Chapter 10: A New Position

Dean spread the papers from Professor Xavier out on Bobby's kitchen table. Here, at this ungodly hour of the morning, he could read through it in peace. The compensation offered in here, to teach only one week each month, was ridiculously high. It was suspicious. Why would Xavier want him to teach there so bad? He didn't really have anything to offer and it wasn't like he was a mutant.

With a sigh, he read over the terms and conditions again. It sounded too damned good to be true, and things that sounded too good to be true always were. There had to be a catch. Okay, what did he know? One, there were genetic mutants with bizarre healing and psychic abilities. Two, Logan was a mutant and a good guy, one Dean wanted to trust. Three, this Xavier Institute was willing to throw an obscene amount of money at him to teach mutants how to fit in.

"Coffee?" Bobby's voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. Dean scrambled to gather the papers before Bobby could see what they were.

"Freeze, boy," the older hunter snapped.

Dean laid across the offer from the Xavier Institute, busted bigger than daylight. He laid his head down on his arms, wondering just how much freaking fallout there would be now. While he waited for the inevitable chewing out, he heard Bobby moving around. Sneaking a peek, Dean saw his old friend pouring water in the coffee pot. After the fresh ground coffee went in the top and Bobby flipped the dial to start it perking, he figured it would start now.

Bobby sat in the chair across from him and motioned to the mess of paper under Dean's arms. "What's going on, Dean?"

Knowing he wouldn't be able to talk about mutants, Dean sighed and shook his head. "Well, uh, I kind of have a job offer."

Both of Bobby's eyebrows lifted, disappearing behind short wisps of hair normally confined by his trucker hat. "Job offer? Really?" He leaned forward, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the offer. "What kind of job?"

Dean straightened up and shoved the whole mess at Bobby. "Teaching." He held up one hand. "Don't say it."

"Say what?" Bobby demanded. "I didn't say anything. What would you be teaching?"

He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, eying the perking coffee. It wasn't ready yet. "Uh, they called it Urban Camouflage."

Bobby's gaze snapped to his face, his features hardening. "This isn't one of those weird cults that dances naked in the moonlight, is it?"

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so." He became thoughtful. "But if the chicks were good lookin' enough..."

"Stop it," Bobby snapped. "Let me see those. I'm pretty good at reading contracts. Let's see what they're offering you here."

"It's only part-time," Dean informed the older hunter as he gratefully pushed the mess across the table. "But I think they're offering me too much money."

"Really?" Bobby snorted. "Son, in my experience, there's no such thing."

Dean shrugged and waited while Bobby read over his contract.

"Weird things go on at that mansion," the waitress assured John. "We hear things."

"Yeah? Like what?" John smiled as he pulled out his trusty pocket-notebook. "Wait a minute, I need to be sure I spell your name right."

"My name?" The middle-aged woman perked right up. "Are you a reporter?"

"Yes, ma'am. With the Tribune," John said with his friendliest smile. "Now is that Ann with or without an 'e' on the end?"

"With," she stated, leaning over to check that he wrote it down correctly. "Last name is H-e-s-s-m-a-n."

"Thank you," John replied with a bob of his head. He lifted his head to peer deeply into her eyes. "You were saying? About that mansion?"

"Oh, we hear things," Anne told him conspiratorially. "There's lots of strange stuff going on over there. Why just a few months ago there were a bunch of explosions, like somebody was attacking the place. But was it on the news? No. The police act like it never happened, and that's the God's honest truth."

"And..." A man who had been sitting behind John in a booth near the windows picked up his coffee to join him at the counter. "Way I hear it, there are things, like half-human and half-animal, living in that place. It's a danger to decent folk."

"Uh-huh," Anne agreed whole-heartedly. John scribbled down the information as quickly as he could. He might be calling Dean within a few days, after a little more legwork. This certainly sounded like their kind of case. Could a werewolf pack have taken over the school? Or maybe his old mentor missed a vampire nest? Unlikely, but it was a possibility.

After John left the diner, he spent the rest of the day in various public establishments, asking around about the Xavier Institute. No one knew what kind of school it really was, there didn't seem to be any local kids who attended the boarding school although teens could be seen on the grounds during the day. A few people thought it was a boarding school for problem kids, the kind who were always in trouble. That did not explain why there weren't any locals there, however. Surely all of the kids in this town weren't freaking perfect.

"They're offering this for part-time?" Bobby asked, his mouth dropping open. "You're right, it does sound like too much." He eyed Dean across the table. "What's the catch, boy?"

"Catch?" Dean instantly felt uncomfortable. Bobby was one person he had never been able to fool, not that he had ever really tried.

