Chapter Twelve: Curses
On Monday morning, Sam woke with a stomachache.
He squeezed his eyes shut and wished school wasn't starting today.
"Boys, up and at 'em," Karen's voice called quietly from the direction of the bedroom door and Sam heard Dean shift in the bunk above his.
"You awake Sammy?" the twelve-year old's voice asked, muffled by his pillow.
"Yeah," Sam replied glumly and opened his eyes, sitting up in bed.
He watched as Dean climbed down the ladder and landed with a jump on the area rug.
"Don't worry, Sammy," the twelve-year old said, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, "We're gonna stay together all day."
Sam forced a smile for his brother but he still felt as though he was going to throw up.
The eight-year old watched in silence as his brother walked to the dresser and chose his clothes- a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt with the yellow Bat Signal on the chest- before pulling them on with more enthusiasm than Sam felt he could muster.
Once Dean was dressed he turned to his sibling, "C'mon Sammy. What do you want to wear? I'll help you pick something out, what d'ya say?"
Sam slowly slid off his bed and made his way over to his brother. Dean opened his dresser drawers and allowed Sam to stare at the clothes inside for a long moment. After some hesitation, the eight-year old picked out a pair of beige corduroy pants and a long-sleeved moss-green shirt with a blue Tyrannosaurus rex on the front.
"Good choice," Dean said and Sam nodded, pulling off his pajamas and exchanging them for the trousers and shirt.
"Hey, maybe the kids here will be nice," Dean suggested and Sam tried hard to smile.
"Not everyone is a jerk," the twelve-year old continued, "Look at Karen and Bobby."
The eight-year old's bellyache quelled a bit and he gave his brother a more genuine smile.
"You're right, Dean," Sam said, "Maybe today will be okay."
The older brother grinned, his hazel eyes crinkling.
"Ready for breakfast?"
W
"You boys have everything you need for school?" Karen asked the Winchesters as they dug into the blueberry pancakes she had made for them.
Dean nodded as he stuffed a large piece of pancake into his mouth.
"We're ready," he spoke after he had swallowed the mouthful.
Sam nodded, gaze lowered to the pancakes and syrup on his plate. He didn't trust himself to speak. He was afraid that if he did, his stomach would start hurting again.
"I'm sorry I can't take you to school," Karen apologized, "But I have to get ready for work. Bobby will take you this morning."
Sam looked up sharply. He had thought Karen was going to drive them to the school.
"Thaffs's otay," Dean said around a mouthful of pancake.
Sam nodded and continued eating. He guessed it didn't matter who drove him and Dean to school as long as they got there.
The eight-year old suddenly looked up as Karen came around beside him and pressed the palm of her hand against his forehead.
"Are you feeling alright, Sweetheart?" the woman asked and Sam nodded.
"Is your leg hurting you?"
Sam glanced down. He had completely forgotten about his leg, too preoccupied with worrying about school.
The eight-year old shook his head.
"I'm okay," Sam insisted and shoveled a chunk of pancake into his mouth to show Karen he still had an appetite.
"Alright," the new mother said uncertainly, "But if you start feeling sick or if your leg hurts too much you tell your teacher and Bobby will come and get you."
Sam promised he would and continued eating, if only to pretend that he wasn't terrified of going to school.
W
Bobby's pickup truck pulled up to the front doors of Sioux Falls Elementary School and stopped.
Sam peered out the window at the kids and their parents milling around, hugging and chatting, waiting for the bell to ring an announce school was back in session.
"Get a move on, Sammy," Dean grumbled and pushed at the younger boy, forcing Sam to open the passenger's side door and hope out of the truck so his sibling could exit.
"C'mon boys," Bobby called as he stepped up onto the sidewalk, "Let's go find the office."
Sam stared up at the school as he, Bobby and Dean approached. It was a tall, hulking structure, made of redbrick, its upper windows wide and dark, like eyes staring out at the children and their families below. Beside the front doors, a grey cement brick stood out among its ruddy fellows, the words 'EST. 1949' carved into it.
Inside, the walls were muted beige, brightened by posters and students' drawings. A display case proudly showed off the achievements of students of Sioux Falls Elementary, past and present. The worn tile floors were a chocolate brown, worn grey in places where foot-traffic was the greatest.
Bobby turned a sharp right and opened an old, wooden door with a small brass plaque underneath a pebbled glass window, which read 'OFFICE'. He ushered the boys inside.
Sam saw that the office was small, with a large oak receptionist's desk and four chairs upholstered in blue cloth sitting along one wall. Unlike the hallway, the office floor was covered in an industrial-grade grey carpet. Behind the receptionists' desk was a wooden door that was an exact copy of the one marked 'OFFICE' except that the plaque read 'PRINCIPAL ALLEN'.
Bobby walked up to the receptionist and spoke to her for a few moments while Dean slumped into one of the chairs, legs splayed out before him and Sam remained standing nervously beside his adoptive father.
Sam peered around the oak desk when the door to the principal's office opened and a thin man with short, white hair and bulging brown eyes stepped into the room. He was wearing neatly pressed khaki trousers and a powder blue golf shirt.
"Hello!" he greeted, "I'm Principal Allen."
Sam bowed his head, hiding his face as the man shook Bobby's hand before laying his hands on his knees and peering down at him.
"Your name's Sam, isn't it?" the man asked and the eight-year old nodded.
"And you must be Dean!" Principal Allen turned his attention towards Dean and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, Mr. Singer, all we have to do is fill out a couple of more forms and then everything will be set," Principal Allen said and Bobby looked down at Sam.
"You'll be okay here for a minute or two?"
The boy nodded and quickly took a seat in a chair next to his brother. He watched silently as Bobby followed the principal into his office and the door closed behind them.
The eight-year old nudged his brother, "Dean, how did he know our names?"
The twelve-year old rolled his eyes; "Bobby and Karen talked to him on the phone, Squirt. It's not like he's psychic or something."
"Oh," Sam replied.
He glanced again around the room and froze when he noticed that the lady behind the desk- a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked blonde hair and tasteful makeup- was staring at him.
Realizing that Sam saw her gawking, the receptionist returned her gaze to her computer, picking up the phone when it rang once.
The principal's door opened and Bobby and Principal Allen stepped out.
The new father approached his boys and looked rather uncomfortable, as though he wasn't sure what to say.
"Well, uh," he stammered, "Have a good day. Karen or I will be here to pick you up at the end of the day."
Sam shot off his chair and wrapped his thin arms around the mechanic, his face buried against Bobby's chest.
"Can I come home with you?" he muttered.
"Sorry son," Bobby murmured, one hand on Sam's back, "You've got to go to school."
The eight-year old sighed. He knew he couldn't get out of this either.
"Dean will be with you," Bobby assured him and held Sam at arm's length.
The boy nodded and peered over his shoulder at his sibling.
"There's nothing to be worried about, Sam," Principal Allen piped up jovially, "Everyone here is very friendly. You'll love it Sioux Falls Elementary."
Sam nodded and reached out to take his brother's hand.
"Edna, I'm going to show the boys to their classes," Principal Allen told the receptionist and she nodded.
"Come along boys!" Principal Allen exclaimed and opened the door into the hallway.
Leaving Bobby at the entrance to the school and following the principal, Sam walked close beside Dean, his hand gripping his brother's tightly.
They passed two bathrooms, one for girls and one for boys, before heading down the hallway. There were doors on either side, two for each grade, beginning with the third grade and descending backwards to the first as they walked further into the school. At the very end of the hall was one classroom for the Kindergarten children and across from that… an empty room. Or what Sam guessed was an empty room. Unlike the other doors, the pebbled glass window in this door was covered with a piece of paper and the light appeared to be off. Its plaque had been sanded so that Sam had no idea who or what might have been inside.
Beside the kindergarten room, the hallway took a left, creating a sort of 'L' shape and Principal Allen showed the Winchesters where the custodian's office was, the gymnasium and the staircase that led up to the second floor where the students in grades four through eight learned.
Turning around, Principal Allen led Sam and Dean back towards the front of the building, back to the third grade classes.
Stepping up to one of the doors on the right- its plaque read '3B'- Principal Allen rapped sharply on the frame. Sam saw that the door had a homemade poster taped to it with photographs of twenty-five smiling boys and girls on it- Sam's classmates- and the eight-year old felt slightly better upon seeing those happy faces. Surely one of those kids would want to be his friend.
The door opened and a woman in her thirties, with long black hair held up in a bun, blue eyes and olive skin answered the door.
"Principal Allen," she said, "This must be Sam."
The eight-year old hid his face like a toddler and squeezed Dean's hand.
"Hi Sam, my name is Mrs. Marquis," the teacher greeted.
The boy peeked out at the woman and saw her eyes widen slightly but she continued to smile.
RING-RING-RING-RING!
Sam jumped as the bell blared through the hallways, announcing the beginning of the school day.
