As always, this is Charis-Kalos' story, written especially for her. The rest of us are just along for the ride, and so far it's been a nice one! Thanks for all the reviews and to all the lurkers out there for following this pre-series fic. We really appreciate it!!
Chapter Ten: Rebel With A Cause
Sam dragged his feet the whole way into school in the morning. Dean sighed heavily as he had to wait on his brother. Again. More like still.
"Dude, I have to make it to Billy's in time for lunch. Pick up those boats you call feet and move it!" Dean snapped.
Sam rolled his eyes dramatically as he followed at a more reasonable pace. Satisfied, Dean led the way to the high school office. He knocked on Sam's principal's door.
The door opened quickly, the thirty-something principal sporting a shocked expression in the doorway.
"Can we come in?" Dean demanded, motioning inside the room.
"Uh, yes. Of course." Jones stood aside. When Sam did not follow, Dean grabbed him by the jacket and hauled him inside. Sam stood beside him, head down.
"Sam?" Dean glared at his brother. "Do it, Sam," he hissed.
Sam made another dramatic eye roll. "Sorry I mouthed off yesterday, Principal Jones."
"Thank you," Dean told him. He locked gazes with Sam's principal. "That work for you? Or do you want some push-ups too?"
The man blinked at Dean a few times. Dean smiled smugly; he loved catching assholes off-guard.
"What about Sam running out during his detention?" he asked.
"Well," Dean said slowly, positioning himself between Sam and the principal, "considering what you tried to pull, I don't really blame him. Even if it were true, that was a stupid idea. You really opened yourself up to a potential lawsuit, you know."
Jones' eyes widened. Clearly the jackass hadn't thought that far ahead.
"It's a good thing we can't afford an attorney." Dean stepped forward, within striking distance. "Try another stunt like that, and I'll move Sam into another school district. Are we clear?" he demanded.
Jones glanced between him and Sam before swallowing hard and nodding. "I guess I owe you both an apology."
Dean held up one hand. "Don't bother. I don't want to hear it, just don't let it happen again. So what kind of detention can Sam expect today?" He crossed his arms over his chest to wait out an answer he liked.
"Well, we never did get around to discussing Sam becoming a mathlete." Jones sounded like he was reaching.
"What the hell is that? Mathlete?" Dean asked. He glanced back at Sam.
"Math-based competition with other high schools," Sam explained quickly. "It might be fun."
Dean turned to face Jones again as he shrugged. "If you want to, Sammy."
"Sam," his little brother corrected him instantly.
Dean glanced back, throwing Sam his best but-I'm-older-so-I-can-say-whatever-I-want smirk. Sam glared at him. Dean shrugged again as he returned his attention to Jones. "So do I need to sign some permission slip or something for this mathlete thing?"
"Uh, yes. Actually you do." Jones hurried to his desk. He rummaged in a few drawers before pulling out a sheet of paper. "Here."
Dean took and skimmed it. He did not turn around this time, maintaining eye contact with Jones. "You sure you want to, Sam?"
"Sure." He could almost hear his brother shrug.
"And anytime you want to quit..." Dean left the offer hanging, eyes still locked with Jones'.
"Yeah, I know, Dean. No problem."
Dean nodded and motioned for Jones to hand over a pen. He did and Dean signed. He tossed the paper back on the principal's desk. He hardened his glare on Jones. "And no CPS interviews without my knowledge; no psychiatric visits; no specialists who happen to be making rounds of the high schools. Missing his classes annoys Sam. And when Sam's annoyed..." he paused dramatically, "I'm annoyed."
Without waiting for a response, Dean spun around to face his brother. "What kind of grades are you expecting here, Sammy?"
"It's Sam," his little brother said in a very annoyed tone. "Probably all A's. Why? Don't tell you're worried." A thin smile snaked across Sam's face, which Dean found reassuring.
"Nah. As long as you don't flunk out, I don't care. You know that." This was mostly for Jones' benefit, but it didn't make it any less true.
"You know," Sam said slowly, "I'm sure your grades would've been better if you'd bothered to study."
Dean groaned, waving Sam out of the principal's office. The principal just watched them go, not saying a word or making a move to stop them. "Dude, who had time? Between looking after you and work, I was doing good just to graduate. Now get your ass to class!"
"Later, Dean!" Sam called out as he headed down the hall, looking far more relaxed than he had on the way in.
"I'll be in student parking!" Dean shouted over the din of students now flooding into the halls.
Sam waved back, his long arm visible over the sea of heads. Relieved, Dean escaped outside to his car. Now if only the people at work were as easy to deal with.
Sam felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As he headed for Principal Jones' office after school, he wondered what kind of meetings mathletes had. Did they do advanced math problems outside of school requirements? That would be pretty cool. He hoped they covered concepts as well as problem-solving methods. Just knowing what to do was not as important as knowing why.
He knocked on the office door and it was opened quickly. Jones had a strange expression on his face as he motioned for Sam to come in. Sam was hoping for a boring hour of homework today, especially after Dean's lecture this morning.