Bobby scratched his jaw, eyes pinned to the paper in his hand. "Urban Camouflage, huh? Now what would some fancy institute want with a class like that?" His gaze snapped to Dean. "I don't suppose this has to do with that phone call about mutants?"

Dean wanted to protest, but he couldn't even do that. He needed to remember to insist the professor take this whammy off of him if he went to work there.

"Because I've been doing some research since your call. Wait here." Bobby tapped the wood table with one finger. While he waited, Dean refreshed the coffee in his mug. He was still working on his cup when Bobby returned with a thin black book.

"This is kind of a graduation from boot camp album," Bobby explained as he flipped it open. Curious, Dean leaned on the table for a better look. "And this," Bobby plucked a yellowing photo from between the pages, "is a picture of me and some of the guys goofing off."

Dean took the old picture from Bobby's hand to study. Bobby wasn't easy to spot at first, without the trucker's hat. He was young, clean shaven, and smiling for the camera. "Dude," Dean said with a chuckle, "who knew you were a stud?"

"Look at the guys on the left side," Bobby instructed.

Dean shifted his focus to the left side of the photo. No one looked even remotely familiar, until the last person on the left, barely inside the picture. Logan. Holy crap!

"I figure it must be his daddy," Bobby said with a frown. "Really favors him, doesn't he?"

With a hard swallow, Dean handed it back.

"So your friend Logan, he works there too?" Bobby asked, waving a hand over the proposal.

Dean nodded, a little surprised he was even allowed to do that.

"You're sure these aren't nutjobs out to overthrow the government?" Bobby asked, casually picking up his coffee.

"No," Dean admitted. "I'm not sure of anything. I met the guy who runs the place, Professor Xavier, and he seems on the level. Logan sure trusts him."

Bobby stared at the far wall for what felt like years before his gaze shifted back to Dean. "I say, if you want to do it, do it. But watch yourself, boy. If they do turn out to be nutcases, we might need to turn them in to the feds."

"When you put it like that, I can't exactly turn it down now, can I? It'd be un-American." Dean tapped a finger on the page outlining his compensation. "I had an idea about this. Last time I checked up on Sam, he was sharing a dorm room with three guys. What if I convinced the Institute to take most of my pay and give it to Sam? Like a grant or scholarship? Then he might be able to afford his own place."

A smile snaked its way across Bobby's face. "Dean, you have to be the best damn brother I ever heard of."

Dean shrugged, as if the comment hadn't meant a frigging thing and hoped the heat rising in his cheeks wouldn't produce color too. "No big deal, Bobby," he insisted. "It's not like I need a lot of money, anyway. College is expensive."

"Now I know you're gonna do it," Bobby replied, eyes twinkling over the lip of his coffee mug. "So where is this place and when do you move?"

"Upstate New York, back in Westchester County," Dean replied. "And the offer is for one week a month, I'm going to be hunting the rest of the time. Man..." He chewed his lower lip, eyes seeking help from Bobby. "What am I gonna tell Dad?"

Bobby flipped the celebratory pancakes while Dean listened to the ringing of a phone. It was still early, but he wanted to go ahead and negotiate his terms while his discussion with Bobby was fresh in his mind.

"Good morning, Xavier Institute," a chipper woman's voice answered.

"Morning," Dean replied. "I'd like to speak with Professor Xavier."

"I'm sorry, the professor is not taking calls this morning. May I take your name and number?" she asked.

Well, that just freaking figured, didn't it? "Yeah, okay. It's Dean Winchester and he can reach me at-"

"One moment," she cut him off.

Dean frowned and exchanged a shrug with Bobby while he waited to see what was going on. He heard a receiver being picked up again.

"Dean?" Professor Xavier's smooth accent flowed through the phone. "Does this mean you've made a decision, or do you still have some questions?"

Dean blinked in surprise, only allowing his shock to delay his answer a few seconds. "Well, I did want to negotiate a little."

"Don't tell me it's not enough money," the professor said with a chuckle.

"Actually, it's too much," Dean stated. "I'd like you to offer most of it to my brother as a scholarship or grant or something. Knowing him, he's been getting so many, he'll won't even notice he didn't apply for it."

"Well..." Professor Xavier's voice trailed off. "I must admit, this possibility had not occurred to me, but we can certainly arrange that. How much of your salary? Fifty percent?"

"More like eighty," Dean replied, running a few calculations in his head. He could easily live off twenty percent of the offer without having to resort to hustling or credit card scams, if he lived at the Institute for the time he would be teaching.

"Eighty." He heard the rustle of paper. "That's most generous of you, Dean. I certainly hope your brother appreciates you. Wouldn't you rather send it to him directly?"

"No," Dean stated firmly. "He can't know it came from me, or the deal is off."

"Very well. Is there anything else?" the head of the institute asked.