"Okay Shrimp," Dean said and began pulling Sam away, "I'll see you at recess, yeah?"
The eight-year old allowed his brother to push him gently away, not wanting to act like a baby in front of his new teacher or classmates.
"Bye Dean," Sam muttered and watched as Principal Allen and Dean walked past, towards the stairs.
"Come on, Sam," Mrs. Marquis, "You can put your backpack and coat in here."
The teacher held out her hand and Sam took it hesitantly.
Stepping into the classroom, Sam saw there was a row of coat hooks along the back wall and walked over to them just as the other children began entering the room.
Picking a hook at the end of the row, Sam quickly put his backpack up and unzipped his jacket, shrugging out of the garment and placing it beside his bag. Next, he opened his bag and took out a notebook and pencil case.
Standing with his back to his classmates, Sam reached up and yanked his long bangs down so that they covered the side of his face.
"Okay class! Let's go! To your desks! Pick any one you like!" Mrs. Marquis called and Sam held his breath, waiting until the other students had left the coat area before making his way towards the desks.
Luck seemed to shine on him and he saw a desk at the very back, just a few steps away from where his coat and backpack hung.
Falling into the seat, Sam arranged his notebook and pencil case inside the hollow beneath the desk, waiting for the announcements to begin.
The eight-year old stood up with his classmates as the Pledge of Allegiance sounded over the PA system before listening despondently to the school-related speeches that followed- Principal Allen's greeting to returning and new staff and students, reminders of playground safety and an invitation to children in grades three through eight to sign up for floor hockey, soccer, volleyball or basketball- until he heard his new teacher speak.
"We have a new student with us this year," Mrs. Marquis announced, quieting the class, "And I'd like to introduce him."
Sam slid down in his seat, trying to sink into the construction of wood and metal.
Mrs. Marquis beckoned to the eight-year old with a hand, smiling.
"Don't be shy," the third grade teacher said and now a number of the students were turning in their seats to look at Sam.
Shifting to the side, the younger Winchester left his seat and made his way to the front of the class, his stomach aching with nerves and his palms sweaty.
Once he stood beside Mrs. Marquis, Sam stared at his classmates carefully, taking in the expressions on their faces- fear, disgust, curiosity- and wished he could just go home with Bobby and Karen.
"This is Sam Winchester," Mrs. Marquis said, "He's come all the way from Kansas."
"Hi Sam," the class chorused rather unenthusiastically.
"Does anyone have any questions for Sam?" the third grade teacher asked and the eight-year old felt his stomach flip flop dangerously.
A girl with curly red hair and freckles raised her hand.
"Tara?" Mrs. Marquis said and smiled encouragingly.
"What's wrong with your face?"
Sam's heart skipped a beat and he glanced down.
"Why don't I ask a question?" the teacher suggested, "Sam, what's your favourite TV show?"
For a moment, the eight-year old didn't speak but then he muttered that he didn't like watching television.
"That's okay," Mrs. Marquis, who apparently had superpower hearing, answered, "Everyone likes different things. Do you like to read?"
The eight-year old nodded mutely. Mrs. Marquis smiled, "I like to read too."
Next, the teacher returned her attention to the other students.
"Does anyone have any other questions for Sam?" she asked the class.
"What happened to your face?" a pudgy boy with buzz cut asked.
"Bryce!" Mrs. Marquis snapped, "We are not going to ask those questions."
The class seemed to give a collective, silent groan of disappointment. The teacher seemed to realize that she wasn't going to get anywhere with having her students ask Sam their most burning questions about himself so she let him go back to his desk and began a lesson.
As Sam made his way to the back of the classroom, he heard his classmates whispering to one another.
He couldn't hear much of what they were saying but a few choice words made their way into his ears.
"Freak"… "Weirdo"… "Monster"…
Slumping down into his seat, Sam didn't even hear what Mrs. Marquis was saying as his eyes pricked with tears and his stomach cramped from nerves.
SPN
Dean liked Mr. Powell, seventh grade teacher, right away. The seventh-grade teacher didn't dress like any other teacher the twelve-year old had met. Instead of slacks and a dress shirt, Mr. Powell chose a pair of dark-wash denim jeans, blue running shoes and a Black Sabbath t-shirt. Mr. Powell also had a short-cropped black beard and hair that was stylishly tousled.
As Dean stepped into the classroom, he noticed that the seventh-grade teacher was sitting on top of his desk, one foot braced against the floor for balance while the other was lifted slightly to make him look comfortable and casual.
"Mornin' Principal Allen," Mr. Powell greeted and slid off his desk.
"This is Dean," the principal said, ignoring the teacher's greeting, something the twelve-year old noticed, "He and his brother are new here."
Mr. Powell looked down at the boy and smiled.
Dean returned the teacher's expression and reached out to shake Mr. Powell's hand.
RING-RING-RING-RING!
Principal Allen bade his goodbyes and headed back to his office.
"Sit anywhere you like, Dean," Mr. Powell told Dean and the twelve-year old made his way towards the back of the classroom, dumping his backpack and jacket onto the floor beside the desk.
Mr. Powell took his previous perch on his desk and seconds later twenty-eight more twelve-year olds streamed into the room, laughing and shouting and chatting.
Almost instantly Dean received curious glances and he smiled in a friendly, open way. He had always made friends easily and was generally well liked by his classmates, despite the fact that he rarely spent time with them during recess, staying close to his brother whenever they were in school.
"Alright," Mr. Powell said in a loud voice, "I'm sure you're all dying to know what everyone did over the summer, but it's September now and nobody cares what you did for a whole two months while I was busting my butt getting ready for school."
Dean looked up, confused and a bit startled by the teacher's tone- no teacher he had ever had ever talked like that- but then Mr. Powell gave the class a wry smile and the boy's fellow pupils laughed. Clearly they were used to Mr. Powell's use of sarcasm.
"Also, we have a new student," Mr. Powell announced, "And instead of embarrassing him by getting him to stand up in front of all of you guys and girls, I will just let you bombard him with questions during recess."
Dean gave a sigh of relief. He was sure he was going to like Mr. Powell a lot.
SPN
Sam didn't even hear what Mrs. Marquis was saying about the signing of the Declaration of Independence, all he could think about was the kids around him who already hated him and wouldn't be his friends.
Maybe if he said he wasn't feeling well, if he said he was sick, then the receptionist lady at the office would call Bobby and he'd get to go home.
Leaning down, the eight-year old rubbed at his jean-clad knee, wondering if he would be sent home if he said his leg was hurting him too much.
"Sam? Are you alright?"
The boy looked up suddenly at the sound of the teacher's voice and he felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.
Many of the children in the desk around him turned around to stare, a couple of them sniggering behind their hands, and Sam dropped his gaze to the top of his desk.
"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Marquis asked and Sam shook his head without a word.
After a moment or two, the third-grade teacher continued her lesson about Thomas Jefferson and the other Founding Fathers.
W
Sam remained where he was for a few moments after Mrs. Marquis told the students to put their books and pencils away and to get their lunch bags for snack. As the rest of the boys and girls in the class rushed to the back of the room, laughing and chatting, Sam stayed in his seat.
"Sam? Are you going to eat a snack?"
The eight-year old looked up to see his new teacher leaning down beside his desk.
"Uh…yeah, sure," the boy muttered and slid out of his chair away from Mrs. Marquis.
He could feel the woman's eyes on his back as he walked the few steps to the back of the classroom and dug his lunch bag from his backpack.
The lunch bag, an old one that he had had since forever, was red and blue with picture of Superman flying over a cartoon city on the front. Gripping the zipper, Sam opened the bag and saw that Karen had packed him a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, a miniature box of raisins, a granola bar and a pudding cup with a spoon. For never having packed a kid's lunch before, the eight-year old thought Karen had done a good job.
Deciding on the apple, Sam closed his lunch bag and shoved it to one side of his desk, biting into the piece of fruit.
"Hey," a voice directly in front of Sam called and he looked up, still chewing on a piece of apple, to see a boy with pale skin, prominent freckles, jet-black hair and light blue eyes staring at him.
Sam didn't respond for a minute- it was rude to talk with food in your mouth- but met the boy's gaze regardless.
"What's with your face?" the boy asked and the half-chewed apple stuck in Sam's throat.
The eight-year old swallowed a couple of times before the lump in his throat disappeared and he answered, trying to sound tough, "Nothing. What's with yours?"
The other boy blinked for a moment before glaring at Sam.
"At least I don't look like the guy from freakin' 'Nightmare on Elm Street'," the black-haired boy hissed and turned around in his seat to talk to Bryce, whose desk was sitting diagonally in front of his.
Sam ate the rest of his apple in silence, trying to ignore the not-so-quiet whispering of his classmates and block out their cruel words.
"Freak."
"Weirdo."
"Ugly."
"Freddy Krueger."
W
Sam slunk out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang to go outside for recess; he walked ahead of the other third-graders, hurrying outside.