Jones motioned for him to sit in a visitor's chair and Sam's hopes were dashed. He sat on the corner of his desk and stared for a while at Sam before speaking.
"Perhaps I judged your brother too quickly," he said slowly. Sam felt his shoulders relax. Finally, the man was seeing sense! "Why don't you tell me a little bit about your home life?"
Sam tensed up again. This really did sound like a CPS interview. "What about it?" he demanded.
Jones shrugged, spreading his hands wide. "Anything. Where you live, what kind of work your brother does, how you work out together. Your brother certainly seemed supportive of you joining an academic school team. Is he always so supportive?"
Sam shrugged, still suspicious. "Only if I want to," he said slowly. "Dean never pushes me to join school teams." Sam almost told how much his brother hated high school jocks, but he managed to stop himself in time.
"Go on." Jones smiled warmly at him.
Sam had no idea what the man was up to now. "Well, I guess you know we live in a motel room," he said slowly. "I know it's in my file." He waited for Jones to respond. The man only nodded, clearly giving Sam the opportunity to have his say. "We work out Sunday through Thursday evenings. Dean works Friday and Saturday nights, and during the day Monday through Friday."
"Your brother doesn't work nights Sunday through Thursday? Why not?" Jones' head tilted, making Sam feel like his entire life was under a huge magnifying glass.
"Those are school nights. He never works on school nights," Sam said defensively. After all, it was more than Dad had ever bothered, which gave him a new point for his paper and maybe a basis for that elusive conclusion.
"Your brother must really trust you, if he works on nights when teenagers your age are typically partying," Jones said with a knowing smile.
Sam shrugged. "I don't really go in for the party crowd," he answered truthfully. Parties without Dean weren't much fun anyway.
"Well, if you're using the time to study, it certainly shows," Jones said as he pulled out a thick file. "I finally received copies of all your high school transcripts. You are an excellent student, Sam."
"Actually, those nights are the only time I get to watch what I want on TV.," he replied. The thickness of the file made Sam nervous. What the hell was in there? "I usually study on the nights when Dean is home, in case I need any help," he lied, looking the man directly in the eye. Lying was easy, all you had to learn was how to look someone in the eye while you did it. Most people wouldn't call you on the lie if you could look them in the eye.
"What kind of help?" Jones asked. Sam felt like a tiny, interesting colored bug under Jones' microscope.
"Any kind," he said with a shrug.
"Didn't you mention this morning that his grades weren't very good? How could he help an excellent student like you?" the principal asked.
Sam sighed. He was far too used to how people judged his big brother based strictly on personal appearance. "Dean can do anything he actually wants to do. He never cared about school, so he did just enough to pass, which was all Dad wanted." Sam shrugged. "When I need help, I go to Dean first. He always finds a way, even if it means he actually has to learn something." He motioned to the thick file on Jones' desk. "How else could I keep up my grades like that?" he demanded, hoping it would make Dean look good.
"Sam, what would happen if you were to take home a bad grade?" Jones asked.
"Failing?" he asked, wondering where his principal was going with this. "Or just not an A?"
"Failing," Jones stated flatly.
Sam thought it over seriously. "Well, as long as it didn't put me in danger of being held back, probably nothing."
"And if something were to happen," Jones pressed, "what would happen?"
Sam ran a hand through his hair. He was getting pretty frustrated with his principal. After checking his watch he saw only ten minutes had passed. Oh, God, this was going to take forever, and here he was, stuck with a principal who was convinced he was being abused in some way. Sam slumped down in the chair.
"The worst thing that my dad or brother has ever done to me is ground me from television or the library. Normally all I have to do is run extra laps or some extra sets of push-ups, which happens almost any time Dad is home." Sam winced on purpose, as if he hadn't meant to let the last part slip.
"Why is that?" Principal Jones jumped on the bait.
"Because..." Sam sighed heavily, like this part was really difficult to admit. "Dad and I don't really get along." His head dropped down, pressing his chin into his chest. Please, Sam thought, ask me.
"And what does that mean to you, Sam? That you and your dad don't get along?" Jones' voice was soft and sympathetic.
Sam shrugged as he lifted his head defiantly. "Not much. My brother has custody."
Jones' glare so made that worth it. Sam grinned at his principal's consternation. It was freaking awesome. Maybe this was the reason Dean spent so much time in the principal's office, to jack with authority figures like this since his brother would never dream of crossing Dad. It felt pretty good. Too bad Dean wouldn't put up with him pulling crap like this for too long. On the plus side, it could convince Dean to move. Soon. He hoped.
Dean had planned on taking a nap while Sam was in detention, but he couldn't relax enough to fall asleep. There was something about this Jones character he just didn't like. The guy was just too...interested. It wasn't like he was just worried about Sam, but more like he was convinced there was something wrong in Sam's life and he was going to find it. That made Dean all kinds of nervous. He checked his watch. School had let out twenty minutes ago. Screw it. He had a pretty good case for sitting in on Sam's detention after the crap they pulled yesterday anyway.
