AN: Well, it took some hand-wringing and more than a few ideas from Janice to drop-kick the muse to force her back to work, but here's the beginning of my next multi-chapter fic.

Janice has really put in the work to help with beta'ing already only one chapter in!

Pre-series, late winter of 1999, so Dean is 20 and Sam is 15 going on 16.

I don't own 'em, but I do love 'em.

* * *

If he'd approved of the hunt, Dad would have appreciated the planning Sam had put into it. Dean, too, would have admired Sam's determination and the care he took in executing his scheme. Of course, neither of them would understand in the slightest his mission – to get admitted into advanced placement literature.

All of the AP classes available at the local high school was the main reason Sam had suggested North Adams, Massechusetts, as their next place of residence. It had fallen within the broad area where Dad had wanted to end up, since apparently there was an upswing in supernatural activity in and around the Berkshires near the spring equinox, which was quickly approaching. And since Dad had tasked Sam with finding them a town to stay in for a few months, he could use whatever criteria he wanted, as long as he stayed within the pre-set parameters.

Now Sam was preparing to get himself into the last class he wanted. He'd simply tested into Advanced Calculus and Third Year Latin, but the vice principal wasn't allowing him into the AP literature class, stating that they were well into the semester. Sam had explained that they moved a lot and he'd have no problem catching up and was even willing to do the work he'd missed, but the man had been unmoved. Sam was similarly undeterred.

He had asked around to find out the teacher who actually taught the class, hoping she could overrule the tight-laced vice principal. He was now hanging out near the administrative office, which teachers had to pass through to get to their break room, at the end of the school day even though he hadn't technically started school yet.

When his target, Mrs. Gill, emerged from her classroom near the end of the hall, Sam went into the office. He had no idea if this would work. If Vice Principal Stewart wasn't there or wouldn't talk or closed his office door, or if Mrs. Gill took too long to get there, Sam was screwed. But then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Mr. Stewart was talking to one of the school secretaries at her desk just inside the door, which couldn't have worked out better. He looked up when Sam walked in and a resigned expression slid onto his face. (Sam was well aware of that look. He'd inspired it in Dean and Dad often enough.)

"Mr. Winchester," the administrator greeted, a little flatly.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you," said Sam politely, even meekly. He might not like working the people around him the way Dean seemed to, but he was still good at it. He didn't have Dean's smooth charm or Dad's air of competent authority, but he knew how to use his self-effacing shyness and what Dean liked to call his puppy-dog eyes. (Winchester rule number 36: Always know your strengths and don't be afraid to use them.) Throw in a sir or ma'am and adults looked at him and thought what a sweet, polite boy.

Sam bit his lip and ducked his head and looked through his hair, really putting his all into this. (He couldn't look up to the man since they were nearly eye-to-eye, thanks to a much-anticipated growth spurt, but hopefully it was still effective.)

Mr. Stewart sighed, probably well used to resisting teenage pleas, although admittedly most were probably not pleas to get into more challenging classes

"I was hoping to change your mind about letting me take advanced placement literature." Sam spoke quickly so the man didn't have a chance to shut him down too fast. He needed to still be talking when Mrs. Gill walked in. On cue, the door opened behind him. "I know they're studying Shakespeare, and I've read over half of his works, and I really want the chance to take the class and I promise I can catch up –"

"Mr. Winchester. You can just take Advanced Lit next year –"

"Excuse me." Mrs. Gill interrupted, smiling at Sam and Mr.Stewart. Sam had to work hard to keep triumph off his face. He was positive that he could convince the teacher to let him into the class if he just had the opportunity. It was a rare teacher that could resist a student who showed both interest and aptitude in their preferred area.

After a quick discussion between the adults that Sam studiously pretended not to eavesdrop on, Mrs. Gill invited Sam to come to her classroom to lobby for entrance into the desired class.

"Have you really read over half of Shakespeare's works?" she asked when they were seated in her room, her in her office chair and Sam in one of the too-small desks.

"Well, over half of his plays, anyway," Sam admitted. "I haven't read a lot of his sonnets." The truth was, he didn't mind the bard.