Pausing just outside the large double doors at the end of the hallway, between the one used and one unused Kindergarten classrooms, Sam tugged at his bangs to try and cover the scarred side of his face as he searched the playground for his brother.
Green eyes searching the large open field, Sam saw there was a soccer field where boys and girls of multiple grades were already kicking a ball around, a baseball diamond in the far left corner of the yard and a line of trees that bordered the entire yard, acting as a natural wind-break and fence.
"Hey! Over here! Pass it to me!"
The eight-year old looked to the sound of his brother's voice and saw Dean playing basketball a few feet away from him on the asphalt.
Sam watched for a long time as his sibling, ran and jumped, dribbling, passing and shooting the basketball with a group of boys who were clearly his classmates. All the while Dean had a huge grin on his face.
The eight-year old was tempted to go to his brother and draw him away from his game but his legs wouldn't move.
Dean's having fun, Sam thought, he looks like he's made friends.
The younger Winchester felt tears prickle his eyes suddenly. Dean had never really had any friends either. It wasn't only Sam who had been ostracized by his peers; Dean had always stuck with him instead of playing with kids his own age.
Sam felt the tears in his eyes well up. He wanted Dean to be with him, like he always was.
"Dean," the boy called out weakly.
The eight-year old's legs became jelly and buckled at the knees. Sam slid down the school's redbrick wall and sat on the worn pavement.
He forced a smile. Dean looked so happy, playing basketball with his classmates. Sam didn't need to hanging onto him like a baby.
Sighing, the younger Winchester wrapped his arms around his middle and watched his brother play with his new friends.
SPN
As Karen Singer wiped a cloth over one of the diner's tables, its occupants having just finished their meal and left a generous tip, she couldn't help but wonder how Sam and Dean were doing in school.
She couldn't help but think about Dean telling her how kids mean kids sometimes were to his brother and hoped that the children in Sam's class were different.
Karen wished she could be there with both boys, to make sure they liked their teachers and classmates and felt accepted but that was impossible. She just had to wait until the boys came home tonight.
Sighing, the woman turned around and came face-to-face with the man who had vanished, ghost-like from the restaurant the day before. Karen let out a little scream of surprise, one hand going to her chest.
"I'm sorry," the man apologized, "I didn't mean to scare you. I was wondering if I could have a coffee?"
"Yes," Karen replied once her heart had stopped pounding in her chest, "Yes, of course, I'll get that for you as soon as I can."
"Thank you," the man smiled and slid into the seat at the table Karen had just been cleaning.
SPN
RING-RING-RING-RING
Sam was one of the last of the children to head into the school as the bell rang. He didn't try to catch up with Dean, who was laughing and chatting away with the boys he'd been playing ball with, almost running inside.
As Sam made his slow way inside, shuffling his feet, he told himself that it was just the first day and of course the other kids were going to be curious about him- wasn't he curious about them- and that tomorrow they'd have forgotten all about the cruel names they had started calling him.
Entering Mrs. Marquis' third-grade classroom, Sam saw that most of the other kids were already seated at their desks. Head down, the younger Winchester stepped quickly inside, walking directly to the back of the room to his backpack, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook.
Mrs. Marquis waited until he was sitting at his desk to begin her lesson but didn't mention Sam's lateness and for that he was grateful.
SPN
Dean sat at his desk, chuckling at a joke his new friend Corey had just told him. He had made quiet a few friends in the class already besides Corey, a small, wiry boy with pale blond hair and large brown eyes.
There was also Jerome, Aiden, Mark and Glenn. They had asked Dean if he'd wanted to join their basketball game during recess so they could play three-on-three. The older Winchester had accepted right away and the boys quickly became fast friends.
As the eldest Winchester settled down and tried to listen to Mr. Powell, his thoughts turned away from his new acquaintances to his brother. Dean frowned; he didn't remember seeing Sam at all during recess and he'd thought for sure his sibling would seek him out.
Maybe Sammy's made some friends of his own, the twelve-year old thought and smiled; it would be good for his brother to hang out with kids his own age.
SPN
Karen poured the man who'd unintentionally frightened her a third cup of coffee and returned his smile when he offered her the gesture.
"Can I get you anything else?" she asked him, "We have the best chicken Club sandwiches in town, and our pie isn't bad either."
The man appeared to think for a long moment before he nodded, "That sounds good. I think I'll try that."
"You won't be disappointed," Karen assured the man and left to go let the cook know about the order.
SPN
"Sam? Sam, are you alright?"
Mrs. Marquis' voice roused the eight-year old out of his daze and he glanced around, his cheeks going red with embarrassment and his ears burning with the snickering of his classmates.
"I… uh… I'm fine," Sam muttered in a barely audible voice.
"Would you like to go to the Nurses' Office?" his teacher asked and Sam shook his head.
"Okay," Mrs. Marquis said, looking as though she didn't believe Sam and really thought he should see the nurse but she didn't say anything else and continued with her math lesson.
Sam returned his gaze to the clock above the chalkboard, his eyes following the hands as they slowly counted down the end of the school day.
SPN
"Did you enjoy?" Karen asked the man as he sat back, the saucer in front of him only holding the crumbs of what had been a large slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream.
"It was better than you said it would be," the man told Karen.
"And the sandwich?" she asked.
"You were right, the best in town," the man said and began patting his pockets, looking for his wallet.
"Here," he said as he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Karen.
"This is too much-" she began but the man shook his head, "Keep the change, Karen."
The woman nodded and stood back to let the man stand up.
"And you take care of those two little boys," he continued, causing Karen to frown in confusion.
She didn't recall telling the man anything about Sam and Dean, she didn't think she'd told the man anything about her personal life; they'd only chatted about the weather and the news, the usual small talk she engaged every customer in.
Before Karen could stop the man and ask him how he knew about her sons, she stared around in amazement. The man was gone.
SPN
"Watch where you're going, Freak," Bryce snarled as he shoved Sam out of the way as they moved among the throng of their classmates to the back of the class when the bell for lunch rang.
Sam, his injured leg smarting from being twisted as he was pushed, tried to blink the tears from his eyes as he grabbed his lunch bag from his backpack.
Returning to his desk, Sam sat and unzipped his lunch bag, pulling out his sandwich and tearing off the wax paper it had been wrapped in. Taking a large bite, Sam chewed the ham and cheese despondently, the sandwich utterly tasteless.
As the eight-year old worked his way steadily through his lunch, he decided that he would complain about some pain- a headache, a stomachache or even his leg- and ask to go to see the nurse. He would at least be away from his classmates for a while and if he was lucky maybe he could convince Principal Allen to call Bobby.
When the bell rang to go outside, Sam didn't even stop to see where Dean was, he just walked out into the playground, past the soccer field and baseball diamond, towards the line of trees that bordered the yard.
The line of trees was more than a line, it was a long copse, a small wooded area and Sam easily slipped between the trunks, vanishing from sight of the playground.
He walked along inside the small forest for a few moments, watching the shadows of the leaves on the ground before he stopped and stared up at the large oak tree in front of him. It was tall but there were a number of branches low to the ground. Raising his hands above his head, Sam jumped and grabbed onto a low branch. Hanging there for a moment, the eight-year old savoured the feeling of his toes dangling in mid-air, the not unpleasant strain on his shoulders, and the distant sound of kids playing.
Then, Sam swung his body and raised his legs, hooking his ankles around the branch and pulling himself up. Now, hanging like a sloth, Sam rolled his body until he was sitting upright and he leaned back against the oak's trunk, legs dangling on either side of the branch.
"Hey, kid!"
Sam startled, hands gripping the rough branch like claws and tilted his head upwards to see who had called him.
It was a boy; maybe in grade seven or eight, with light brown hair that covered his ears and hazel eyes. He was wearing a pair of brown lace up shoes, blue jeans and a white and mustard yellow striped t-shirt.
"Uhhh," Sam stammered, not sure what to say to the older boy.
"What's your name, Clyde?" the boy asked.
"Sam," Sam answered quietly, "Sam Winchester."
The boy smiled, "Billy Jenkins."
The eight-year old still hesitated, "I'll go…"
"Stay," Billy said, "You're not a spaz are you?"
Sam hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, "I don't think so."
The older boy smiled, "Cool."
It took a minute for the child to realize it, but Billy Jenkins hadn't yet asked him anything about his face. Sam wondered if it was just that the older boy couldn't see his scars but it was nice to talk to another kid, even if it was only for a little bit.
"You're new here, aren't ya?" Billy asked and Sam nodded.
"Today's my first day," the eight-year old replied.
"How come you ain't hanging with the rest of those nosebleeds?" Billy asked, pointing his chin in the direction of the schoolyard.
Sam fidgeted for a moment, trying to find out what to say. He needn't have worried because the older boy spoke again.
"Hey, don't sweat it, Clyde. I wasn't trying to be nosy."
