Ah, you folks are awesome! Here is this week's installment. You've been wanting to know if Dean is really hurt, how and why. Read on!!
Chapter Three
Truth and Consequences
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Dean's cheerful voice was more than Sam could handle this early in the morning. He blinked heavy eyelids, trying to focus on his older brother's far too cheerful face.
"What's wrong with you?" Sam grumped.
Dean's bright teeth flashed at Sam. "Nothin', princess. What's wrong with you?"
"Come on, boys," their father's voice boomed in the tiny room. "Breakfast is on me. Get ready. Move!"
Moving automatically to his father's drill sergeant's voice, Sam dragged himself to the bathroom. He locked himself inside to shower, not trusting Dean to leave him alone long enough for even a quick wash. Sure enough, as the hot water started doing its job of waking him, there was a loud pounding on the door. Sam ignored it. When he finished showering, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out. Dean rushed past him, slamming the door in his face.
Sam grimaced when a new description for his paper occurred to him. He rushed over to his notebook even before dressing to scribble under Dean's column 'acts selfish.' He thought for a moment before following that with 'would kill for us.' Under Dad's column he wrote 'never selfish,' but immediately under that 'always working.' That line of thought made him write 'likes to party/have fun' under Dean's column.
"Sam? I think your paper can wait at least until you're dressed," his father's voice was soft, which was so unusual these days.
Sam spun around. He had nearly forgotten Dad was there. Sam nodded, dropping his notebook to dress. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father leaf through it again, but Dad did not pick up a pen this time. Sam dressed quickly, not wanting to be caught in just a towel when his brother came out.
Breakfast was uneventful, for a change. Mostly Dean and Dad talked about Dad's case, where to look for leads, and how the Impala was doing. Sam kept his mouth shut not wanting to start any arguments, especially after his odd encounter with his father last night. Sam wondered as he poked at his overdone eggs, with crispy brown edges that turned to black at the very end, why Dad had not reamed him for what he had written in his notebook. Maybe because it was all true?
They dropped Dad off at the motel after breakfast. Dad said he needed to hit the road, that he couldn't afford to waste any more time. Dean looked a little down as he drove Sam to school.
"Dean, I am so sorry," Sam apologized again in the car on the way to school. Dean didn't look too good this morning. His face was a little pale and his eyes were red-rimmed. Considering the fact his brother got to sleep in a real bed, he should have looked better.
"Don't sweat it, Sammy. It's no problem." Dean was driving using just his left hand. He must have thought it looked cool.
"No, Dean. It is a problem," Sam pressed. "I shouldn't have forgotten. I only have yours and Dad's birthdays to keep track of, there's no excuse."
"Sure there is," Dean said as he swung the Impala around the curved drive in front of the school.
"What excuse?" Sam demanded, his hand gripping his schoolbag as he stared into his brother's hazy green eyes.
"Moving. Again."
Sam did not understand what his brother meant. They had moved here two weeks ago.
"Don't worry about it, Sammy. Dad forgot, too. Why do you think he showed up out of the blue to take us out to dinner? Hurry up, you'll be late for class. I'll try to be on time today."
Sam stepped out of the car, puzzled. The instant the door was closed, Dean pulled away from the curb to join the line of cars waiting to leave school grounds. Dad forgot too? Slinging the backpack over one shoulder, Sam raced to his first class, history. In his history classroom there was a large calendar on one wall with all their assignments and due dates posted on it. Sam rushed over to it without bothering to set down his books first. His finger found Dean's birthday. His other hand grabbed a passing student.
"Quick!" Sam said, without looking to see who it was, "what's today's date?"
"The fifth," came a gruff reply.
Sam slammed his forehead against the wall. That meant Dean's birthday was the day they had arrived here. The same day Dean had enrolled him in school. The same day Dad announced he was leaving for a hunt and did not know for certain when he would be back. The same day Dean had dogged his principal all day long to be sure Sam was placed in the correct classes so he would not waste any time. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing the knowledge away.
"Mister Winchester? I believe that was the bell. Take your seat."
Sam started. He had not heard the bell. With downcast eyes, he made his way to his seat near the back of the classroom.
"Mister Winchester? Since you must be prepared for class today, perhaps you would like to answer the first question." That was not a question. "Which president said "To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace? ""
Sam looked at his teacher. "George Washington," he replied simply.
"Very good, Mister Winchester. Or was that just a good guess?" The smug look on his teacher's face was more irritating than his brother.
