"Winchester, earth to, Winchester. Come on, son, at least pretend to listen."
Dean looked up, and gave a clearly exasperated Mr. Meyers a lopsided grin. "Sorry."
"You're wanted in the office. They said the end of the period, but you might as well go now. You finished your reading right?" the teacher asked.
"Yup, I'm done," Dean replied, gathering up his books and heading for the door. Not bothering to wait for a reply, Dean headed toward the office. He took his time; he had no interest in hurrying back for English.
Dean found he had little trouble keeping up in school, his 3.0 grade point average was proof of that. He'd always known how to fly under the wire in school. Consistently decent grades were the way to go, no need to shine too bright or people took notice, and failing ran the same risk. So, he did his work with a minimum of fuss, slacked off just enough to keep his grades at an acceptable average and didn't bother himself with more.
To him school was nothing more than a place to pass the time. He had no interest in the lessons that were being taught and he saw no future in the academic world. If anything he enjoyed hands on training. Taking things apart and fixing them, making them work better was where his interests lay. Not that it mattered, not really, his future was already set, and school was simply a necessity in that it kept social services from looking too closely at his family.
Dean let himself into the office, and flashed a smile at the secretary. "Something wrong, Mrs. Connors? Mr. Meyers said you needed to see me?" Dean was a bit hesitant, after all, notice of any kind was never good. However, he was sure that he hadn't done anything to warrant question. He'd even arrived on time for first period today, though he'd about killed himself doing it.
Mrs. Connors, the school secretary, smiled brightly at Dean. "No, everything's fine. Mr. Jensen, the school councilor, just wanted to discuss your schedule, he's in his office. Go on back, I'll let him know you're here."
Dean felt his first stab of true panic. He'd had run-ins with school councilors before and they'd never ended well. Nodding at Mrs. Connors, he headed toward the office door, marked Thomas Jensen. Knocking on the door, Dean opened it as a voice from inside asked him to enter.
The room had a wall of windows overlooking the corridor. Vertical blinds hung at intervals, blocking the view of the hallway. Tom Jensen sat behind a large wooden desk, his bald head shining in the glow from the florescent lights above. He was a small man, thin with a large sharp nose and thick black framed glasses. The combination of which gave him a bird like appearance. To Dean, who watched as he circled the desk and perched on it's edge, he looked like a large crow about to take off in flight.
"Well, Mr. Winchester, so nice to meet you. Why don't you have a seat here? I won't keep you long."
Dean took the seat indicated, hating the chairs close proximity to the man still sitting on the edge of the desk. Leaning back a bit, Dean asked, "Did you need me for something?"
"I wanted a chance to welcome you to our school. We here at Durfee High School always like to welcome our newest students. So what brings you to our fair city?" Jensen focused his dark eyes on Dean, pinning him where he sat.
Dean desperately wanted to wipe his now sweating palms on his jeans, but was afraid Jensen would notice. So instead, he sent the older man a killer smile, and said, "My father got a job here in town."
"Hm... and he is a..."
"Mechanic for the borough," Dean supplied, as was Mr. Jensen's intention.
"Okay then, well I'm sure you're wondering why you're here. We've run into a snag with your schedule. As it's only the first week of school, I wanted to discuss it with you."
Dean had no idea what could be wrong with his schedule. He knew he was on track to graduate, and he'd chosen his classes with that thought in mind. "Is there a problem?" he asked, not sure what was going on.
"Not a problem, per say, just, a concern. I've noticed that you're having a hard time making first period?"
Dean just wished the man would blink, staring up into his owl eyes was starting to really make him nervous. Not sure of how he should answer, Dean went with a shrug.
"Yes, well as you seem to have a problem being on time, I've decided I'm going to change your schedule. You will now have study hall first period and Algebra with Mrs. Mills at sixth." Jensen stood and moved toward the door, the appointment clearly over.
Dean was stunned, in one fell swoop he'd been given everything he could have wanted. He was now out of Treewhig's class, and he could make sure Sam got to the middle school okay. "Yeah, that's fine."
Mr. Jensen opened the door, "Fine then, you know the rules as long as you maintain your student privilege card, you don't have to be at school till the bell rings for homeroom. However, if you're late to homeroom, your privileges will be suspended. Okay. You may return to class."
Dean left the office at a near run, all his problems had just been solved. Just as he reached his class, the bell sounded, signaling the end of the day. Waving a hand at Mr. Meyers, Dean grinned and turned tail as the students began invading the hall. Dodging kids left and right, he quickly made his way to his locker.
As he neared, he groaned. There leaning up against his locker, yet again, was Brittany Boylan. The girl stood, back pressed against his locker, her gaggle of girlfriends and general hanger-ons surrounding her, each one striving to reassure her that she was perfect.
Dean had met a 'Brittany or Brett' at every school he'd ever attended. It never ceased to amaze him that one person could be so shallow and yet have so many people kissing their asses.