Sam nodded and smiled up at Billy. Even though the older boy talked kind of strange, he liked him. Maybe it was the way they all talked wherever Billy was from. Maybe he was new to Sioux Falls just like him.
The eight-grader smiled down at Sam, showing teeth…
W
The younger Winchester reluctantly left the copse of trees when he heard the bell ring to announce the end of recess.
"C'mon Billy," Sam called as he jumped down from his perch and landed with both feet on the leaf-strewn ground below.
"I'll catch up," Billy told him, not moving from the branch he was sitting on.
"Oh-Okay," Sam replied.
"See you back here next time," the older boy promised and Sam nodded, turning and running away towards the school.
W
Back in the classroom, Sam found himself actually able to take in what his teacher was saying and although he didn't raise his hand to answer any of the questions she posed to the third-graders, the eight-year old felt as though he might just be able to get through the rest of the day.
SPN
Dean loitered outside of Mrs. Marquis' classroom after the bell had rung, waiting for his brother.
Sam was one of the last to exit the room and when he did, Dean was pleased to see a large smile on his face.
"How're you feeling, Squirt? Did you have a good day?" the twelve-year old asked and placed an arm over his brother's shoulders as they headed down the hall.
"Great!" Sam told Dean, "I think I'm gonna like it here."
The older brother smiled, his sibling's happiness was infectious.
"Me too," Dean agreed, "Did you make lots of friends?"
For the first time since picking Sam up, his brother's smile faltered.
"Well… no," the eight-year old muttered.
"What?" Dean stopped walking and held his brother at arm's length by the shoulders, "Sammy, what happened?"
The eight-year old glanced down at his sneakers.
"The kids in class," Sam sniffed, "They don't like me."
Dean grimaced, "They just need some time to get to know you."
The younger Winchester shook his head, "No. They don't like me, they'll never like me."
"You don't-" Dean began, refusing to believe that all kids, everywhere, in every school were assholes who never looked past his brother's scars.
Sam's head snapped up and his green eyes bore into Dean's hazel ones fiercely, "They hate me! They call me names! Just like all the others did!"
The twelve-year old was a bit taken aback by the ferocity in his brother's voice but said nothing. Instead, he simply nodded and one again slipped a comforting arm across his sibling's shoulders, steering him towards the front doors.
After about a minute or two of silence, Sam spoke again.
"I did make one friend."
"Yeah?" Dean replied quietly.
Sam nodded, "His name's Billy."
Dean's smile returned, though not as wide as it had been before, "That's good, Sammy."
W
The drive back home in Bobby's truck was relatively quiet. Dean wanted to talk about his day but had an idea that Karen would want to hear about it too so he decided to wait until they were all together.
W
That evening, over a dinner of roasted chicken drumsticks, mashed potatoes and broccoli, the Winchesters told the Singers all about their first day at Sioux Falls Elementary.
Dean was eager to tell Bobby and Karen all about his cool teacher, Mr. Powell, and how he was unlike any teacher the eldest Winchester had ever known.
"He's really funny and dresses like a kid," the twelve-year old told them, "And he didn't make me stand up in front of the whole class and talk about myself either. I hate it when teachers want to do that."
Next, Dean talked about his new friends and the basketball games they had played during recess and how Aiden was having a birthday party in a few weeks and had asked if he wanted to come.
"I don't see why not," Karen said, "As long as it's alright with his parents, of course."
Dean couldn't believe it; he'd never been to a real birthday party, not really. The Better Days Home always had a little celebration for kids on their birthdays; they were given a cupcake for dessert after dinner and there was a little party with streamers and hats and games in the Recreation Room.
"Sam?" Karen asked, turning now to the younger Winchester.
Dean turned to his brother as well, wanting to know exactly what the kids in his class had said to him.
"Did you make any friends from your class?" Karen pressed and Dean could see his brother's face grow pale.
The eight-year old shook his head.
"Oh Sweetie," the woman began but was interrupted by the child.
"I'm used to it," he told her, clearly trying not to sound as hurt by the other children as he really was. Dean could see that even though Sam was used to it, that didn't mean it got any easier.
"Well, maybe they just need some time to get to know you," Karen suggested and Dean nodded, "That's what I told him."
"Do you like yer teacher?" Bobby asked and Sam shrugged, "Mrs. Marquis is okay."
Dean saw the Singers exchanged concerned glances and quickly spoke up, "Tell them about that friend you made, Squirt. What was his name… Bucky?"
The eight-year old shook his head, "It's Billy."
That caught Bobby and Karen's attention.
"You made a friend?" Karen asked and Sam nodded, "Yeah, he's cool. He knows lots of stuff about the town and he likes to climb trees like I do!"
The new parents relaxed noticeably and Dean smiled.
SPN
Sam woke up early Tuesday morning, even before Karen had knocked on the bedroom door and quietly climbed out of bed. He crept to his dresser and picked out a pair of blue jeans and a red-and-blue Superman t-shirt.
Just as he was finishing getting dressed, Karen poked her head into the room, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Sam up already.
"Dean, up and at 'em," the new mother called to the eldest Winchester quietly and beckoned to Sam with one hand.
The eight-year old followed her downstairs.
"I have a bit of time before I have to head into work so I thought I'd make you boys breakfast," she said as she and Sam descended the staircase to the main floor.
"Can we have pancakes?" the boy asked and Karen smiled, "Of course."
Sam grinned and hurried into the kitchen ahead of Karen.
"I guess your leg's feeling better?" she asked when she entered the room to find Sam already standing at the stove, eager to start helping with breakfast.
"You're certainly in a happy mood this morning," Karen observed as she began to gather the ingredients for pancakes and put them on the counter.
"Billy's gonna be at school today," Sam told her and although the new mother smiled she felt a twinge of concern.
"Why don't you try and make friends with the other children in your class?"
Sam's eyes went wide as he stared at her.
"They don't like me," he said quietly.
"Billy likes you," Karen reminded him, "Maybe if you talk to the boys and girls in your class, they'll get to know you better."
Sam frowned, "They don't want to know me. They don't like me. They call me names."
"Did you tell your teacher?" Karen asked, now worried about bullies.
Sam shrugged, "That won't stop 'em. It never does."
"Sam," Karen said his name and reached out to lift his chin, "They can't do that. You need to tell your teacher."
The eight-year old jerked his head away and stepped back from the stove.
"If I tell Mrs. Marquis it'll make things worse!" he exclaimed, "Why do I need to be their friend anyway? I have Billy!"
"But-" Karen began but was cut off as Sam ran out of the kitchen and she heard the front door slam shut behind the eight-year old.
"Sam!" she called after the child but received no response.
W
Sam ran down to the end of the driveway, just inside the fence that bordered Singer Salvage, regretting leaving without shoes. His toes were quickly growing cold and the gravel was digging into the soles of his feet.
He knew Karen was just trying to help but he didn't want her to, not with this. He knew the kids in his class were never going to change their minds and suddenly be his friend if he started talking to them. In reality, it would probably only make things worse.
Sure, Billy was older but what was wrong with having an older kid as a friend? Dean, as well as his brother, was also Sam's best friend and he was older.
"Sam? Sammy? What are you doing out here?" Dean's voice floated out towards Sam as the twelve-year old made his way down the driveway towards him.
"Karen said you were talking and then you started getting angry about the kids in your class," Dean began and Sam nodded.
"They call me names, Dean. They called me a freak, and a weirdo and said I was ugly and called me Freddy Krueger."
The twelve-year old didn't respond so Sam turned around to face him.
Dean was standing a few feet away from him, his hands clenched into fists and a livid expression on his face.
"Those little punks!" Dean snarled, "I'll rip their lungs out!"
"They wouldn't be my friend if you paid them," Sam muttered, "They hated me as soon as they saw me. And all Karen can think is that if I talk to them, that'll change."
He saw his brother calming down and waited for Dean to say something else in his defense, say that he didn't need those twerps and that having one friend was better than having a hundred but Dean didn't.
Instead, he sided with Karen, "They just met you, Squirt, and, did you even try to talk to them yesterday?"
The way Dean asked the question told Sam he knew him like a book and knew he hadn't even attempted to talk to any of his classmates once he'd sensed their animosity.
"No," Sam muttered.
"Well, maybe if you did," Dean began, "They'd see you the way I do… the way Karen does and Bobby does."
Sam's face screwed up. He didn't really want to talk to those kids. Not now.
"Listen, would you just try? For Karen? Try to talk to some of those kids today and maybe it'll be different," Dean said and Sam stared at him, shocked.
"I thought they were punks," he said.
Dean sighed, "Maybe they are… but you'll never know for sure if you don't try and get to know them."
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. Dean's idea was stupid. Why would he now want to try and be friends with kids who had made fun of him only yesterday?
"Please, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Maybe they were just as scared of you yesterday as you were of them."