"January 8, 1790," Sam snapped back. Watching the smug look replaced by shock was worth the annoyed looks of his classmates. After all, who cared if he showed everyone else up? They would probably be moving again soon anyway.
Sam walked through the rest of his classes in a haze, until English. The teacher was droning on about some intricacy of grammar when Sam felt something poke him in the ribs. He shifted in his seat, hoping to move out of the way. Then it poked him again, several times. He moved his hand under that arm, figuring he could catch whatever it was. A pencil jabbed his finger. Sam nearly yelped out loud, but a lifetime of military discipline and fighting techniques had taught him how to hold in that type of thing.
Sam looked back over his shoulder at the boy sitting behind him, Justin. Justin was a sophomore, like Sam, but looked much older and bigger. Sam had wondered if the kid had not been held back – about four times. Justin was on the junior varsity football team and used every excuse to wear his jersey he could find. Sam found him slightly annoying, but that was only in comparison with Dean. Comparisons aside, Sam figured Justin was probably really, really annoying. He certainly was right now.
Justin was grinning at Sam, waggling a pencil. He had to be the culprit. Sam turned back around, intending to return his attention to the teacher. Then there was another jab in his ribcage. Sam ground his teeth, his jaw clenching with irritation. He turned back around to face Justin.
"What's wrong with you?" Sam hissed.
"It's not me, man," Justin replied, smiling widely.
Sam continued to stare. He was so sick of lies. His life was full of lies and lying. He could not remember an honest time that had not been forced, like Dean admitting everyone had forgotten his birthday. He felt his jaws pressing together so tightly a twinge of pain ran from his chin to his ear. He took a single calming breath before attempting to return his attention to the English class.
"Yo, Mister Moore?" Justin shouted from behind Sam.
Sam's shoulders stiffened. He knew no good could come of this.
"Yes, Justin?" Mister Moore paused in his lecture, face reflecting his surprise to be interrupted by Justin. Justin normally went out of his way to avoid speaking in this class.
"I got a sentence that needs correcting."
"Was that it, Justin?" Mister Moore smiled as the better students in class chuckled, with the exception of Sam. Sam had a bad feeling.
"Huh?"
"Go ahead, Justin. What is the sentence?"
Sam imagined he could hear the smile on Justin's face. "Sam's got an idiot brother who drives a piece-o-shit black car. How do you fix that, Mister Moore?" Justin chuckled as if he had just told the greatest joke ever.
Sam spun around, glaring at Justin.
"Whassamatta, Sammy? No big brudder around?" Justin made a big production of looking from side to side. "Nope. The loser is probably out sleeping in the parking lot 'cause he lost his job!"
Sam stood up.
"Gentlemen! Justin, you will report to the principal's office immediately! Sam, sit down!"
That sounded an awful lot like an order to Sam, and he was pretty fed up with people giving him orders. Justin was still grinning as he reached down for his books. Sam's hand developed a mind of its own. It lashed out, knocking Justin's books away, scattering papers with the occasional scrawl across the floor. Sam wanted to look down at it in shock, but he knew breaking eye contact signaled defeat.
Justin's mouth had been curved up, mocking him. But now the thin lips straightened out into a tight line, devoid of color. Justin was sizing him up, but Sam knew better. He doubted he would even break a sweat.
Justin telegraphed every movement. Sam knew when and how Justin would throw his punch, maybe even before Justin did. Sam blocked blow after blow, one part marvelling at how well his training really did work and the other part of him deciding how best to end this. Justin did not fight with the cold, detached precision of his brother. Justin was a passionate fighter, which meant he had no real experience. Sam let the bigger boy work himself up, becoming really angry, before landing the final blow. It was a move Dean taught him only last year. Instead of using your fist, use your elbow: less damage to the hand and greater impact that way. As Justin slumped to the floor, eyes glassy, Sam made a mental note to thank his brother for that impromptu lesson.
"Sam Winchester!"
Sam turned around slowly. He had forgotten they were still in class. Mister Moore was nearly purple with rage. Whoops. Looked like he had pulled a Dean.
Sam sat nervously in the principal's office, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. He knew Dean had spent more time in principal's offices than he did in his classes, but this was one of the few times Sam had been here, and the only one that involved fighting. He could only imagine what Dean was going to say when he got here. Dean had picked up the phone right away when the principal called and Sam's guilt had intensified at the panic in his brother's voice. It would not be long.