Dean marched into the school like he owned the place. If you acted like you belonged, people rarely challenged you. It looked like his timing was right for a change, there was no one manning the office when he walked in. Dean was able to make it all the way to the principal's door without anyone stopping him. Before knocking, he pressed an ear against the door.
"What kind of research?" Jones asked.
"School research," Sam replied, sounding irritated and very defensive.
Yeah, Dean had taken too damn long to come in and now he had a lovely evening of annoyed-Sammy to look forward to. He just might have to beat the crap out of Jones and move. Tonight. After chuckling to himself over actions he would never actually take, because the guy hadn't really done anything to warrant it – yet, Dean turned the knob and pushed open the door.
Sam was glaring at his principal with the same look he had just before challenging Dad about a hunt. Well, maybe Dean had arrived just in the nick of time after all. Jones clearly had no idea what he was dealing with in Sam.
"Sam," Dean used his 'don't fight' tone, even though it almost never worked any more.
Relief flowed over Sam's features when he turned around, which made Dean feel pretty damned good. Jones looked thoroughly annoyed, but dealing with irate principals was nothing new to him. Dean plopped into the chair next to Sam and kicked his foot over his knee.
"So," he said loudly, "what's the topic of today's detention?" He shot his brother a cocky grin, gratified when Sam relaxed a little and the pissy expression dropped.
"Dad," Sam replied and Dean swore he could see the tension flowing from his little brother's shoulders as Sam leaned back in his seat.
Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, your favorite subject," he said sarcastically, figuring Sam would understand. "Now what are you telling them? That Dad won't let you eat until your research is done?"
Confusion flitted briefly through Sam's eyes before understanding settled in. "Nope, I said I'd have to do an extra set of push-ups for every ten minutes over my limit."
Dean groaned as if this were an old game. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "And I suppose you have to run extra miles for mouthing off, too?" he asked.
"And no television and you get to order all the pizza," Sam added, totally deadpan.
Dean had to admit it, the kid was good. He looked at Jones. "Now that's a lie. I don't even remember the last time I got to pick what kind of pizza we ordered." He frowned and scratched the top of his head as he turned to his brother. "Sam? Do we eat?"
Sam nodded seriously. "Every Thursday."
Dean blew out a breath of relief. "Oh, good. I thought I was forgetting something important."
"Then Dad would have to kick your ass," Sam replied just as seriously. His eyes cut over to Dean. "You know. Again."
That did it. Dean couldn't keep a straight face any longer. He laughed at Sam, slapping his brother in the shoulder. Sam elbowed him back, also laughing. Just the thought of Dad actually hitting one of them was too much. Sparring? Sure. Just out to kick his ass? No freaking way. Sam knew he couldn't keep a straight face over that one.
"Bitch," he teased, shoving Sam in the arm.
"Jerk," Sam threw back instantly, shoving him.
"That's what? Two miles?" Dean asked, grinning broadly.
"Oh, shut up," Sam chuckled, settling back in his chair. "Hey, can we just grab some drive-through tonight after we work out? I have a history project."
Dean nodded at his brother. "Yeah, no problem. What's the project, anything good?"
The expression on Sam's face gave him some hope. "Salem witch trials."
Dean smiled broadly. "Awesome. Dad has a couple of good books you can use."
Sam returned Dean's smile. "Why do you think I picked it?"
"Anything I can do?" Dean asked.
"Well, I could use someone to check my historical accuracy," Sam told him and he sounded serious.
Dean waited a moment to see if this was leading to a new joke, but Sam just sat there waiting expectantly for his answer as though he did this kind of thing for Sam all the time. Yeah, right. "Yeah, of course," he said with a shrug. "You know I will."
Sam glared at Jones. "See? Told you."
Dean glanced between them a couple of times before asking, "Told you what?"
"Sam has been most earnest about the fact you're a good guardian," Jones explained. "I would still like to know where the scratches and bruises on his arms came from."
Dean shrugged, deciding maybe it was time to play dumb. "So would I, but the kid's not talking."
Sam appeared startled for a moment, but only a moment. He crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest and pointedly looked away, thank God. Now maybe Jones would see it as a mystery and pick someone else to be the butler who did it.
Dean jabbed a thumb in his brother's direction. "Stubborn bastard, just like Dad. I've tried everything I can think of, but he won't tell me." Then he snorted as a fresh opportunity occurred to him. "Probably thinks I'll go kick their asses."
Sam's glare was hot on his face. "You know hitting a minor is illegal, Dean," he said slowly with a definite undercurrent of anger. "You are not going to jail and sticking me with Dad."
Dean spread his hands wide, helplessly. "See what I mean?"
"Would you?" Jones asked.
Dean's answer was a broad smile as he settled back in his chair. Let the jerk-off worry about whether or not he would, just so long as the man understood no one would be coming after his brother, from bullies to CPS. No one. As a matter of fact, now that Sam knew about his job, there was no reason for Sammy to stay at the room alone. He would be able to keep an eye on little brother at all times now.