Sam felt tears well up in his eyes at the words and suddenly Dean was hugging him, realizing he'd said the wrong thing, that the words hadn't come out as he meant to.
"You know what I meant, Sammy, right?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, his head against his brother's chest.
"Let's go and get some breakfast," the twelve-year old suggested, "Or Karen's gonna think we ran away."
W
Just talk to them, Sam thought as he and Dean were dropped off in front of Sioux Falls Elementary a half hour later, maybe Karen's right and all I need to do is talk to them.
Walking around to the back of the school with Dean, Sam searched the growing crowd of children for any of his classmates.
Suddenly he spied Tara, the girl with curly red hair and freckles standing with three other girls from class whose names he didn't recall.
Sam took a deep breath, yanked down his bangs to cover the scarred side of his face and headed straight towards his classmates.
Once he was close enough, he called out a friendly, 'hello!' and waved at them.
Tara and the other girls looked around for a moment before their eyes settled on him; they giggled something to each other that he couldn't hear before scattering into the larger crowd.
Sam tried to keep the smile on his face when Tara reappeared seconds later with Bryce and the boy with black hair who'd likened him to villain of Wes Craven's 'Nightmare on Elm Street' films the day before.
Bryce, taking the lead, stepped right up to Sam.
"Who said you could talk to us?" he asked the young Winchester, standing right in the smaller boy's personal space.
"I…uh… I was…" Sam stammered, making Tara and the black-haired boy giggle from behind Bryce.
"Uh…uh…uh…" Bryce mocked, "If you ever try to talk to us again, I'll knock you out."
Raising his hands, the larger boy shoved Sam, causing him to stumble backwards; into an older student who responded by pushing the eight-year old the other way and making him fall.
Cackling like hyenas, Bryce, Tara and the boy with black-hair melted back into the crowd.
Sam didn't move from the ground right away. His leg was hurting and he didn't think he could get up.
No one noticed- or cared- that he was sitting on the pavement and he went ignored, struggling to keep from crying.
Slowly, struggling to his feet, Sam lifted his head only enough to see the other children's faces and he searched for Billy unsuccessfully until the bell rang.
SPN
Dean met up with his friends as soon as he reached the back of the school.
"Did you ask?" Aiden wanted to know instantly.
Dean nodded, "As long as your Mom's okay with it."
His new friend grinned, "She said I could invite anyone I wanted."
"Cool," Dean commented and the group of boys headed towards the basketball court, Jerome holding the red, white and blue ball he'd brought from home.
SPN
"Billy! Billy?" Sam called out to his friend, searching the copse of trees for the eighth-grader, "Are you here?"
As soon as the bell for first recess had rung, Sam had torn out of the classroom and down the hallway, one of the first children outside and dashed towards the little woods before a teacher could see him- he had an idea that they really weren't supposed to be there- in search of the older boy.
Sam's shoulders slumped when he received no reply. Billy wasn't here. That or he didn't want to talk to Sam anymore.
"BOO!"
Sam shrieked at the touch of a cold hand at the back of his neck and whipped around to see Billy standing behind him, a Cheshire cat grin on his face.
"I told you I'd be here," the older boy reminded him, "Didn't I, Clyde?"
Sam nodded, not daring to speak as his heartbeat returned to a normal pace.
"I didn't see you this morning before school," Sam said, "You weren't in the yard."
Billy said nothing. He reached up and pulled himself into the same oak Sam had climbed the day before, climbing higher and higher quickly, seeming as though he had spent all his life in the trees.
The eight-year old followed, stopping at the very branch he'd rested on the previous day and leaned his back against the oak's sturdy trunk.
Tilting his head up, Sam searched the leaves for a sign of his friend but couldn't see him. Billy must have been very high up.
Lowering his gaze, the eight-year old jumped when he came face-to-face with the older boy. How had Billy managed to get down to his branch without him knowing?
Sam was about to speak when Billy slapped an ice-cold hand over his mouth and leaned forward, until his forehead touched the eight-year old's.
Sam's eyelids drooped as though he was tired and his body went slack, only the oak's trunk preventing him from falling over the edge of the branch.
After a moment or two Billy sat back and sighed, closing his own eyes as though savoring a delicious flavor or delicate aroma.
Opening his eyes, he kept one hand clamped over Sam's mouth and leaned forward, his lips brushing against the boy's ear as he whispered to him…
SPN
Dean paced the floor in front of Sam's classroom at the end of the day. What was taking Sam so long?
The twelve-year old peered in through the pebbled window into the classroom but couldn't see anything.
Suddenly the door burst open and Sam exited, head down, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Seconds later, a crowd of third-graders gushed through the doorway, laughing and chatting.
As the eight-year old passed Dean he reached out and grabbed onto his shirt, urging him forward.
"Sam? Sammy, hey, is everything okay?"
The younger Winchester didn't stop but nodded, "Yeah. It's okay."
Dean wanted to ask him more but Sam wouldn't let go of his shirt and he was compelled to follow.
"Hey! Sam, stop!" Dean cried and dug his heels into the linoleum hallway, forcing his brother to halt in his tracks.
"What's wrong, Sammy? Did you talk to those kids in your class?"
The eight-year old turned to his brother, a smile plastered on his face that Dean thought was really creepy.
"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, "We talked."
"And?" the twelve-year old asked, "What happened?"
"Tara and Ethan laughed at me," Sam told him, still keeping the smile firmly in place, "And Bryce said that he'd hit me if I ever talked to them again."
"That's it," Dean snarled and grabbed his brother by the arm, "We're going to see the Principal."
Sam didn't argue and allowed Dean to drag him to the office.
"We need to see Principal Allen," the twelve-year old demanded of the receptionist even before the door could slam shut behind him.
Before the receptionist could reply, probably to tell Dean not to yell or something, the principal's door opened and there he stood, a concerned look on his face.
"Dean? Is everything alright?" Principal Allen asked.
The twelve-year old didn't have time to be surprised by the fact that the man had remembered his name before launching into a tirade about Sam's classmates picking on him.
Before Dean could finish, Principal Allen raised his hand, "Let's see if we can catch them before they leave. Edna, can you call those three down to the office please?"
The receptionist nodded and used the PA system to call Bryce, Tara and Ethan to the office.
Dean led his brother over to the row of seats they had sat on the first day of school. The twelve-year old noticed his brother no longer had that weird grin on his face but he now looked tired, no, more than tired, exhausted, the skin on his face kind of droopy even.
What the heck? Dean thought before the door opened and Sam's classmates entered, looking confused.
"Principal Allen?" the black-haired boy asked in bewilderment, "Are we in trouble? Why are we here?"
"Why's he here?" Tara asked, pointing at Sam.
"I've been told that you three were calling Sam here names and threatening him," Principal Allen told the trio.
All three children looked up at him utterly flummoxed by the accusation.
"We didn't!" Bryce argued.
"Yes you did!" Dean snapped, "Sam said you did!"
The large third-grader peered at Dean as though he had just grown a second head.
"Uh…well… yesterday…"
"Yes?" Principal Allen urged.
"Maybe we did call him some names," Bryce admitted, his cheeks and neck going red, "But I never threatened him."
"He was acting really weird," Tara interrupted, "This morning, before school. He came over to Ella, Nancy, Michelle and me and waved, but then I got Bryce and Ethan and he was... I don't know… weird… he just kind of stared at us…"
Ethan, the black-haired boy, nodded, "It was like he was a zombie or something. His mouth was kind of hanging open and he was just staring, like Tara said."
"We didn't say nothing to him," Bryce insisted, "It was… creepy… so we left. That's it."
Dean turned in his seat to look at his brother. Sam had never done anything like that before.
Principal Allen looked from the two Winchesters back to the trio of third-graders.
"Well, hm, you know the rules about bullying in this school," he addressed Bryce, Ethan and Tara, "If I hear you've been picking on anyone, the consequences will be severe."
"Yes Principal Allen," all three children said in unison.
"You may go," he told them and they all slunk out of the office.
Next, the elderly man turned to the brothers.
"I don't appreciate being lied to, either," he said and Dean opened his mouth to reply.
Holding up a hand, Principal Allen continued, "I understand that this is all new to you boys and it might be hard to make friends at first, but I won't have anyone making up stories to get their classmates into trouble."
Dean swallowed and closed his mouth. He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye and it didn't appear as if Sam had heard anything the principal had just said.
"Can we go?" the twelve-year old asked and Principal Allen nodded.
The office door opened with such force that it bounced off the opposite wall and there stood Bobby Singer, eyes nearly bugging out of his head.
"Yer here!"
Dean nodded, "We were just talking to Principal Allen."
The mechanic relaxed instantly, looking extremely relieved and gave the receptionist and principal a cursory greeting.
"C'mon boys," he said, holding an arm out to shepherd the Winchesters out of the room.
"What were you talking to the principal about?" Bobby asked as they walked out to his truck.