At the sound of footsteps outside the door, Sam jumped. He spun around, but it was just the office secretary telling Principal Jones he had a phone call. Sam tried to listen to this side of the call, but he was too distracted by feeling guilty. He never should have hit that football player, even though the guy was a complete jerk. Hitting a regular student was trouble enough, but when you took down a linebacker people started to wonder and the last thing the Winchesters needed was people wondering.
"Good morning," Dean's voice came from just outside the principal's office. He always sounded smooth as silk and Sam could picture the smile he was giving the secretary only a few feet away. Sam bowed his head, unwilling to look his brother in the eye.
"Sammy?" He heard Dean's boots thudding on commercial carpet. "What's going on?"
Sam still did not look up, even though Dean called him by that baby name. His mouth did not open to retort "It's Sam." He refused to look his older brother in the eye.
"Principal, um," he heard Dean struggle for the name.
"Jones," the youngish principal answered.
"Right, Principal Jones. Good to see you again. What seems to be the problem today? Sammy do too well on one of his tests or something?" Sam could hear the smirk in Dean's voice. He knew how much Dean enjoyed rubbing his grades in the faces of school administration. He studied his shoes. They still looked new, but felt terribly tight. He had been afraid to mention it to his dad or brother. Cash was always an issue.
"Where is Sam's father?" Principal Jones demanded, not caving to Dean's charismatic personality.
"Working," Dean replied lightly. "So what's the problem?" Dean lounged back in the chair next to Sam, kicking one foot over his knee. Sam knew Dean was trying to get him to make eye contact, but his shoes were just so fascinating.
"Sam has been fighting in school, during class."
He heard both of Dean's feet hit the floor. "Excuse me?"
"I said," Principal Jones started to repeat himself.
"Yeah, I heard you," Dean snapped, interrupting. There was a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sammy? What happened?"
Sam sighed, shaking his head. He really, really did not want to talk about it.
"Sam," the warning tone was in Dean's voice, and he didn't say 'Sammy.'
Sam looked up, feeling intensely guilty. "Sorry," he said lamely.
"For?" Dean prompted, his face more concerned than angry.
"I hit a linebacker," Sam's voice was barely audible. There was a light in Dean's eyes Sam had not been expecting. He thought Dean would be mad, not proud. Reflecting, he probably should have known better. Dean never was particularly fond of high school football players.
"Knock him out?" Dean asked quietly.
Sam nodded. He could tell Dean was stifling a laugh. Then Dean's face shifted, became serious. "Why Sam?" But the look on his face was asking if the guy was a werewolf or possessed or something.
Sam sighed. He shook his head and returned his attention to his sneakers.
"Principal Jones? If you left us alone for a few minutes, I'm sure Sammy will tell me what happened." Dean's voice was smooth and ingratiating again.
"That won't be necessary," Principal Jones replied. "It seems the student in question did an impromptu speech on you and your car. The teacher ordered the other student to report to my office. Then Sam started the fight."
Sam imagined he could hear Dean's eyebrows raise. "Excuse me, but did you say that Sam started the fight? Because of something said about me?" Dean laughed. The hand on his shoulder moved over to rub his back. Sam still did not look up. He could feel the heat creeping into his face. Was Dean really being affectionate? And in front of a stranger? Could this day get any weirder?
"Don't worry, Principal Jones, I'll talk to him about it. I think I can guarantee that nothing like this will happen in one of your classes again. Now, can Sam go back to class?" The hand left his back as Dean stood.
"Actually, I was considering suspension, especially since your father could not be bothered to come." Sam's head hung lower.
"Now, that's a little extreme, don't you think?" Dean's voice seemed to reverberate in the tiny office. "Our Dad just left on a business trip this morning. We're talking about a straight A student here, who rarely, if ever, is in trouble. Just give him detention or something; that would be more appropriate."
"Are you suggesting that you know better than I how to run my school?" Jones demanded.
Sam glanced up. The smile was gone from Dean's face as he looked Principal Jones in the eye. "No. I'm saying that I know my brother better than you do." The smile returned as though it had never left. "And I do know quite a bit about school punishments. All suspension does is teach kids if they screw up bad enough, they don't have to go to school." His grin broadened. "It was my favorite."
"And what did your father have to say about that?" Jones asked.
"Well, what didn't he have to say about that? Right, Sammy?" Dean turned to him for confirmation. Sam nodded slowly.
"Well? What do you say? It certainly sounds like Sam was provoked, after all. See, we move around a lot. A lot." Dean's face went serious. Apparently he was going for sincere now. "Family is all we have. So if Sam gets a little defensive, you really can't blame him."
