"I'm Dean Winchester," the green eyed boy informs Mr. Lindento. The teacher eyes him with something close to suspicion- he looks a little too comfortable for a boy on his first day at a new school halfway through the year.

"And I suppose I'm your homeroom teacher. I also teach math, though your arrival was so sudden that we didn't have time to print you a schedule, so I'm not sure if I have you in my class- you might have Mrs. Ross," he explains, studying the child as he talks. The boy is tall for his age, with short, sandy blonde hair. He's wearing a large leather jacket that looks so old and tattered that it must have had a previous owner. The jacket in question is being worn over several other layers; a light grey T-shirt and an unbuttoned red flannel. He also wears a necklace- it has a black string rather than a chain, with some type of gold figure dangling from it. Dean sees him eyeing it and glares at him with something close to a warning in his eyes, and the teacher immediately looks away. Mr. Lindento feels rather silly for averting his gaze simply because of the unspoken threat of a twelve year old, but he can't help it. Something about the new boy is intimidating; from the way he's scanning the classroom as if looking for danger to the way he holds himself- Dean stands straight up in a rather militaristic fashion, with an almost challenging glint in his eyes, daring somebody to test him and see what he's capable of when pushed.

"Who teaches the dumb math class?" Dean asks casually.

Mr. Lindento chokes. "Excuse me?"

"Who teaches the dumb math class, you or Mrs. Ross?" he repeats impatiently. "That's the one I'll be in."

The teacher frowns. "I don't like the use of the word 'dumb' to describe the students who struggle with some material. I find it very disrespectful, and that's not a good first impression."
Dean seems unfazed by the warning. "Right, then. Who teaches the 'mathematically challenged' kids?" he modifies mockingly.

"If you must know, Mrs. Ross does. I hope you're more polite to her than you are to me. If you're not, your parents will hear about this."

Dean smirks, as if the teacher has just made a joke and Dean's the only one who knows the punch line. "Have fun with that."
"Watch your tone!" Mr. Lindento snaps, not liking this boy's rudeness.

Dean immediately stiffens. "Yes, sir," he says. Mr. Lindento is about to chastise him again when he realizes that the child isn't saying 'sir' in an ironic way; he really means it. The teacher frowns. Where is the respect coming from, and why is this sixth grader acting like he's in the military and Mr. Lindento is the drill sergeant? Still, it's a vast improvement to the earlier sarcasm, so the teacher decides not to question it. "Thank you."

Dean nods tensely, still eyeing his teacher dubiously as if he's going to bite the student's head off at any moment. "Sorry," he responds quietly, and it sounds sincere.

"That's alright, although I expect better behavior in the future, understand?" Mr. Lindento orders sternly, and the boy nods again.

"Sorry, sir."

Mrs. Ross has been warned by Mr. Lindento that the new kid, Dean Winchester, can be sarcastic and rude, so the boy's perfect behavior and respectful silence is unexpected to say the least. She finds herself glancing warily at him throughout the class period, but every time she looks he's working quietly. When the period is over, he glances up from his paper to find Mrs. Ross staring at him. She isn't even aware she's doing it until he squints questioningly at her, causing the teacher to look away, slightly flustered. Still, he comes up to her when all the students have filed out.

"Is there a problem?" Dean asks. From anyone else it might have sounded rude, but he manages to turn it into a polite inquiry by adding a charming smile.

"No, no!" She hurries to deny it. "Sorry, I just… couldn't remember who you were!" Mrs. Ross says. It's a lame excuse, and she weakly adds, "I'm terrible with names."

Dean's raised eyebrows tell her that it's an even worse lie than she gave herself credit for. Still, he informs her, "my name is Dean," sounding slightly bemused.

"Ah, Dean! Sorry for forgetting your name, I'll try and remember that," Mrs. Ross says, even though she's fully aware that there's no chance the child believes her.

"You do that," he chuckles softly. Dean begins to leave the classroom, but turns back at the door. "Oh, one more thing, Mrs. Ross-"

The teacher nods, waiting for him to speak.