"You know, he just wanted to see how we were doing," Dean lied, "How we were liking the school and everything."
Bobby harrumphed, "That's no reason to scare a man half out of his wits."
W
Sam was quiet during the drive back to the Salvage Yard, though he didn't look quite as exhausted as he had back in the principal's office.
Karen was working a late shift so it was just Bobby and the boys for dinner. The new father put a frozen lasagna in the oven and made a salad from the ingredients his wife had bought on Sunday to make a meal for himself and the brothers.
As they ate the lasagna, the eight-year old perked up, talking about his friend Billy.
"He's in the eighth grade?" Dean asked, spearing a chunk of pasta and sauce onto his fork.
Sam nodded through a mouthful of salad, "Mmhm."
"Who's his teacher?" the twelve-year old wanted to know.
His brother shrugged, "Dunno. Didn't ask."
"Do you think I could meet him some time?" Dean asked his brother and Sam nodded again.
"I'm glad yer making friends, son," Bobby broke into the conversation, "But aren't there any kids in yer own grade you could chum around with? Maybe from the other grade three class?"
Dean watched as Sam's grip on his fork tightened and he stopped chewing his food.
"Sammy?" he called his brother's name.
"No!" the eight-year snapped, glaring up at his brother and adoptive father.
Bobby sat stunned for a long moment and Dean felt a shiver of fear run down his spine.
"May I be excused?" Sam muttered and slid out of his chair before Bobby could answer, running upstairs; Dean heard the bedroom door slam shut behind his brother.
The auto mechanic stared at Dean, as speechless as he was.
SPN
Sam sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and wrapped his arms around his middle.
Why couldn't they stop asking him about the kids in his class? Why didn't they get it? His classmates hated him. They called him mean names and said they'd hurt him. Why would he want to be friends with them?
Besides, he had a friend. Billy was his friend. Billy never called him names or hated him just because of his face. Billy liked him and he liked Billy.
What was wrong with having just one friend?
SPN
After finishing dinner, Dean left Bobby to clear the dishes and he went upstairs to the room he shared with his brother.
Turning the doorknob slowly, the twelve-year old poked his head into the room, catching sight of his brother sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Hey Squirt, you okay?" he called softly and for a moment Sam didn't answer.
Then, the younger boy slowly looked up and blinked owlishly as though just waking up.
"Dean," he said, as though he'd forgotten all about his brother.
"Are you feeling alright?" Dean asked and stepped into the room.
He wasn't sure but maybe it was the medication for his leg that Dr. Chatsworth had put him on that was making Sam act weird.
"Mmm," the eight-year old hummed a noncommittal sound.
Dean crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside his sibling. He reached out and placed a hand on his brother's brow but Sam didn't feel warm or even feverish.
"I was thinking, Sammy," Dean began slowly, "And I'd really like you to meet the gang, my friends, you know? I think you'd really like them."
Sam peered up at Dean with large, green eyes.
"They won't make fun of me because of-"
Before Sam could finish, Dean shook his head and brushed his brother's bangs away from his face, revealing the scarred side of his face that he was so self-conscious about.
"Nah," the twelve-year old said, "They're good guys."
Sam dropped his gaze, thinking, biting his lip for a long time before he looked up at his brother again and nodded.
"Okay, I'd like that," he said and smiled, a real smile, not the creepy grin he'd plastered onto his face when Dean had picked him up at the end of the day.
SPN
Wednesday morning, Sam sat beside Dean as Bobby drove them to school in his truck. Neither Winchester had seen Karen the night before; she had returned home after the brothers had gone to bed and so she knew nothing about the siblings' visit to the principal.
Sam, anxious to meet Dean's friends, reached out and grabbed his brother's hand, squeezing tightly.
The twelve-year old glanced over at him and smiled encouragingly, squeezing Sam's hand back.
"You boys have a good day and stay outta trouble," Bobby told them as he pulled up in front of the school and parked.
"We will," Dean promised as he slid out of the truck behind his brother.
"C'mon Sammy!" the twelve-year old urged as he headed around to the back of the school, hand still gripping his brother's.
"Hey! Aiden!" Dean called when he caught sight of one of his friends.
The other boy looked up and waved, Jerome and Glenn, who were also already at school, repeated the gesture.
"Who's this?" Glenn asked as Dean ran up to his friends.
Sam, suddenly shy, hid behind his big brother.
"This is my little brother," Dean introduced them, "Sam."
"C'mon Sammy, they won't bite," he urged and pulled his brother out from behind him so that he couldn't hide.
The three boys said hello and asked what class Sam was in.
"Mrs. Marquis'," Sam answered quietly.
The boys were staring at him, clearly curious but they didn't say anything about his face at all.
"My little cousin's in that class," Jerome said, "Do you know Tyson?"
Sam shrugged. He was sure he'd seen the boy but of course, had never spoken to him.
"Sam likes to play basketball," Dean told his friends, "I was thinking he could join us at recess today."
"Are you any good?" Aiden asked Sam seriously.
Dean chuckled, "He's a Squirt but he's fast. You should see him run down the basketball court."
The boys looked up when Mark arrived, racing over towards them and being introduced to the younger Winchester.
"Sounds great," Mark said when told that Sam would be joining their game, "I play with my little sister all the time and she's only in Kindergarten."
It was settled. At recess, Sam would play basketball with Dean and his friends.
When the bell rang for everyone to go inside, the eight-year old didn't even spare a thought for Billy. He was just happy that not all kids were as mean as the ones in his class and looked forward to spending time with his brother and the older boys.
SPN
"Shoot Sammy! Shoot!"
Dean couldn't help but grin as he heard Jerome call his brother by the nickname he himself used, urging the third-grader to try and get the basketball into the net.
Sam bent his knees, paused as though gauging the distance between himself and the basket before throwing the ball.
The orange ball bounced off the backboard, hit the rim of the basket and appeared to hover for a second or two, as though with indecision before dropping through the net.
"YEAH!" Jerome and Aiden shouted in unison, hands raised to the eight-year old for 'high fives'.
Sam was smiling from ear to ear, looking happier than Dean had seen him since school had started.
Maybe now Sam could forget about those asshole kids in his class and that Billy guy and feel like he belonged. Dean didn't think his friends would have a problem hanging out with him and Sam, especially now that they knew how good at basketball his brother was.
All too soon the bell to go back inside rang and Dean bade goodbye to his brother, giving Sam a hug before the eight-year old ran off to his classroom.
"Where'd your brother learn to play like that?" Mark asked, curiously.
"He was taught by the best," Dean commented, smirking.
"Oh really? Who's that?" Jerome added, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders.
"Ha ha ha," the eldest Winchester laughed humorlessly.
"Really though, he's pretty good for being eight," Mark told Dean and the older brother smiled.
"Surprising when he's that short," Aiden commented.
Dean nodded.
"Hey, Dean, I was wondering uh… what happened to your brother's face? Why's it all scarred like that?" Glenn asked hesitantly as they stepped inside and headed towards the stairs to the second floor of the school.
"When he was a baby he got burned in a fire," Dean answered, seeing no reason to lie to his friends. He'd already told them that they were orphans and had only just moved to Sioux Falls to live with their adoptive parents.
"Damn," Glenn swore, "That sucks. Couldn't the doctors or whoever, fix it?"
"They did as much as they could," Dean told him, "But I mean, we were just kids and didn't have money for plastic surgery or whatever, still don't."
His friends nodded solemnly.
To dispel the awkward silence, Dean asked his friends if they'd like to have Sam play basketball with them again.
"Heck yeah!" Glenn announced, "But next time he's on my team, okay?"
Dean smiled as the five of them entered their classroom and took their seats.
SPN
Sam stared out the window as he listened to Mrs. Marquis give her lesson, his chin propped up on the heel of his hand, gaze lingering on the line of trees bordering the schoolyard.
He had had fun- a lot of fun, if he was honest with himself- with Dean and his friends and he wanted to play with them again. But he also felt kind of bad that Billy hadn't been there. Maybe he'd like to play basketball with them? Sam decided that at the next recess he'd find his friend and see if he wanted to meet Dean and the other boys.
W
"Sam, would you please start us off?" Mrs. Marquis asked the eight-year old as she opened her copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and the class likewise opened their copies of the C.S. Lewis classic.
Sam stared down at the book in front of him, nervous about reading out loud. He could feel his classmates' eyes on him and a drop of cold sweat broke out on his brow.
I can do this, Sam thought; I like to read, so I can read to other people too.
"Sam?" Mrs. Marquis brought the boy out of his thoughts and he cleared his throat.
"'Ch-Chapter one'," he began, "'Lucy L-Looks Into A Wardobe'."
Sam paused for a moment before continuing, keeping his eyes fixed on the words in front of him and not on the thoughts of his classmates listening to him.