"Actually, I've been wondering about Sam's home life. According to his file there is no mother. How often is your father gone, Mister Winchester? Are you the only one looking after him?"
Sam snapped his head around to look at his brother. The smile was back, the charming one. "Principal Jones, I really don't see what that-"
"Because victims of abuse or neglect often lash out at others, becoming violent themselves. It's a cycle we are trained to recognize, Mister Winchester."
Uh-oh. Now Dean looked mad. He was trying to maintain his composure, but Sam doubted he would be able to do it long.
"Principal Jones? I'm not abused. I don't know where you got that idea." Sam looked anxiously from Dean to the principal and back. Dean looked like he was groping for something to say, which was very unusual.
"Really, Sam?" Jones opened a file on his desk. "Because according to your file, you have shown up in class with facial bruises, mysterious scratch marks, there are numerous reports of bruising on your arms, and the nurse reports that you have been refusing to allow her to check your spine. And you have only been here for two weeks. Would either of you care to explain these things to me? If not, I'd be happy to call Child Protective Services right now." His hand rested on the phone.
"That's it. I've heard enough. Let's go, Sam." Dean stood, one hand hauling Sam up and shoving him toward the door.
"Mister Winchester, I don't think you-"
A low groan sounded behind him. Sam spun around to see Dean sinking to his knees, the principal's hand gripping his brother's right shoulder. Dean's face was pure agony. Sam rushed to him, shoving away his principal who stumbled backwards, looking down at his hands in shock. Sam carefully peeled back both of Dean's shirts. His shoulder was a walking example of the definition 'severe bruising.' Deep black, blue and purple on top until it faded to a sickly yellow-green further down his chest and back. In his mind's eye, Sam could see it as an illustration in a medical textbook. Sam was definitely not going into medicine.
Sam meet Dean's pain-filled gaze, panic pumping adrenaline into his system. "Dean?" he asked softly, anxiously. Never before had he seen his brother like this.
"Nothing," Dean breathed softly. "It's nothing."
"Nothing, huh?" Sam returned his attention to Dean's shoulder and felt around gingerly until Dean spasmed again. "You actually busted your collar bone this time, didn't you?"
Dean winked as he grabbed Sam's arm to pull himself up. "It looks worse than it is."
"Oh, really?" Sam faced down his brother, both hands on his hips. "When did this happen?"
Dean looked embarrassed. "Um, Sam, I really don't think this is the time-"
"And when would be the time, Dean? When did this happen?" Sam knew he sounded like a bratty kid, but he did not care. How could Dean hide something like this from him? When would Dean stop trying to protect him from every little thing? At least he knew the real reason now Dean had been so moody and sleeping in the car.
"Dean?"
"Did your father do this to you, Mister Winchester?" Principal Jones looked appalled.
"What? No!" Dean stretched a little, wincing as he moved his shoulder. "It was actually starting to feel better until…" Dean glared at Principal Jones. Sam suspected his principal would have had a broken jaw if it were not for Dean's restraint. Or pain.
"Never mind that!" Sam snapped. "I want to know exactly how and why and…" his voice trailed off at the look on Dean's face. Suddenly he knew. He knew exactly how it happened and when. It happened about a week ago, when Dean's moodiness started. "You were hus-" a warning look from Dean cut him off, "playing pool again, weren't you?"
Dean just looked at him. "You needed new clothes for school."
Sam felt his jaw go slack. He had asked where the extra money came from last week. Now he knew. He should have asked for larger sneakers, too.
"All the kids at this school get so dressed up. I didn't want you to stick out." Dean's voice may have been hard, but Sam heard what he was really saying. Dean did not want him to feel like a freak.
"Excuse me?" Principal Jones attempted to re-enter the conversation. "Do you mean to tell me that you suffered these injuries while playing pool?"
"No," Dean glared at Sam's principal with a cross between hate and disgust, "I suffered these injuries as I collected on a bet I won while playing pool."
"So you could purchase new clothes for your brother?" Jones sounded skeptical. "Because you felt guilty, Mister Winchester? To make up for some type of physical or emotional abuse?"
Dean's attention shifted back to his brother. "What the hell is wrong with this guy?"
Sam shrugged. "No idea." Sam grabbed Dean's right wrist, knowing he could not possibly pull out of it in his current state, and fished in his right pocket for the car keys. "But I do know that I'm taking you to the hospital, right now." Sam walked out of the office.
"Sammy! Get back in here!" Dean shouted, following him out. "Sam!"