Dean smiles. "You should really tell Mr. Lindento not to gossip about me. It's kind of rude."

With a final triumphant grin, the boy leaves the room before Mrs. Ross has a chance to respond. The teacher remains gaping at the empty doorframe where the troublesome student had stood a few seconds earlier.

The next day, Dean is the last one to arrive. He sprints, panting, into the classroom at 8:29. Though not technically late, Mr. Lindento still gives the boy a warning look. Dean gives him an apologetic shrug, and the teacher frowns in concern when the student winces at the movement. Before Mr. Lindento can say anything, the bell rings, signalling the start of first period.

Dean immediately leaves the classroom, and Mr. Lindento narrows his eyes. Is he hurt? What happened? Is he okay? The teacher can't explain why, but he has an uneasy feeling about the apparent injury. He knows that Dean has Mrs. Ross last, so he decides to inform her about his concern so that she can see what's going on and maybe talk to him after class. He sends her a brief text, asking her to make sure the boy is okay and to watch him for any signs of pain when he raises his hand or moves his arm.

Mrs. Ross receives a text from Mr. Lindento just as the students begin to enter her classroom. It reads: I think Dean Winchester's shoulder/arm is hurt. Please keep an eye out to make sure it's nothing serious. She frowns at the unusual message, but complies anyway when last period rolls around and he enters her room. Throughout the class, she studies the boy. Mrs. Ross realizes that her coworker is right; she noticed that when Dean dropped his pencil, he winced as he reached for it. She tries to be less obvious about it than she had been the previous day, but she continues to watch him for the remainder of first period, trying to find some reaction of pain. She sees a few small things and one significant; at one point when he's writing, he suddenly stops, screwing up his face and breathing deeply.

Whatever this injury is, it must be pretty bad to be causing him this much pain, she thinks. When the class is over, she stops him while he tries to escape the room with the flow of students.

"Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Fear flickers over the young boy's features. "Am I in trouble?" he asks, his usual confidence gone.

"No, nothing like that. It's just that, a teacher has expressed concerns about you; they seem to think that you're injured. During class, I had to agree with those suspicions- you looked like you were in pain. Do you know what that might be because of?" Mrs. Ross asks gently.

"My brother Sam and I were goofing off the other day- you know, play-fighting. Anyway, he jumped on my back, and I wasn't expecting it so I fell. I hit my shoulder on a table, and it bruised. It kind of hurts when I move my arm around too much, so that's probably what it was," Dean explains. Mrs. Ross almost believes him, and the lie is a good one, but she sees the way his eyes flit away from her face as he speaks and instantly knows it's not the truth.

"Dean, honey, I need the truth," she requests softly.

Panic floods his face. "What do you mean? That is the truth."

"I used to be the guidance counselor here, did you know that?" he shakes his head, casting his eyes to the floor. "And because of that, I know when people are lying. You are. Now, I hate to threaten you, but if you don't tell the truth I'm going to have to talk to your parents."

"I have to go walk my brother home," Dean says quickly, ignoring her concerns.

"Dean, wait!" Mrs. Ross calls after him as he leaves the room, but he pretends not to hear. She frowns. Why are Dean and Sam walking home from school by themselves? Why is no one driving them? Perhaps their parents are working. Still, shouldn't they hire a babysitter so they know their children got home safely?

I'll follow him, Mrs. Ross thinks, before immediately being shocked at her own ridiculous idea. I can't do that. It's probably illegal, as well as none of my business. However, she justifies, she has suspicions about a dangerous home life. This could be dismissed as a concerned teacher. And, she has to admit, something about Dean intrigues her. Finally, she decides to go along with her somewhat insane plan. I'll just follow him to see what kind of environment he lives in. I won't get involved unless I discover something dangerous.

