"Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH... you should all have finished reading your novels by now. Can anyone describe the main character to me?"
A small hand shot up with marveled enthusiasm. Mrs. Wynter sighed and shook her head a little. The boy attached to that repeatedly rising hand had always been the most driven student in her eighth-grade english class, but today, his efforts were nearing the point of ridicule. Every single question she'd asked had been responded to by him... with an answer far past his years. At first, she'd been awed - she could sleep easy knowing at least ONE of her students was doing their homework. But after the sixth or seventh time, and two gold stars later, she was beginning to get a little tired of his know-it-all attitude.
No one else had raised their hand to answer this question. No one except him. The rest had given up trying.
"...yes, Mr. Winchester?"
The young boy cleared his throat. "It would be difficult to determine a single main character, due to the constant flashback used in the story. Although, the title lends itself to the idea of Mrs. Frisby being the main character-"
"And you would describe her as...?"
"Sensitive, intelligent female with a cynical sense of humor."
Mrs. Wynter resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Very good, Sam."
-----------------------
Sam knew his 'classmates' - including his teacher - were beginning to get frustrated with him. His conscience had, at first, warned him against showing off. He had an unfair advantage, after all. The extra ten years hidden inside the small package he currently occupied was the only thing allowing him to give a college-level analysis to eighth-grade questions. But boy, if this situation didn't suck more than a brand new Electrolux, and Sam was sure as Hell gonna reap the benefits.
The feeling of sitting at a desk and raising his hand to speak was slowly becoming less strange to him. It had taken almost an entire school day, and he still felt like an adult masquerading in a child's setting, but at least he didn't feel completely ridiculous anymore. And with his (yes, alright, 'unfair') advantage, Sam was even beginning to enjoy himself.
That's not to say he wasn't also immensely pleased that it was the last period of the day.
The round boy from that morning - Warren, it turned out his name was - twisted around in his seat and gave Sam a thumbs-up. Sam smiled back tightly, not quite able to bring himself to return the gesture. He'd been harassing him all day, and Sam couldn't understand how - even at the tender age of thirteen - he'd been able to stand it.
"Wanna come to my house after school?" Warren whispered, less than stealthy, but the teacher ignored him. "We can play cowboys - my mom finally said I'm allowed!"
Sam could almost hear Dean's voice echoing in his head; What a dweeb. He made sure he didn't repeat his thoughts out loud, instead trying his best to look disappointed. "Sorry, Warren, I can't."
"Why not?"
"...I have a doctor's appointment."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he cringed, knowing it was the wrong thing to say. And as if taking a cue, Warren looked panicked. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Sam, you said you weren't-"
"No! Warren, I'm fine!" Sam glanced furtively up at Mrs. Wynter, who was doing her best to teach the rest of the class over Warren's growing volume. "It's just a check-up!"
"Oh. Alright, then."
Ten more minutes later, and having just earned his third gold star of the lesson, the final bell rang mercifully. Sam bolted.
-----------------------
The sight of the '67 Chevy waiting outside the school gates was possibly the most comforting thing Sam had seen in his entire life. He jogged towards it, not caring how childish it made him look, and slid into the back seat.
"Sammy." Dean was riding shotgun. "How was school?"
To John, it would have appeared a simple, friendly enquiry, but Sam knew it held much more stock than just small talk. He considered an answer which wouldn't give anything away to John, sampling and rejecting each one which came into his head.
"...interesting." Sam finally settled on. "How about you?"
"Oh, it was good." Dean grinned, and that grin worried Sam just a little. "Learned a lot."
-----------------------
In almost perfect unison, the two brothers ambled into the twin bedroom, threw their bags on the floor and collapsed onto their beds. Somehow, attending school managed to be far more draining than stalking through undergrowth on the trail of a Wendigo.
John had stayed outside, probably giving the impala a full pedicure, and Dean took the opportunity to speak freely in the almost-empty motel room.
"Let's be honest now. How did you really deal today?"
Sam grumbled. "Well, I have the most annoying "BFF" in history."
"BFF?"
"'Best Friend Forever', according to Warren." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "But at least the classes were easy."
Dean snorted, imagining his brother beaming with pride as he showed-up a bunch of children with his supreme knowledge. "Oh yeah, you must have had a friggin' jamboree playing 'Are you smarter than a 5th Grader?'."
Sam rolled his eyes again. Dean had him pegged pretty well, but he sure wouldn't let him know it. "Yeah? Well how'd you do?"
Dean tilted his head over to look at Sam "Well... I still can't remember my locker combo. And I found out that I know even less about Ancient History than I did ten years ago. Oh, but I met someone... what was her name... Louise Mc-Something."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Dean nodded, looking slightly pleased with himself. "Nice girl. Real flexible."
Sam squeezed his eyes closed and planted a hand on his face. "Oh God, Dean, what did you do?"
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Took her roughly in the barn."
Sam's stomach churned, nauseated, and for a moment he violently wished he hadn't had a second helping of fish sticks with lunch. "Please tell me you're joking."