He had to admit, this year's variation was hardier than others he'd encountered before. Try as he might, he just couldn't seem to shake the girl's infatuation with him. Lately he'd taken to ignoring her, that's of course why she'd staked out his locker.
Dean slowed his approach, hoping she would get bored and leave. No such luck, if anything even more of her friends arrived, causing a traffic jam of kids in the hall. Stealing himself, he approached his locker. Careful not to acknowledge any of them, he began to elbow his way through the crowd. As he edged his way, he heard a voice call out to him.
"Hey, Dean."
Dean couldn't contain his grin as he heard the familiar voice call out to him. Turning, he scanned the hall, searching for her. Finally, he located her in the sea of students. As he made his way toward her, he called out, "Hey, Beth."
Beth's bright green eyes shined up at him, smiling shyly, she asked, "Hey, did they change your schedule?"
Dean's smile slid off his face, he felt panic seize him at her words. He quickly racked his brain, trying to remember just when he might have said something to Beth about his scheduling problems. He'd run into her a couple of times in the halls, going to and from class, but hadn't done much more than say hi.
Then it hit him, Treewhig had been the one to mention it. "What did you do? Did you tell someone about me?" Fear for his family's safety made his words come out harsher than he intended. He just couldn't afford for word to get out that he missed class to walk his eleven year old brother to school, people would begin to wonder. The Winchesters couldn't afford any type of scrutiny.
Beth pulled back from him at the accusation in his voice. "No, No I didn't Dean..."
Dean didn't let her finish, instead he over rode her words. "My schedule was fine, I don't know what you did, but it was fine."
Beth's tone quickly became angry. "I didn't say anything."
Suddenly a voice called out, only a few feet to Dean's left. "Better watch out, Dean. Old Lizzie there doesn't like to be yelled at, do you Lizzie?"
Dean glanced at Brittany who had noticed his argument with Beth. Not sure of what was going on Dean opted to stay quiet.
"Right Lizzie?" Brittany pushed away from the lockers and approached the other girl, her followers seemed to circle around the three of them. Brittany continued to approach Beth, her face twisted in a sneer, she sang, "Lizzie Borden had an axe, she gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one."
Brittany took a step closer. "Only you didn't did you, Lizzie? You gave your mother 14 whacks with that old axe and Daddy dearest, well now Daddy wasn't so lucky. Twenty-three wasn't it, Liz? The last and final blow split his skull."
Brittany's voice dropped even lower, "Man, I would love to know what he did to you to deserve that." Brittany's gaze turned to Dean. "Bet you didn't know that did you? Bet you didn't know that she was in jail."
Dean pulled his gaze away from Brittany, focusing instead on Beth. The young girl's face was bloodless, eyes awash in tears. She seemed to break right there before them, each of Brittany's words cracking another layer of the steel shell, she encased herself in.
Dean knew about walls, he knew the only way to survive was to build them up layer by layer. No longer able to remain quiet, he glared at Brittany, and said, "Shut your foul mouth."
"Come on, Dean," Brittany said, with what she must have thought was a sexy pout. "I thought you were cool? If you plan on fitting in here, you'll soon learn who to stay away from. And Lizzie tops that list."
Dean moved toward Beth, wrapping one arm around her shaking shoulders, he pulled her against him. Using his body, he shielded her from Brittany. Calling on the anger that was pulsing through him, he looked Brittany square in the eye, and said, "I'm telling you now, you will shut up or I will shut you up. It's your choice."
At Dean's words, Brittany suddenly seemed uncertain, her face clouded with doubt. Dean knew the moment she decided to back off, he could see it in her eyes. The girl had expected an easy mark in Beth, and had instead been faced with Dean. She, like all bullies chose to back down, when push came to shove.
"Whatever, I just thought you'd want to know. After all, no one willingly has anything to do with Lizzie. I thought you were cool, Winchester, I can see now you're not. It's your funeral." Brittany stalked off, calling to her friends, "Come on guys, I'm bored. Let's get out of here."
888
Beth couldn't help the tears that made trails down her cheeks. She'd had run-ins with Brittany and her friends before and had always managed to escape before the other girl could break her. Not this time though, this time she'd been unable to move, trapped by a single thought that had echoed in her mind. He hadn't known. He hadn't known that she'd been accused of murdering her parents as they slept in their beds on night. He hadn't known.
It had floored Beth, she was notorious in this town. Though not everyone believed she was guilty, they still knew who she was. Unable to bear watching his face as Brittany spread her poison, Beth knew from that moment on he would look at her different, that he would treat her different.
That was it, that was the last straw for Beth. In that moment, the walls that she'd erected months ago cracked and crumbled. Her protection gone, she could do no more than stand there shattered and broken.
Then he'd slipped his arm around her, and he'd pulled her to his side. It was the first time anyone other than her aunt had intentionally touched her in months. Sometimes to Beth it seemed more like a lifetime.
"Come On, Beth." Dean's tone was calm and reassuring.