Once her mind is made up, she leaves the classroom in a rush, just managing to go after Dean as he's disappearing around a corner. She trails after him at a safe distance, making sure to stay at least 15 yards away at all times. Mrs. Ross sees him enter a school, and realizes that he must be picking up his brother like he said. She goes a little closer, and a minute later Dean walks out with a younger boy, presumably Sam, in tow. He has shaggy brown hair, and is thin and a head shorter than Dean. The teacher speeds up a bit when she realizes they're talking, hoping to hear something from their conversation that might reveal something about their home life. She hears Sam talking about writing a short story in school, and Dean only partially listening, occasionally nodding to show he's paying attention despite the fact that he's clearly uninterested.

"...And then I wrote about how Mommy liked to sing that song, 'Hey Jude' as a lullaby and that she was a good singer even though I never even heard her sing but I think she was anyway." Dean's head snaps up when his little brother says this, and suddenly he's paying full attention.

"Don't talk about Mom. When you talk about her, people get concerned, and concerned people are dangerous. They get too nosy and ask too many questions that we can't answer. Don't talk about Mom or Dad and his job at school, okay?" Dean says, looking intensely at the younger boy to make sure he understands every word.

"Okay," Sam says in a small voice, and his brother's face softens.

"She was a good singer," Dean reveals in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Sam immediately perks up at this new information. "She was the best singer I'd ever heard, and whenever she sang 'Hey Jude' I would feel better."

"Tell me more about her!" The smaller boy demands, listening with rapt attention, clearly trying to commit every word to memory.

"She would make tomato rice soup when I was sick. I once asked her why because all my other friends' moms made chicken noodle, and she said it was because it's the kind of soup her mom made her when she was little. She told me every night before bed that angels were watching over me. That was-" Dean cuts himself off, stopping suddenly.

"What?" Sam asks, stopping too.

"That was the last thing she ever said to me," Dean finishes quietly, and Sam sobers, the joy of learning about his mother vanishing as he's reminded of her implied death. "No more questions," Dean says, beginning to walk again. Sam follows.

Mrs. Ross continues to follow them, but slower now as she struggles to process the new information. So their mother is dead.

The brothers walk in silence for a time, and Mrs. Ross is about to stop trailing them, sure she will learn nothing more about them today, when Dean suddenly stiffens and pauses. He leans in to whisper something to Sam, who nods before they continue. They walk at a slightly faster pace before Dean veers off to the left behind a building, and his brother follows.

Mrs. Ross frowns, turning the same way they did, to find two things; 1) it is a dead end. 2) it is completely empty. Just as she's trying to sort out how that's possible, she hears a gun cock from behind her. She freezes, heart pounding loudly, before turning slowly with her hands raised. The teacher is shocked to discover Dean pointing a pistol at her head with steady hands and a grim expression, Sam cowering just behind him.

"I knew something was wrong," Dean says quietly, and he seems to be talking more to himself than her. "I knew you cared too much."

He nudges his little brother, who pulls out a flask. He shoots his hand out, and Mrs. Ross is splashed with a liquid. She isn't sure what it is at first, but some drips into her mouth, and she identifies it as water.

Dean looks tense at first, but in a second, he lowers the gun, and a confused expression covers his face as he stares at the shocked woman. "But that doesn't make sense; you're not sizzling. Why aren't you sizzling?"

"What?!" She shrieks, and the boy flinches. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he mutters, before his expression turns wary again. "Why were you following us?" Dean demands, and he raises the gun to her head once again.

She begins to tremble. "I-I thought you were being hurt at home. I followed you to make sure you were safe," she admits, not wanting to lie to him while he's got a gun on her.

Shock flashes over both of the boys' faces. "You- what?" Dean gets out.

The situation finally registers in Mrs. Ross's mind, and a question finally occurs to her. "Hang on, you're eleven. Why do you have a gun?"

Dean's face goes white as he tries to come up with a suitable answer, lowering the gun again. "I like to be prepared," he responds lamely.

"And why did you expect me to sizzle when you threw water at me?" She asks cautiously. The boys don't seem insane, but then again, they had just been prepared to shoot her.