Dean paused, grinning, and for a moment it seemed as if he really was joking. "Yeah, you're right. It wasn't so much a barn as it was a lean-to. Kind of like a poorly-constructed shed... I don't really know the difference."
He wasn't joking. Crap. And even despite the fact that Sam would rather chew and swallow tinfoil than hear about his brother's sexual endeavors, there was also a more serious issue here. One that Dean didn't seem to be getting.
"Dean, you can't just sleep around, not while we're in this mess!" Sam scowled, but Dean's face remained blank. "Don't you get it? You could have changed the future. What if we get back to our time and this girl has your kids?"
Dean almost looked offended. "Hey, the man always comes prepared."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You're the movie buff! Why don't you tell me what can happen when people get stuck in a previous decade and start messing with the timeline?"
"Like in 'The Butterfly Effect'?" Dean looked a little concerned. Sam was glad. Looked like what he was saying was finally getting through.
"Sure." To be honest, Sam wasn't really sure... he didn't watch nearly as much television as his brother did. But, he'd take his word for it. "Just, do me a favor, okay? Don't do anything... you would normally do."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I'm serious, Dean! If we're not careful -"
The sound of the motel room door slamming shut hushed Sam at once. Not wanting to increase John's already-heightened suspicion, he continued speaking at once with the first thing that popped into his head.
"-and then my English teacher gave us all candy bars because we finished reading our books before the deadline."
Sam cringed. Where had that come from?
Dean stifled a hoot of laughter. "Wow Sammy, that's... great." He quickly recovered when their father stuck his head in the door.
"I'm going out tonight." John announced, speaking more to Dean than Sam. "Haunting up on Taylor's Hill. Salt 'n Burn should take the sucker down, but I won't be back 'til near dawn, so Dean you'll have to fix your brother some dinner."
"Yes, sir." Dean replied automatically. Sam had other ideas.
"Dad, we can come with you!" Getting back into a job could be just what he needed to feel a little more like himself again.
John looked perplexed. "You want to come hunting?"
At the last moment, Sam had realized how uncharacteristic that enthusiasm for a job had been. The resulting cringe had induced everything but a face-palm.
"Oh, yeah... um, I just didn't really feel like staying in the room tonight."
John sighed. "I'm glad you're finally taking an interest, Sam, but I'm sorry, you boys'll have to sit this one out. Even a simple haunting like this can get nasty. Besides, you have school in the morning."
Sam looked disappointed, and John mirrored his expression. "I'm sorry, Sam. Maybe in a couple more years."
He closed the door behind him.
-----------------------
The cupboards were empty, save for a packet of milk powder, pepper and mayonnaise. Dad sure knows how to stock up, Dean thought sarcastically. Sure, half past five in the evening was a little early for dinner, but it looked like he'd need the extra time anyway. These provisions were ridiculous.
"What would MacGyver do?" Dean muttered under his breath, slamming the cupboard door closed.
"What?" Sam looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
"How do you like your nothin'?" Dean asked. "I can do fried or poached."
Sam offered a small smile. "Dean, you know you don't actually have to prepare my meals, right?"
"I dunno... you think you can reach the high shelves?" Dean teased.
For the thousandth time, Sam silently mourned his lost height. On the outside, though, he just rolled his eyes. "I knew it. You're loving this, aren't you?"
"Dude, you'retiny!" Dean walked over and ruffled Sam's hair jokingly. "What's not to love?" He paused, the look on his face suggesting a particularly unpleasant memory. "Okay, apart from having to call shotgun in my own friggin' car."
Sam grinned as Dean checked the fridge. A twelve-pack and some cheese. Great. Dean was half-tempted to just go out and buy them burgers, but that would mean leaving Sam alone. Yes, Sam was an adult, but John didn't know that. And if he found out that Dean had gone out and left Sammy by himself... he wasn't sure if he could endure that silent, steely anger a second time.
Especially if something happened.
"I'm serious, Dean. We'll take turns, just like we always do. You don't need tofeel responsible for me just because Dad thinks you are."
"Aw, I dunno. I kinda like being the big brother again." Dean confessed.
"You're uh, always gonna be the big brother, Dean." A smirk tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on Sam, you know what I mean. It's nice to be kind of... responsible again." He glanced at Sam, wondering how far he should take this conversation. "I always try to look out for you as best I can, but knowing you can look after yourself... it's made the job kind of redundant. I dunno... with Dad treating us like kids, getting me to make your meals and all, it's kind of a nice reminder."
Sam arched an eyebrow, although he suspected Dean wouldn't go any further into what he meant. Probably felt he'd gone too far anyway. "...meaning?"
Dean grinned. "Means I'm making your damn dinner." He turned back to the fridge, opening it again and looking skeptically at the contents. "Now, how does beer and mayonnaise with a side of grated cheese sound?"
"Uh..." Sam searched for a suitable comparison. "Better than getting shot in the face, I guess."
Dean gave a solid nod. It appeared he wasn't joking. "Good."