"Do you have a favorite play?" Mrs. Gill was curious and Sam wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Six feet tall but skinny (scrawny, Dean said) by virtue of the five inches he'd put on in a year or so, ratty jeans heavily belted and just a little too short, two t-shirts and two more oversized flannel shirts, soft from many washes, all of it – and Sam – clean but shabby. He put on his most earnest face and considered the question. Whatever she thought of his clothes, he knew from countless comments that his face looked young and innocent.

"I know it's not popular, but I kind of like Othello," he admitted, wondering if he should have lied and picked a more typical choice.

Mrs. Gill raised her eyebrows and Sam tried to guess what she was thinking. Dean would have flirted with her (even while still in high school) but Sam would just have to try to convince her that he deserved to be in her class.

"I kinda like that Iago never tells anyone why he did everything, because I think that's like real life. You don't usually know everything, especially about people's motives."

"That's...fairly deep, Sam."

They talked a bit longer. He nearly slipped up once, though, when she asked if he had a favorite Shakespearean quote. He should have come out with something from Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet or even the ever-popular "Cowards die many times before their deaths, but the valiant taste of death but once" from Julius Caesar. Instead, he blurted, "Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy," from the depressingly misanthropic Timon of Athens.

Sam regretted the words as soon as he said them, convinced that Mrs. Gill would be yet another in a long string of people who looked at Sam like he was a freak. But then he'd explained that he'd read an article about the failure of incarceration as a deterrent to crime, and by the end of their discussion, she'd believed that Sam was thoughtful and brilliant and even said, "you should consider going into law, Sam."

In the end, she promised him that she would speak to the vice principal and see that he was allowed into the class. He noted Mrs. Gill studying him thoughtfully as he left, but he didn't care. He didn't seem to quite fit anybody's expectations, so he got all kinds of weird and suspicious looks. He was almost used to it.

The upshot of all of it was that these classes would really dress up Sam's high school transcript and give elite schools something beyond just a patchwork of A's to interest them when he eventually applied. He smiled again at the thought.

Sam was still smiling as he walked back. There were a lot of external reasons to be unhappy, but he hardly noticed them. The sky was the peculiar gray that meant impending snow, and though it was around 30 degrees, the fitful wind was brutally cold when it smacked him in the face over and over presaging a downturn in temperatures. He wore a coat more suited to September than February and even four layers of shirts didn't help much. His hands were bare, shoved into coat pockets, and his feet were soaked, his worn tennies no match for the sludge that littered the ground everywhere you looked. Area weathermen were already warning that the wet slop on the ground was going to freeze overnight, fouling up the next day's commute by making an extra slippery layer under the new snow.

But Sam didn't care about any of that. He had been successful in his mission. "Find us somewhere to stay in the Berkshires," Dad had said, and left it at that. Given such a broad range of options, Sam had selected North Adams, Massachusetts, home of an award-winning high school that offered more college-level and AP classes than any Sam had attended so far.

Two or three schools ago, a teacher named Mr. Wyatt had planted the idea of getting a higher education and doing something that wasn't hunting in Sam's mind, and he'd never really let go of it. Ever since, whenever Sam had access to a computer that Dad and Dean wouldn't see, he'd research what it took to get into various universities and earn scholarships. Everywhere he looked, it suggested upper-level classes.

Dad had sent the two boys ahead to find a place to stay and get established in the town, meaning they were going to stay for more than a couple of weeks. (Sam was really, really hoping he could end out the semester in North Adams, but he knew that was asking for a lot.) Dad needed another day or two in Valley City, North Dakota, to clean things up after their last hunt and then he'd join them.

At Sam's request, Dean had dropped him off at the high school with all the requisite paperwork containing "Dad's" signature. Sam had completed the ridiculously simple placement testing and, between that and his efforts with Mrs. Gill, had gotten himself into all of the classes he wanted.

Sam reflected on his success as he trudged along, head down to protect his face from the wind. He was getting adept at showing people the persona he wanted them to see, a necessary skill for a Hunter but not one he was especially proud of.