"Uh, yeah, actually there was one more thing." He glanced guiltily at Bobby before hitting Xavier with his next question. "If I'm on a hunt where Logan might be real useful, can he come along? If he wants?"

There was a long sigh through the phone. "I was afraid of this. Dean, as you know, I would prefer our two worlds not to cross. However, if it does not interfere with his other duties, and if Logan is willing, I will not disallow it."

He must be a law professor, Dean decided. "So it that a yes?"

"Yes, Dean," he said with a chuckle. "That was a yes. Now is there anything else? Do you require more time to weigh your options?"

"If you'll put all that in writing, I'll do it. I'm not sure exactly how you expect me to teach this, but I'll give it a shot," Dean promised.

"Excellent!" Professor Xavier exclaimed. "I'll have the new contract drawn up immediately. It will be waiting for you to sign first thing Monday. I will schedule your first class session for the afternoon. Do you have any idea how you would like to start? Will you require a classroom, or perhaps you would prefer meeting your students in a more informal setting?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about that. Is there a game room, or some type of common area just for hanging out?" Dean asked.

"There is," Xavier assured him. "Would you like it for your first session?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. After I meet the kids, I figure I'll have a better idea of what to work on. You do realize I'm just going to be winging it, right?" He was not certain why he felt the urgent need to tell the professor this, convinced it would negate the offer.

"Of course, Dean," Xavier said confidently. "Why do you think I choose you for this position? So, first thing Monday morning? Eight a-m?"

"I'll be driving in from South Dakota," Dean replied. "I don't know about eight in the morning, unless I drive all night."

"No, we can't have that. Why don't you plan to arrive earlier, perhaps Sunday evening? Then Logan will have the opportunity to show you around the estate and you'll have time to settle in before your first class," he suggested. "We can discuss any other items which might occur to you during the drive over dinner Sunday evening. Is that agreeable?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted. "Sounds great. I'll see you then."

"Very well. I shall inform Logan immediately," Xavier promised. "Until Sunday, Dean."

"Bye." Dean hung up the phone and stared at it until Bobby slid a plate full of flapjacks in front of him.

Bobby sat across from him with a similar full plate. "So now you have a job, huh?"

Dean shifted his attention to his friend. "Yeah. Looks like." He ran a hand over his hair. "Bobby, I have no freaking idea what I'm going to do. How can I teach people to do what I've been doing my whole life?"

Bobby held up a hand. He jumped up from the table and left the room. Dean waited impatiently, not knowing what the old guy might be up to. He returned a minute later with a small spiral notebook and a pencil. Sliding it across the table, he winked. "Make a list. What's the first thing you always did when you moved? Or started a new school? Or, hell, when you walk into a bar you've never been in before? Write it down." He tapped the clean page.

Dean slowly picked up the pencil with his right hand. Using his left hand, he sliced off a hunk of breakfast to stuff in his mouth while he thought. Slowly he started making a list of his thought process each time he encountered a new environment. Long after the flapjacks had been polished off, Dean continued working on his list, going over the steps in his head again and again. When he felt fairly confident that he had them all, he recopied it neatly on a fresh page to show to Bobby.

Bobby lifted his head from the book he had been absorbed in since breakfast. "That took a while," he grunted as he held out a hand for the notebook.

Dean passed it over, anxious to hear Bobby's take on it. Bobby read it over, twice, before looking up. "Really?" he asked in a gentle voice. "You do all of this? Isn't it kind of overkill?"

Dean shook his head. "Some if it's automatic, I don't even think about it. But if you skip too much, it won't work."

"What won't work?" Bobby asked, leaning forward in the old, beaten armchair.

"Blending in," Dean replied with a shrug. "The real key isn't to disappear, it's to be accepted. That," he waved at the notebook, "is a guide to temporary, initial acceptance."

"Temporary?" Bobby asked. "What good is that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. This all seemed so simple, until he had to write it down. "Temporary is all you need to avoid a call to the cops, or being on the receiving end of a beating. Besides, why worry about permanent if you're leaving in an hour, or even a week?"

"Huh." Bobby nodded his head, his eyes dropping back to the notebook. "Never thought about it." He kept nodding at Dean's careful script until he raised his head again. "Would you mind if I had a copy of this?"

Dean chuckled as he flopped onto Bobby's faded blue couch. "Sure. Whatever. But how the hell do I teach that?" He waved a hand at the notebook.

Bobby shrugged. "I think you should start with steps one and two, how to act confident and appear like you belong there, like you own the place. You told that professor guy you wanted the first class someplace informal, right?"

Dean nodded at him.

"Then why don't you show up first, before your students, and not introduce yourself? Make like you just wandered in off the street, and win over some of this initial acceptance. If you can show 'em it works, you'll have their attention." Bobby stood up. "I'm makin' a copy of this. Back in a minute."