Dean keeps his mouth firmly shut, but Sam pipes up. "It was holy water," he corrects her, widening his eyes to convey the gravity of the distinction. "It's s'posed to sizzle if you're a demon, and we thought you were 'cause you were following us and we knew there was a demon around 'cause our dad is hunting for it, only he hasn't found it yet so we thought it was you. But maybe it is, and you're just a special demon who doesn't burn with holy water, or maybe that was Daddy's other flask, the one that's not for hunting and we can't touch, so that's why you didn't burn. Cause I don't think his other flask has holy water in it." Sam narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Christo," he adds randomly, studying her, and she frowns.

"What?"

The boy looks vaguely disappointed, as if he had hoped her response would be somewhat more interesting. "Nothing."

"I didn't bring the wrong flask, Sammy." Dean informs the younger boy, rolling his eyes as if it's the most ridiculous accusation imaginable. "I would never make a rookie mistake like that."

"Well, you let the werewolf claw your shoulder!" Sam snaps indignantly. "That was a rookie mistake!"

Hurt flashes across Dean's face, and Sam looks about to apologize, but the older boy just mumbles, "forget it."

"Would either of you like to explain what the hell is going on?" Mrs. Ross demands, fear and anger taking over. "Or should I just call the cops on you for assault?"

"Um…" Dean begins, glancing anxiously at his little brother. Sam looks up at him with wide, scared eyes.

"Is she going to take us away from Daddy?" Sam asks quietly. "Is she going to tell them that he's hurting us and take us away like they did before? Because I don't want to leave."

"No, Sammy. I promise I won't let that happen," Dean assures him. "I guess there's really no way around this, is there?" He asks, but it sounds like he's talking to Mrs. Ross now. "Fine. I'll tell you the truth then. We're… hunters. We kill monsters and save the world from things that go bump in the night."

"You're insane," Mrs. Ross decides flatly. "You're absolutely mad."

Dean scoffs. "I wish."

"No, it's true!" Sam insists. "We hunt demons and werewolves and vampires and wendigos and chupacabras and shtrigas." Dean winces at the last word, but Sam doesn't seem to notice. "We save lives."

"You, a twelve year old an eight year old, save lives?"

"Yes," Dean responds immediately. He raises his gun. "I bet I'm a better shot than you; I've been using guns since I was six. I'm probably stronger than you, too. Even with a bad shoulder."

Mrs. Ross scoffs. "I'm sure."

Dean doesn't respond, but he raises his eyebrows in a challenge. From Sam's secretive smile and Dean's confident stance, Mrs. Ross suddenly isn't quite so sure that she could beat the sixth grader.

"So, before I get you in a straitjacket, perhaps you should tell me more about these… monsters you kill." the teacher suggests. Suddenly something occurs to her. Are these kids going out and murdering innocent people that they believe to be supernatural creatures? Have they been conditioned to believe that they're doing the right thing?

Dean rolls his eyes as if he can hear her thought process and doesn't approve. "Listen, lady, no disrespect, but I don't think you could handle knowing more about our world." He leans in slightly and says in an exaggerated whisper, "Here's a hint: we're not killing random civilians, if that's what you're thinking."

Mrs. Ross blinks- that had been exactly what she was thinking. "How am I supposed to believe that?" She begins quietly. "How do I know? How do you know? Crazy people don't know they're crazy!" Her voice rises to a shout as fear floods through her. Oh my god, these two little boys in front of me could be killers.

Dean's eyes widen slightly, and he raises his hands in surrender. It's probably meant to be a comforting gesture, but because he's still holding the gun, it just scares her even more. He seems to realize the problem and carefully places the weapon on the ground next to him. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just… please, don't go running off and telling everyone that we're killers, or that we have a gun, or anything that you found out tonight. You probably think it will help, but in reality you're just gonna get a lot of people hurt."

""Am I supposed to believe that?" Mrs. Ross demands. "For all I know, you're the ones hurting people! You thought I was a demon! You were gonna shoot me!"