"'Once there were f-four children wh-whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This is a story is about something that happened to them…'"
As Sam read, his voice became stronger and he stopped worrying about what the other kids in his class thought and concentrated on the story. He was a bit disappointed when, at the end of the chapter, Mrs. Marquis thanked him for reading and asked a girl in the front row to continue.
W
Sam tore out of the double doors and into the schoolyard as soon as the bell rang. Pelting across the grass before a teacher could see, he reached the copse of trees and slipped into the wooded area.
"Billy? Billy you here?" the eight-year old called happily, panting.
Glancing around, all Sam saw were trees and leaf litter, no sign of his friend.
"Billy?" Sam called again, thinking that maybe the older boy was still making his way across the field. He peered out towards the school through the trees, trying to catch sight of his friend.
An icy hand gripped his shoulder suddenly and turned him around. It was Billy!
Sam hadn't even heard the older boy approach.
"Bill-" the eight-year old began but his words died in his throat.
Billy wasn't smiling. In fact, he was frowning, his eyes narrowed as though he was angry.
"Where were you, Clyde?" the eighth-grader asked, using the name he always called Sam like it was a not-so nice thing to call someone, like the words Sam was used to being called.
"I… I was p-playing basketball with my brother and his f-friends," Sam stammered. He'd never seen Billy look like this and it was scaring him a little.
"I was here! Waiting for you!" Billy snapped, face inches from Sam's.
"I'm sorry," the little boy apologized.
"Am I not your friend?" The older boy asked in an accusatory tone, "I thought you were hip but maybe I was wrong and you're just another nosebleed."
Billy punctuated his words by tightening his grip on Sam's shoulder, causing the younger boy to squirm with discomfort.
"You are!" Sam exclaimed, "You are my friend, Billy!"
The older boy didn't respond, he just gripped Sam's shoulder all the more tighter.
"Please, let me go!" Sam cried out, "You're hurting me!"
Billy growled and yanked Sam forwards, still not letting him go, and slammed his back against the trunk of a large maple tree.
Sam groaned in pain.
"I'm your friend," Billy said in a quiet voice, his nose nearly touching Sam's, "Me. Only me."
The eight-year old stared up at his friend with tear-filled eyes, frightened.
Billy's frown cracked and he smiled, grinned without opening his mouth. He reached out and ran his fingers through Sam's longish hair.
Leaning his face a little closer to the younger child's, he opened his mouth and began whispering into Sam's ear…
SPN
Dean couldn't help but be a little disappointed when he didn't see Sam during the lunch recess. He'd thought his brother had really enjoyed playing basketball and his friends.
Maybe he was wrong though.
Sighing, Dean tried to focus on the basketball game underway with his friends but his heart wasn't in it.
"Hey Dean! Get your head in the game!" Aiden snapped, irritated.
"Sorry," he muttered, "I'm just thinking about Sammy."
"What about him?" Mark asked.
"I thought he was going to play with us again," Glenn added, as Aiden and Jerome stopped playing and went to see what the matter was.
"I did too, but he's not here and I haven't seen him all recess," Dean told his friends.
"Maybe he's just hanging out with some kids from his own class," Aiden suggested.
Dean shook his head, "No, he's not. He won't even talk to them, says they hate him."
"Then where is he, do you think?" Jerome asked.
"Sam met this eighth-grader the first day we were here and he's been hanging out with him a lot," Dean told his friends, "And ever since he's been acting really strange."
"Strange how?" Mark asked.
"I don't know. I can't describe it," Dean sighed, frustrated, "But if you knew Sammy like I do, you'd know he's not himself."
"What's the kid's name?" Glenn asked and Dean told them.
"Billy? Like, short for William?" Glenn wondered out loud.
"I guess," Dean muttered, "Didn't really ask Sammy about it."'
His friends looked at one another.
"I don't think there's any eighth-graders named Billy," Jerome told Dean and the eldest Winchester's head shot up, alarmed.
"What?!" Dean asked, his heart suddenly picking up its pace in his chest.
"There could be, you know," Jerome backtracked, "I just can't think of any Billy in particular right now."
"Maybe it's an imaginary friend?" Aiden suggested.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, "My little sister has an imaginary friend she calls Bobo."
Dean shook his head, "Sam's too old for that stuff."
The four other boys stood around awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to say, all of them jumping when the bell rang.
"It's probably some eighth-grader," Jerome told Dean, trying to reassure him, "I mean, we don't know all of them by name."
The other boys nodded, agreeing that that seemed logical.
Dean nodded as well, but all the while thinking that that did not explain Sam's strange behaviour the past few days.
SPN
Sam sank down into his chair as his classmates milled around him, talking and taking their jackets off.
"Freak."
Looking up, he saw Bryce as the larger boy walked past him, towards his own desk. It had been him who had spoken.
Sam lowered his gaze to the top of his desk and tried not to listen to his classmates' talk.
It didn't work. It seemed as though his ears were searching out those cruel names and he heard them in amongst the normal third-grader chitchat: Freak, Monster, Weirdo, Spaz, Krueger.
He closed his eyes. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be with Billy.
Billy, who never called him names.
Billy, who really cared about him.
Billy, who was his only true friend.
SPN
Dean was surprised when he didn't have to wait for his brother to leave class at the end of the day. Sam was already outside the room, backpack and jacket on, hands stuffed into his pockets, waiting for him.
"Hey," Dean greeted, "I thought you wanted to play basketball with us. Why didn't you come over at recess?"
Sam shrugged, "They're your friends, Dean."
The twelve-year old frowned, "They could be yours too."
"I have-" Sam began but Dean held up a hand.
"If you say 'Billy' I'm going to scream," the twelve-year old threatened.
Sam looked at him for a moment before glancing away down the hall.
Sighing, Dean grabbed his brother's wrist, "C'mon, Bobby's waiting for us."
W
"TV off boys," Karen called late that evening as the siblings sat watching some cartoons in the den, "Go upstairs and take a bath."
Dean groaned but slid off the couch, grabbing the television remote and jabbing the OFF button as he did so.
"C'mon Sammy," the twelve-year old said, "You heard the Warden."
"I heard that!" Karen called from the kitchen where she was making an apple pie.
Dean smirked and headed upstairs to the bedroom to grab clean underwear and his pajamas.
As soon as Sam had his hands on his own clothes, his older brother spoke up, "I call first bath!"
Dean turned and ran full-tilt towards the bathroom, hearing his brother racing after him.
Slamming his palm against the light switch as he skidded into the bathroom, Dean undressed within seconds and had already turned on the tap in the bathtub before Sam was in the doorway.
"No fair," Sam whined, giggling, "My leg's still hurting."
"Too bad," Dean commented.
Sam pouted for a moment before sitting on the closed toilet lid. Dean stepped into the tub, drawing the shower curtain halfway for a bit of privacy.
"Really? You haven't said anything about it?" Dean asked in a more serious tone, wondering about his brother's leg.
As if to prove that it was still sore, Sam leaned over and put a hand on his calf.
W
"Okay Sammy, your turn," Dean told his brother as he stood up and grabbed his towel to dry himself.
Letting the used water out of the tub, Dean shoved the stopper back in and ran the tap again for clean bathwater for his sibling.
Sam stood up and began to get undressed.
"Oh my God! Sam! What happened?" Dean exclaimed as he caught sight of the large purple bruise on his brother's shoulder.
"What?" Sam asked, and turned.
Dean's eyes widened at the bruises on his sibling's back.
"What the hell?"
Sam froze for a moment, his face once again taking on that exhausted look it had the day before, the skin looking pale and droopy and spongy.
"It's okay, Dean. Billy and I were just playing."
"Nuh huh," the older Winchester shook his head, "That's not good, Sammy."
"I'm fine, Dean," Sam assured him, "Billy and me are gonna be careful."
"Maybe I should tell Karen," Dean suggested.
"No!" Sam snapped, "I said I was okay!"
"I'll be more careful next time," the eight-year old assured him, "I promise."
Oh-Okay," Dean said, "But if anything like this happens again, I am gonna tell Karen."
The brothers didn't speak again until they were ready for bed, Karen and Bobby tucking them in and they bade goodnight to each other.
W
Dean lay awake for a long time, confused and worried about his brother.
He had no idea what was going on with his sibling, who had been acting fine up until they had started school.
Dean especially didn't like this Billy kid if he was hurting Sam, even by accident.
Maybe I should have a talk with him, Dean thought, let him know I'm not gonna let him do anything to Sammy.
A chill ran through the twelve-year old and he shivered.
Tomorrow, Thursday, he'd get Sam to find this Billy character so they could meet in person.
W
"DEAN!"
The twelve-year old looked around the crowded playground, hearing one of his friends calling his name the next morning after Bobby had dropped him and Sam off.
"DEAN!"
The call came again, closer this time and Dean dragged his sibling with him towards the sound.
It was Glenn. The boy, normally of a ruddy complexion, was strangely pale.