A familiar rumble broke into Sam's consciousness, and he knew that it was the Impala before the sleek vehicle pulled up beside him. "Hey, cutie. Whatcha doing walking in this nasty weather?" Dean drawled in an exaggerated come-hither voice. "If a pretty girl like you showed a little skin, I bet you could get yourself a ride."

Sam pulled one hand from its pocket and very deliberately extended the middle finger, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

"Good enough," said Dean in his normal voice. "Get in before you freeze your balls off."

Sam got in gratefully and put his hands in front of the vents while Dean turned the heat up to full blast. Whenever they stayed somewhere cold, he put a large piece of cardboard in front of the radiator, making the car much faster and better at producing heat. "Thanks," Sam sighed.

"Why were you walking anyway? I said I'd come back for you," Dean complained, looking down at Sam's soaked shoes.

"I didn't want to just hang around empty halls. Besides, it isn't that far." A two-mile walk was nothing to them.

Dean snorted. He rarely walked anywhere that he could drive.

They were back at the house (house! There weren't any apartments available in the entire little hamlet.) in no time, and Sam was more than happy to change into warm and dry pants and socks. He ignored Dean's frown. He knew his brother wasn't pleased with Sam's inadequate winter gear, but since he had shot up five inches since his last birthday it was hard just to keep him clothed. He knew once he slowed down Dad would get him boots and a real winter coat.

Sam didn't really care about being cold. He was too busy thinking about school and getting into college one day. He couldn't let on about his good mood too much or Dean would insist on knowing what was up, and Sam wasn't anywhere close to ready for that conversation. Dean assumed that they'd hunt together as a family forever and couldn't imagine wanting anything different. And as for Dad...

The boys' shared cell phone rang and Dean answered it, his face going serious as he listened.

"Yes, sir," Dean said after a moment. "Sammy's here, so I'm going to put you on speaker." He put word to action and Sam stepped forward.

"Got hit by a drunk driver on my way outta town last night," rumbled Dad without preamble. "Broke my damn leg and truck's totaled. Jim's coming to get me. You might as well head to Blue Earth, cuz I'm gonna be in this cast for four to six weeks."

Sam's mouth fell open farther with every word. Dad being hurt wasn't exactly unusual, but Sam could hardly remember a time when it had actually sidelined him. And...a car accident? It seemed far too mundane to take down the indomitable John Winchester. Also, there was a lot of guilt in the thought that Sam had been out plotting to go off to college some day while his dad had been alone in a hospital bed. He swallowed hard.

"Hey, Dad," he said, barely managing to keep his voice from cracking. "You're really okay? Just your leg is hurt?" Sam expected Dean to give him a dirty look and Dad to bitch at him because they simply didn't question Dad or inquire about his welfare beyond the most perfunctory check-ins in the immediate aftermath of a hunt. But Dean looked almost grateful that Sam had asked, and Dad actually chuckled a little.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm fine. It's not even that bad of a break. Got some big-ass bruises and a few small cuts but nothing big."

Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. They might fight a lot, but that didn't mean he wanted anything to happen to his dad. Now that he knew that his father wasn't hurt, disappointment winged through Sam. So much for one of the best high schools in the state of Massachusetts and AP calculus, Latin, and literature.

"We can leave in the morning," Dean said, interrupting Sam's thoughts.

"I hope we can get our money back for the house rental," Sam interjected, all faux-casual. "Dean, you'll need to call the school and tell them that I'm not coming Monday after all."

Dean gave Sam a narrow-eyed look that said he knew that Sam as up to something. "Hmm. That's right. You sure you don't want us to just stay put, Dad? Or I can head out to bring you back here while Sammy stays here." He raised an eyebrow at Sam as if to say, see – I got your back.

A sigh from Dad hissed over the line. "No, but you're right about the money for the house." They'd put down an entire month's worth of rent.

"Both you boys stay there. In a week or so, I'll be able to drive, so I'll grab a vehicle and head out. That's about all of Jim's mother-henning I'll be able to take anyway." There was a familiar voice in the background, clearly complaining, and Sam and Dean exchanged a smile. Another family friend, Bobby, often said that Dad could try the patience of a saint. Sam had a feeling that it wouldn't take long for Dad to try the patience of the pastor who'd be putting him up until he was able to drive.