Dean winces. "Right. Sorry about that."

The teacher lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Sorry about- you know what, forget it." She begins to back away, stumbling a bit. "I'll have you locked up! You and your demons and your vampires and your guns and your crazy!"

She starts to run.

Neither of them stop her. She had been a little afraid that they would- she knew that they could- but they didn't. Here she was, threatening to put them in either jail or a straitjacket, and they just let her.

That's when she first feels doubt. What if they're right? They seem like good people. I'm going to put them in jail, and they still don't shoot. They aren't the type of people to kill innocents. What if they're not crazy? Mrs. Ross dismisses the insane thought as quickly as it comes, but she can't stop the slight feelings of uncertainty that tickle at the back of her mind.

Mrs. Ross arrives home, collapsing on her kitchen chair with a sigh. She buries her head in her hands, trying to sort through all the events of the day. Suddenly, she feels a comforting hand on her back.

"Bad day at work?" Her husband asks.

"You have no idea."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No, thanks," she responds, a bit confused. That was odd. Mr. Ross was a man of few words, who didn't usually talk unless pushed. It was rather unusual for him to be suggesting conversation. Whatever, he's probably just concerned. I might be acting a little weird. I mean, I did just get held at gunpoint by two kids who thought I was a demon.

"So what's for dinner?" Her husband's voice breaks through her thoughts, and that's so weird that she pulls away from his hand to stare at him.

"I can't cook. You know that. You always make dinner," she tells him slowly.

He laughs slightly. "Right. Of course. Do you want me to make chicken?"

"Donald, I've been a vegetarian for eight years."

"Kidding!" He says. She frowns. Is it just her imagination, or does he sound nervous?

"What's going on?" Mrs. Ross asks slowly.

"Nothing!" He insists, but he sounds uncharacteristically defensive.

She gets up from her chair. "Something's wrong here," she says, taking a small step back.

Mr. Ross's nervous grin fades, replaced by a malicious smirk.

"Donald, what-"

His eyes turn black.

She lets out a scream. Oh my god it's all true he's a monster my husband is a monster he's not my husband I'm going to die. Panicked thoughts rapidly flit through her mind as she starts to run away.

He's faster than her, though, and stronger. Within a matter of seconds, he's caught her and pinned her up… without his hands. He just gave a vague gesture in her direction, and suddenly she was slamming into the wall. Mrs. Ross struggles, but it's as if some invisible force is holding her down; she can't move.

Mr. Ross steps closer to her, not appearing to be in any hurry.

The door slams open in another room, and his head jerks toward the sound with unnatural speed.

Sam and Dean charge into the room. He flicks his hand, and they join her on the wall… but not before Dean manages to pour holy water onto the monster. He sizzles where the water makes contact, letting out a scream as smoke rises from his body.

While he's weakened, Sam begins to chant something in Latin: "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica.."

The demon flinches violently, jerking his head back with each word as if he's physically pained by the chant. He lets out an angry hiss, charging for the young boy as he continues to speak the Latin fluently.

"...adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio. Ergo draco maledicte…"

The demon that looks like Mr. Ross grabs the boy around the neck, cutting him off.

Dean picks up the chant, and the demon drops the younger boy, continuing to jerk its head back, more and more aggressively as the Latin continues.

"...securi tibi, facias libertate servire…"

The creature starts after Dean, but his brother picks up the chant:

"...te rogamus…"

Together, they say the final line: "Audi nos!" (but Dean adds a 'bitch' for good measure)

The demon collapses to its knees, letting out a screech as a black cloud flies from it's mouth. Once the substance is completely gone from its body, it slumps forward onto the ground. A second later, it opens its eyes.

"Martha?" The demon says, sounding confused. "What happened?"

Mrs. Ross stares at the boys, and Sam gives her a small smile. Dean nods, with a quiet, "It's gone. That's your husband now."