Beth content to bask in the heat that poured off him, followed as he slipped her backpack from her shoulder and led her outside.
"I have to get over to the Morton middle school to pick up my brother. Wanna walk with me?" Dean asked, his voice low and soothing.
Unable to find her voice, Beth simply nodded. Using her hand, she tried to wipe the tears from her face.
"Here, take this. It'll work better." Dean released her, pulled a slightly crumpled handkerchief out, and handed it to her.
Dean continued to stay close, shielding her from the glances that followed their progress as they walked away from the school. Beth took comfort in the gesture, content to walk by his side.
888
Dean sat at the table idly tapping his pencil on the notebook in front of him. It was late Sunday evening and he was waiting to see if his father made it back as planned. His eyes starred blankly at the book in front of him, his thoughts centered on Beth.
He couldn't keep his mind off her, it had been Thursday afternoon that they had walked together to get Sam from school. Afterward the three of them had headed for the bookstore, there the brothers had said goodbye to Beth.
That had been the last time Dean had talked to Beth. He'd tried to catch her at school, but he was now pretty sure she was ducking him. On Friday, the school had been abuzz with gossip, pertaining to Beth. Everyone had gone out of their way to try and explain just why Beth was the proverbial black sheep.
Each time he'd been approached he'd made it clear he wasn't interested in the gossip that flowed like water. It's not that he wasn't curious about what had happened, it was simply that he wanted to hear it from Beth herself. That is of course, if she ever talked to him again.
Dean was once again staring off into space, when he heard a noise. A glance at the door, showed the knob was turning. He looked down at his watch and noted it was ten minutes after two o'clock. Standing, he edged his way to the loaded shotgun that leaned against the cabinet.
Although, he was pretty sure it was his father, caution had been ingrained at an early age. Cocking the gun, he waited, eyes intent on the door, as it eased open. Dean watched as his father slipped inside the apartment. The first thing he saw was the bloody towel, his dad had pressed against his temple.
Dean moved forward without thought, dropping the gun on the table. It was his father's barking voice that made him pause.
"You don't ever lay down your weapon until you're sure it's safe. I expect better." His father's words echoed in the quiet.
Dean stopped dead in his tracks his face flushing at the rebuke. Mumbling an apology, he snatched the shotgun back and leveled it at his father. "What's Sam's favorite flavor of Jell-O?"
"Blue Raspberry," was John's reply.
Dean once again dropped the gun on the table, and moved to help his father. "What happened?" Dean questioned, as he helped his father to the table.
John leaned heavily on Dean and together they made their way to the table. Easing John down onto a chair, Dean pulled away the towel, grimacing at the two-inch gash that ran along his fathers' hairline.
"Markenson was a no go. The bastard must know I'm looking for him, he took off in the night." John winced as Dean examined the gash.
Satisfied that he could clean and suture the cut, Dean set about gathering supplies. "How'd you get hurt then?" Dean asked, as he returned to John's side and set about cleaning the wound.
"It was nothing, I stopped off at a bar. Was making some cash and a couple of guys took offense." John shrugged, his expression clearly suggesting it was unimportant. "I kept the money, so we can stock up on supplies."
Dean carefully began stitching his father's cut, his hands steady and gentle. Among the other skills he'd acquired, first aid was something his father had drilled into him. As Dean finished, he quickly applied an antiseptic and bandaged the wound. As he put away the supplies, he tried to hide his now shaking hands from his father.
It was always that way. Dean was ever steady in the thick of things, but once the dust settled he had trouble controlling the emotions that swept through him. Usually it was limited to hand shaking, but sometimes, he nearly panicked trying to find a place where he could be alone. Having something to do helped to lessen the feeling, cleaning their weapons, driving to the next town or even getting Sam settled down helped him to push away his own feelings.
"Thanks, Kid," John rubbed a hand over his face, his exhaustion coming through loud and clear. "I'm going get some sleep." John reached out and gripped Dean on the shoulder. "Get to bed, you can't afford to be late for school."
Dean nodded and watched as his father made his way out of the tiny kitchen. Not for the first time he found himself wondering why his father would have chosen this life. Dean still had hazy memories of John before Mary's death. He'd been a laughing man, one whose joy was his family and his work. Fixing things, whether it was a car engine or re-finishing a piece of furniture, he'd taken enjoyment from everything he did.
But after Mary's death that man had slowly but surely disappeared. He'd become grim and quiet, not speaking unless it was to issue an order. His children were no longer something to enjoy, but more a burden to be protected at all costs. Dean often wondered if Mary had died in some random way, if John would have been altogether different. Or if without revenge fueling his fire he would have simply disappeared under the weight of his grief.
Shaking his head, he finished clearing his supplies, his thoughts once again turning to Beth. Determined not to let her avoid him any longer, Dean made a plan to confront her at school the next day. Turning off the lights, he headed for the bedroom he shared with Sam, his thoughts centered on how to catch Beth alone.