"Jim says hi," Dad continued, a smile in his voice. "Now behave and don't draw attention to yourselves." The instructions continued for a few minutes, but they didn't rankle like they often did. After all, Sam was getting what he wanted.

They rang off and Dean instantly turned a piercing gaze to Sam. "So what's the big draw for North wherever-we-are? I mean, it's not quite as cold as Minnesota, but that's the best thing I can say about this place."

Sam shrugged. "I like it here," he said, since he couldn't say the real reason. Dean wouldn't understand it any better than he'd understand if Sam said he was into ornithology and there were unique birds in the area.

"You met a cute girl when you went to scope out the school, didn't you?" Dean guessed and chortled when Sam blushed, wrongly taking it as confirmation. "Grow a few inches and suddenly little Sammy's a player," Dean teased, drawing out the last word and pronouncing it play-uh.

"You're an idiot," Sam muttered, feeling his face getting redder. Dean might have supported him on the surprisingly effective ploy to stay put in North Adams, but he was still annoying. "It's not a girl."

"Tell me all about her," Dean wheedled. "Is she one of those shy, sexy geek types? Or are you lookin' to fight above your weight class? It's a cheerleader, isn't it? Blonde, tight shirt...man, I love cheerleaders." Dean grabbed Sam in a headlock as he spoke, and it took a punch to his side for Sam to get free. (That was still weird – not that long before, Sam could never get free until Dean decided to let him go.)

They bickered for a while, and Sam was relieved that Dean didn't guess his real reason for wanting to stay.

Sam, feeling grateful, offered to pick up pizza. Dean hemmed and hawed about Sam getting the food, pretending to debate between eating cold pizza or allowing his brother to drive his car. They both knew he wouldn't let Sam walk again. Finally, with a great deal of drama, he handed over the keys. After all, Sam finally looked at least his age, and he had a shiny North Dakota driver's license claiming he was 16 just in case he happened to get pulled over on the mile to the restaurant.

Dean made Sam put on his own coat and boots, the latter of which were actually a little too small even though Sam wasn't quite as tall as Dean. Yet.

The pizza place had spots to sit down and a few girls near his age were huddled at one table chatting over sodas. They hushed at the sight of Sam, and he caught snatches of a much quieter conversation as he stood in line. New student?...saw him at school today...tall… The general feel of the comments and the interested glances were a whole lot more positive than Sam was used to, and he could feel his ears getting hot.

Maybe Dean had been onto something with his teasing about Sam no longer being a little shrimp. It was weird. He'd been known as Dean's little brother his whole life in so many different schools that he was still getting used to not having that even though it had been a few years. Looked like Sam might be moving on from wimpy-looking outsider in crappy clothes. Sure, it was only changing to something like tall outsider in crappy clothes, but it was still an improvement.

The man behind the counter took Sam's name and order and said it would be twenty minutes. Sam propped a hip against the wall and one of the girls shocked him by smiling and calling, "You can sit by us while you wait, if you want to. Sam, is it?"

North Adams was really starting to grow on him.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Sam was a little disappointed that Dean went out that night after the pizza was gone. He wasn't exactly surprised, since Dean always felt the need to get the lay of the land any place new they stayed, especially without Dad there to scout around. And between getting set up with a working phone and getting Sam signed up for school and starting to look for a job, he probably hadn't had too much time to look around. Still, Sam had kind of hoped for a movie night with his brother. Though it was Thursday night, Sam wasn't going to start school until Monday, so he had no reason to go to bed early and no homework to distract himself. He didn't even have his school books yet.

Dean had forbade Sam from going outside after dark, again SOP in any new place, no matter how idyllic the town might seem. Sam had pushed this boundary before ("you were 'scouting' more dangerous places than this when you were younger than I am now") but it was always useless ("but you don't have to because you have a big brother"). Sam wasn't above ignoring Dean's instructions, but he didn't have much interest in a walk at the moment anyway. They were on the edge of a neighborhood to one side and rows of small businesses like gas stations and hair cut places to the other – nothing interesting. Dean might like to prowl town and city streets and alleys (and bars), but Sam greatly preferred wildernesses, woods, and open spaces.