She lets out a choked sob, rushing forward and hitting the ground besides Mr. Ross, wrapping her arms around him as she weeps. He hesitantly returns the hug, and she doesn't bother to explain- after all the terrifying events of that day, she feels entitled to a small breakdown.

By the time she pulls herself together enough to look up, the brothers are gone.

The next day at school, Dean has math second period. He consciously ignores Mrs. Ross's attempts to catch his eye. He goes out of his way to go nowhere near her desk during the class.

Finally, when class is over and she still hasn't gotten his attention, she gives up on subtlety and says, "Dean, could you please come to my desk?"

He hesitates, and for a second she thinks he's just going to make a run for it, but instead he approaches her desk slowly. "Am I in trouble?"

"No! No, you're not in trouble. I just… I wanted to say thank you. For yesterday."

Far from looking pleased, Dean immediately tenses as she voices her gratitude. "Don't talk about it," he hisses. "Not to me, not to your husband, not to anyone. If you do, you'll end up getting my brother and me killed. You and Mr. Ross, too, probably."

"W-what? Why? I thought you killed the demon!" She cries, shock causing her to raise her voice.

He claps a hand over her mouth. His eyes widen when he realizes what he's done, and he removes it quickly. "Sorry. I just- you can't say stuff like that. You'll get put in a mental hospital if anyone hears you. And yes, Sammy and I killed the demon. But there are more out there. There are always more. And not just demons, there are all the things we talked about yesterday. Werewolves and vampires and ghosts and chupacabras and wendigos and they'll all come after you if they know that you know they're out there."

"So… you and your brother kill all those things?"

Dean gives a tense nod.

"Why?"

The boy starts; this obviously wasn't what he expected. "What do you mean, 'why?'"

"I mean, why do you do what you do? Why is it up to you and your brother? Why did you start hunting these things?"

Dean's face darkens. "We were raised into it," he says shortly.

"Your father raised you in something as dangerous as this?" she asks incredulously.

"Don't say it like that, he's not the bad guy here. He's a hero. He only taught me because a demon killed my mom. We're trying to kill it. We've been hunting it for years. Since my mom died, my dad knew it was unnatural. Everyone said it was just a house fire, but he knew different. The demon- it slit my mom's stomach opened and pinned her to the ceiling and burned her." Dean's voice trembles slightly. "We need revenge."

Mrs. Ross covers her mouth with her hand as he talks about his mother's brutal death, but she keeps her voice surprisingly steady as she asks, "How will you know when you find that specific demon?"

"You know how when Mr. Ross was possessed, his eyes turned black?"

Mrs. Ross nods, shuddering slightly as she remembers watching her husband's friendly eyes darken into two black holes.

"Well, all demons do that; they turn their host's eyes black. Except for the demon that killed my mom. My dad saw it that night- its eyes were yellow. When we find a demon with yellow eyes, that's how we'll know it's the one that murdered her."

"Then why do you kill all those other things?" She asks softly. He looks confused, so she continues. "You could just hunt that demon with the yellow eyes, and not bother with everything else. You didn't have to save me or my husband, and you didn't have to kill all the other demons and ghosts and werewolves and all the monsters I don't know about."

"But then we'd be as good as killers," Dean says quietly. "If we could save those people and hunt those things, but instead we abandoned them and let them die, we're just as bad as the monsters."

She looks at him for a long time, trying to decide what to say to that. There's only one thing to say, she realizes: "Thank you."

Surprise flickers in his green eyes. "What for?"

"For saving us."

He still looks startled, but a hesitant smile creeps onto his face, and he turns to go. Once he reaches the door, he pauses. "You're welcome."

Mrs. Ross is unsurprised when Dean doesn't show up for school the next day. She's sad, but not surprised. His final words to her held an air of finality that told her that he wouldn't be coming back.

So when he doesn't show up after the weekend, or the next day, or the next day, she's prepared. She knows he's gone for good.

When Mr. Lindento asks her if he said anything to her about where he might be going, she just smiles secretly. She knows exactly where he is, what he's doing.

He's saving people.
He's a hero.