework on the kitchen table while his mom turned on the radio and started singing along to an old country song. "Mom, please, my ears are bleeding," Sam whined covering them as a joke.

"Hey, if you just close your eyes you'd think Patsy Cline was in the building."

Sam let himself laugh for just a little before going back to his homework and ignoring the sting of sadness that came with the break in the house. He hoped it would get fixed soon... but Dean was hard headed, and his father was just as bad... so without a referee, good luck on that one.

Half an hour later Dean had yet to come out, so Mary tapped lightly on the garage door and asked if he was okay, when she got no answer she turned the knob and peeked her head through.

"Dean?"

Dean was still pounding hard, the bag swaying on its chains as he hit it; his movements stiff without their usual fluidity. She could just see the side of his face which was still fresh with anger.

"Dean dinner's ready," she tried gently coaxing. "There's pie for desert."

"M'fine, just leave me alone."

"I'll save you some," Mary said firmly before closing the door, next she had a husband to have a little chat with.

SPN

Mary stood, trying very hard to remain calm, while the love of her life was doing his best to convince her he hadn't been an ass. And she had to give him credit, he was really trying, and he looked so darned cute when he got angry and flustered, but there was no way she was letting him off the hook.

"I was trying to make sure he had all the facts before saying no!"

"So yelling at him, scaring the holy hell out of that poor boy, is going to make him change his mind?"

"Well no, but you know how I am."

"That's your excuse? 'You know how I am,'?"

"Well you do."

"Yeah I do, and it's about time you changed."

"What? Stop trying to look out for my family?"

"No, stop being so military about it all the damn time! When you don't like an answer you turn into the drill sergeant and order your children around and expect them to do what you say without question? Newsflash John, they're kids, not soldiers!"

"I know that, but does he have to be so hard headed all the time?"

"John, you know his history, he doesn't take well to being pushed, and as for being hard-headed I think he's learning from the best."

"I tried to be reasonable but all he did was curse and yell."

"So you took the mature approach and yelled even louder? Couldn't you have just said 'okay, if that's what you want, we'll drop the subject for now but this is really important, we care about your future and we can discuss it when you're ready'?'"

"That could have worked, probably would have worked... Why didn't I think of that?"

"Look just... your dinners on the table, it'll need warming up."

Mary left the room and hopefully if she stayed upstairs long enough, John would get the message and leave her, as well as everyone else, alone for the night.

SPN

"Newsflash John, they're kids, not soldiers!"

Right through the closed bedroom door on the second floor and down the hall the muffled words floated down the staircase. Sam felt his tears drip off the end of his jaw, he took the foot he set down on the first step off and walked back to the kitchen.

Ripping a sheet from one of his books, he wrote a quick note to his parents telling them he was going for a walk then left the house. Maybe when he came back, just maybe, he would see Dean, his mom and his dad all sitting around the kitchen table, laughing and joking like none of this had ever happened.

It was dark, and above all freezing, but he didn't care, anything was better than in his house right now. When did it all go wrong? Maybe it never went right in the first place...maybe all this just wasn't meant to be. They'd all been happy before...

SPN

Ignoring his aching shoulder and ribs, Dean tossed his bookbag into the corner of his bedroom and slammed the door. Hastily stripping off his sweaty shirt he moved to the bathroom and splashed some cool water over his face. Damn he couldn't think. There was an angry buzz in his head which wouldn't go away and the few kicks he'd taken on the bag sure hadn't helped his leg any. Shoving away the rational voice in his head that said he needed to think and maybe rest and heal before acting, he saw only Ron's face telling him he was no good.

"Fucking asshole, thinks he can boss me around! For my own good, yeah right, more like ooh look we've taken in some poor stray from the street and look at all these things we've done for him."

Sweeping green eyes upwards made more vivid by being bloodshot, he snarled, hating the face in the mirror, and stalked to the room to get clean clothes.

They weren't doing this for him, they were doing this to make themselves feel good, to make him look perfect, to get rid of his scars like they were an infection rotting their house. Well fuck the lot of them, fuck John for being such a self righteous ass, fuck Sam for being nice, not sticking up for him, telling his dad to shut the hell up, fuck Mary for being so damn perfect it killed him every time he looked at her.

He had survived this long with scars, he could do damn well fine for the rest of his existence with them, however long or short that may be. Aside from not wanting more people sticking their ugly noses into his life, more pity from people who, if given half the chance, he would rip apart with his bare hands, he needed those scars, they made him who he was, they made sure he knew who he was and what he had done. He was stupid to think he ever could or would be anything else.

Dean grabbed his hunting knife and slid it out of its worn scabbard, fingers delicately tracing the sticky sharp edge of the shiny silver blade - he had just honed it to perfection last weekend while the others were out getting groceries. Balancing the sharp tip downwards on the first finger on his other hand he pricked the end causing a dot of blood to rush from the cut. He squeezed his finger hard drawing more sticky red liquid before wiping it on his jacket. He strapped the knife back in its cover and rammed it into his bag, he hoped he got to use more than salt and lighter fluid tonight, he needed to stab something solid, feel the satisfaction of the blood trickling from the blade over his fingers. He wanted to make something scream like he'd once screamed, he wanted to cause pain.

TBC...

This was soooooo Samanatha V's idea... and I love it! Thank you darling!