Dean pondered Bobby's advice. It sounded good. Yeah, it was do-able. He might even be able to work in the benefits and disadvantages of wearing a hat while he was at it. Should he give homework assignments? Ah, crap. This was going to be even harder than he had feared.

Bobby waited impatiently as his dusty fax machine sputtered to life. It was the only thing in the house which could make a copy. The yellowed plastic casing vibrated as it went through its warm-up. It took the infernal machine nearly five minutes to settle down, then he pulled the perforated page carefully from the notebook before feeding it into the slot. When he pressed the button, the paper slid as gracefully into the belly of the mechanical beast as the handwriting on its surface.

Now what kind of flaky organization needed somebody to teach Urban Camouflage? Granted, they couldn't have picked a better person to teach it than Dean, but why? This Xavier Institute could be some kind of cult, recruiting members by supposedly hiring them. Expensive, since nearly everybody would walk out the first time the paycheck bounced, so not really plausible. Okay, maybe a private para-military group? Now that was more likely, and would fit some of the rumors he had been hearing lately.

Bobby promised himself if he didn't hear from Dean every damn day the kid was up at this so-called Institute, he would raise holy hell until he got somebody's attention. Actually, all he would really need to do would be to tell John Winchester. Bobby would bet even money John would find his son within twenty-four hours of going missing.

He returned to the main room, where Dean sprawled across the couch staring at the far wall like his mind was a million miles away. Bobby held the notes in Dean's face until the kid started, as if he had sneaked up, and took it.

"You need to call me," Bobby informed him, intentionally towering over Dean. "And I mean every single day."

Dean frowned and pushed up to a sit. "What for?" he demanded.

"Boy, I don't know what kind of organization this so-called Institute is. And they're payin' stupid money, so that tells me they could be into somethin' shady. If you're not gonna tell your daddy about this, then you need to call me every damn day you're there. Got me?" Bobby demanded, narrowing his gaze on Dean's shocked expression. "Or I'm gonna tell."

Dean held up both hands in surrender. "Okay, Bobby. All right. I'll call, I promise."

"Every damn day," Bobby insisted, jabbing a finger in the air an inch from Dean's nose.

"Fine, every day. All right?" Dean asked, clearly puzzled. "Geez, what set you off?"

Bobby gave an exaggerated huff. "Maybe I just don't like all this secretive business. This isn't like you, Dean."

A lop-sided grin spread and Dean's eyes sparkled with good humor. "Bobby, it's like you said, they're throwing around stupid money. Why shouldn't I take advantage of it?"

Bobby couldn't help but chuckle and feel more at ease. Who could be upset when Dean was this upbeat?

Bobby felt pretty confident in Dean's decision the rest of the day and the next morning before Dean left. Once the house was empty, Dean's ringing voice and laughter no longer filling the empty spaces, the sense of things being very wrong began to creep in again. He was weighing his decision not to tell John Winchester what his oldest boy was up to against losing Dean's trust when one of the house phones went off. It was the business line.

"Singer Salvage," he answered, wondering if he would be crawling under some heap in a few minutes.

"Bobby?" John Winchester's sharp voice was a swift rebuke to his guilty conscience. "What do you know about the Xavier Institute?"

"Why?" Bobby demanded, wondering if John already knew. The man seemed nearly omniscient at times.

"Because Dean's done some work for this place, and I can't find out what it is," John snapped.

Bobby felt a rush of relief over the fact Dean's father was already on the case. "I've heard of it, but that's about it," he admitted. "I'd love ta help you look into it. Where are you?"

"Checking on some rumors," John replied stiffly. "Bobby, is Dean still staying with you? Or did he take off?"

"He, uh, left this morning," Bobby replied slowly. "Is that a problem?"

"Nah." A loud snort came over the phone. "Knowing Dean he's out looking for some fun. Hell, the kid deserves it, Bobby."

Stunned, Bobby nodded until he realized John couldn't hear it. "Yeah, he does."

"I'll call and check up on him in a couple of days," John said. "Maybe I can scare up an interesting hunt for him to work solo. He seems to like that."

"Does he?" Bobby asked, feeling wooden. All of his emotions were on pause. Suddenly Dean's job sounded like a really, really, really bad idea. Why did it seem like a good idea yesterday?

"Better believe he does," John stated. "Tell you what, Bobby. Why don't you see what you can find out from there and I'll check in with you day after tomorrow, compare notes?"

"Right. Fine." He nodded into the air, a distinct feeling of being stuck between two walls slowly moving towards a violent collision. The click of their connection severing was a roar in his ear, the sound of a starter pistol firing. The race was on.