"Is everything okay? What's wrong?" Dean asked, trying to keep a hold on his brother who wouldn't stop tugging at him, trying to get away.
"Sam! Stop it! Sam! Sam?" Dean snapped at his sibling his anger turning to surprise when his brother slipped out of his jacket and took off through the crowd of kids, leaving his brother to hold his discarded garment.
"We've gotta talk to you," Glenn said but Dean ignored him, calling out his brother's name again.
"It's about Sam."
That made the twelve-year old stop and look at his friend.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his heart skipping a beat.
"C'mere," Glenn beckoned with one hand and Dean followed, catching sight of Aiden, Mark and Jerome leaning against the wall beside the boarded-up classroom.
"What are you talking about, Glenn?" Dean demanded, "What's about Sam?"
He noticed that all his friends looked rather tired and sickly, as though none of them had gotten much sleep the night before. His heart rate increased and he felt sweat bead on his forehead.
"I was thinking about what you'd said yesterday," Mark said, "About Sam saying his friend was some grade eight kid named Billy."
Dean nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"We checked," Jerome spoke up, "There is no boy in grade eight named Billy."
"What… what are you saying?" Dean asked, "Is he from a different school?"
Mark shook his head, "I told my older brother about it 'casue he knows everything- he's in grade ten out at the high school- and he told me this… this kid, Billy used to go to school here a long time ago, like, in the '50s is what he said."
Dean frowned, "But that doesn't make sense? Billy would be an adult now, wouldn't he?"
Was his brother hanging out with some creepy grown up who skulked around the schoolyard hoping to talk to the little kids?
As though he could read Dean's thoughts, Mark shook his head, "That's what I thought too. But Eric said that wasn't it. Billy is still here, still a kid."
Dean opened his mouth to speak but Mark beat him to it, "Billy's dead."
The eldest Winchester took a step back, feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach.
"What?" he wheezed, staring in disbelief at his friends.
"My brother told me the story," Mark said, "I remember hearing about it too but I never connected the dots, you know?"
Dean looked to Jerome and Aiden and Glenn; they were all nodding in agreement to Mark's words.
This is some joke, Dean thought, they're pulling my leg.
"This isn't funny," he told them vehemently.
"We're not joking," Aiden told him, "And if we aren't joking, than your brother's in danger."
"Who…" Dean licked his lips before continuing, "Who is this Billy?"
Mark spoke, telling him exactly what his brother had told him.
"Billy Jenkins used to go to school here years ago, in the fifties," he started, locking his gaze with Dean's, "And he was a bad kid."
"He never listened to any of the nuns or priests who taught and he never did homework," Mark continued, "He was always getting the strap and stuff like that but he didn't care."
"That wasn't the worst either. He was always picking on the other kids, didn't matter who; stealing from them, fighting with them, calling them names, even the little ones," Mark kept on, his eyes fixed on Dean's, "He only ever had one friend… well, not really a friend, my brother said, more like a slave, some kid a few years younger than him, in grade two or three. Kid was poor as dirt and the other kids didn't really like him so he found Billy and stuck to him like glue. Billy didn't care whether the kid was poor or not, he just liked having someone to worship the ground he walked on."
As Mark spoke, Dean felt a cold seep into jacket, through his skin and into his bones and stay there.
"That little kid, he would do anything for Billy," the twelve-year old continued, "For years, or so my brother said. Anyway, one day, Billy misses school and the kid, now that he's by himself, gets invited to play by some of his classmates for the first time."
"You can imagine how happy the kid is," Mark said, "To be playing and not following Billy around all the time."
"It's like the kid realizes that there's others out there besides Billy and when Billy comes back to the school after a day or two, the boy doesn't come running over like he's expected."
So cold, Dean was so cold, his heart was hammering in his chest as though it wanted to break through his rib cage.
"Billy's furious, but he's also curious, so he finds the boy and watches him for a while, playing with his classmates, acting as though he'd completely forgotten about Billy."
"The next day, Billy's got everything planned," Mark keeps going, his voice wavering now, with fear and something approaching revulsion.
"Before school starts, when everyone's hanging around, Billy finds the kid and starts sweet-talking him, asking him how he likes his new friends and all that kind of stuff," Mark continued, "All the while Billy's leading the kid inside, where there's no teachers."
Dean felt as though his knees were going to give out. He didn't want Mark to finish the story but he knew he had to hear it out, if only to save Sam.
"Billy leads the kid down the hallway to the back of the school, where we go outside for recess now," Mark was saying, "and he brings the boy into this classroom."
Dean looked up at the boarded-up window Mark and the others were standing in front of.
"Billy closes the door and locks it 'cause back then they locked from the inside," Mark continued, "But the boy doesn't notice, he just keeps talking, happy to have found new friends."
"Billy goes to the teacher's desk and starts pulling open drawers, looking for something."
"The kid stops talking and asks Billy what he's doing," Mark said, "And Billy just says 'I thought you were my friend.'"
"Billy's got his hands on a pair of scissors, the old-fashioned kind, heavy, metal, with long blades, and he just stands there, hiding them, waiting for the boy to answer."
"And the kid says something like 'I can have more than one friend' or something like that, my brother told me," Mark told them, "And then Billy loses his shit. I mean, really, he leaps over the teacher's desk and stabs the kid in the chest with the scissors."
Mark stopped and Dean closed his eyes, praying that he was finished.
"The kid hits the first row of students' desks but doesn't fall. He's kind of paralyzed and Billy pulls the scissors out, stabbing him again."
"My brother said Billy stabbed that boy about a hundred times," Mark told Dean, "So many times you couldn't even recognize him anymore."
Dean felt his stomach clench with nausea.
"Just then, some nun comes in, maybe looking for her scissors or something," Mark continues, "And tries to open the door but its locked of course. She has a key and unlocks to door to find Billy and the kid surrounded by a pool of blood. She screams and a bunch of people come running. They trap Billy in the room, or at least stand outside the door so he's forced to stay inside or meet them, and someone calls the police."
"It doesn't take long for the Sheriff to arrive and they open the door to the room, gonna take Billy to jail or whatever they did with kids like that back then, but he slips past, and books it through the doors closest to the classroom and out into the yard."
"The Sheriff chases him all the way to the trees and Billy climbs up one, trying to escape. The cops are all standing around at the bottom, yelling at him to come down and all that. Billy hangs on to that tree and isn't coming down for nothing."
"The tree was rotted on the inside and Billy didn't know that, so he's hanging there, thinking he's got the best of the Sheriff, at least for a little while at least, when the branch he's holding onto breaks and he falls. Billy breaks his neck."
Dean groaned, feeling as though he really was going to be sick.
"So… So his ghost is still here? Looking for little kids to kill?"
Mark nodded, "That's not the worst part."
Dean gave his friend a look of 'you've got to be kidding me' but Mark looked as serious as ever.
"They refused to bury Billy in the churchyard 'cause he'd killed that boy," Mark said, "So his parents pulled some strings and had him buried here. At the school."
Dean's mouth dropped open in shock.
"Where?" he asked.
Mark shrugged, "My brother told me they thought he was underneath the baseball diamond. It wasn't there back when the school first opened."
"Has… has anyone died here since B-Billy?" Dean asked, "Because of Billy?"
He couldn't believe he was actually talking about this kid as though he really was a ghost. He'd never really believed in things like that, especially when the living were more dangerous than any angry spirit, in his opinion.
"Back in the early 70s a girl slipped on some ice in front of the school and cracked her head open," Mark said, "But I don't think Billy did that."
Dean thought back on the events of the past few days of school, of Sam's strange aggression, his insistence that his classmates hated him and that Billy was his only friend, the strange bruises he'd seen on his brother's back just the night before and Dean Winchester made up his mind that maybe ghosts really did exist and one was out to get his sibling.
"I have to find Sammy," he gasped, reeling from the revelation his friends had dumped onto him.
"We'll help," Mark told him and all five boys dashed off across the schoolyard, calling the younger Winchester's name frantically.
Author's Note:
Chapter title comes from a Bullet For My Valentine song.
Thanks to Trucklady53, LeeMarieJack, SPN Mum, SamDeanLover28, Wholocked221, need2no, BranchSuper, Sad-Blue-Eyed-Angel 2010, MasterNinjaPie, StyxxsOmega, jensensgirl3, mikeysrevenge, Souless666, ForgottenDreamer98, Kas3y, SameenReese, CatastrophicCarnival, 1hotpepper, Bianca Valdez, AlxM, Wolf77, madworld27, FIGHTTHEFAIRIES, Nalana88 for reviewing.
I looked up some 1950's slang on the Internet for Billy Jenkins' speech, in case you're wondering where those terms come from. I am not sure how accurate they are but I decided to use them anyway. I apologize for any mistakes I've made.
Hope you enjoyed this super long chapter. I know, I know, I ended it in a cliffhanger. Please send me a review and I'll try and relieve your suspense as soon as possible.