The television was decent but there was no cable, so the programming available was mind-numbing. Reruns of ALF and a dubbed version of Godzilla that looked like it was filmed by 10-year-olds in their parents' garage were the best of the pathetic offerings.

Out of desperation, Sam dug through the weapons bag, which also held whatever books Dad had procured for his latest research project or current hunt. He came up with an impressively heavy book with curly gold script on the front: Natural Cycles and the Paranormal: Correlation or Causality?

He almost put it back, assuming it was about weres. Since Dad said that werewolves were the only type still extant, and they already knew how to handle wolves, it seemed useless. But Dad wouldn't have it if it were unhelpful, so Sam put it on the kitchen table and grabbed a military-issue SOG knife, whetstone, knife oil, and polishing cloth.

By the time Dean walked in, nearly every blade they owned was laid out on the table, freshly sharpened and gleaming and Sam's ass was numb. Not that he'd noticed as he had dived into all kinds of cycles he'd never heard of (comets and butterfly migration patterns and the decade-to-decade shifts of the Earth's magnetic poles and on and on), much less considered their potential impact on monsters' behavior.

There was so much he'd never had a clue about, from boo hags being more active in years that coincided with the Ox on the Chinese zodiac to wisps going mostly dormant during El Niño. It wasn't actually all that surprising that he'd lost hours of time reading it all. And he had a third of the book to go yet.

"Something interesting?" asked Dean, amused. He'd raised an eyebrow at the scene but was well aware of Sam's propensity for getting lost in whatever he was learning. There was a fondness in his expression that made Sam feel like a little kid, but Dean also looked appreciative as he picked up his favorite tactical knife. Sam had managed to remove a stubborn stain from some caustic chort blood.

Sam hummed in response. He rubbed his eyes, which he only just now noticed were really dry. He stood and stretched, feeling just how stiff he'd grown. "Yeah, this is really awesome stuff! I had no idea about most of it. I wonder who took the time to compile all of this data. It's crazy just how much is put together here." He traced a finger over the unicursal hexagram, a six-pointed star drawn with one continuous line, that appeared in the top outer corner of every page. "I wonder what part of it Dad's looking into." A yawn interrupted his thoughts.

"Call him and ask him. Tomorrow," Dean suggested. "It's late."

Sam nodded, but he had no interest in asking Dad because solving a puzzle was so much more satisfying when you did it without any hints. He knew Dean didn't get that. For all he was excellent at untangling information and teasing out what they needed to know from the dreck, he wasn't fascinated by the minutia of lore or motivated by anything more than getting the job done. Sam sometimes had the feeling that Dad could have understood Sam's passion for information for its own sake if he weren't caught in a net of ruthless practicality.

"Or you could always call Bobby." Dean dropped the name casually. "I think the book came from him." That surprised Sam. Relations between Bobby and Dad had been strained for a while, and he and Dean both feared that things would come to a head at some point. What that would mean, they had no idea, but it wouldn't be anything good.

"Yeah, maybe." Sam started packing away the blades. "Think you could drop me at the library tomorrow?"

Dean chuckled. "Sure, geek. Nice job with these, by the way." He was always so happy when Sam voluntarily did anything to help with hunting. He still hoped that Sam would grow to love it like he did.

Sam thought about the websites he'd been looking up to learn about building a transcript that would attract the best colleges and felt a squirm of guilt. But he only smirked at his brother who smelled like second-hand smoke and stale beer, sniffing obnoxiously loudly. "One of us has to be the responsible one, and that sure isn't you."

"Responsible? Gross!" Dean made a face like he was 5 instead of 20 and Sam couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

AN: Mr. Wyatt was Sam's teacher in 1997, as shown in season 4, episode 13, After School Special.

North Adams is a real place but any buildings or institutions in it (ie library) are totally fictional. Valley City is also real. I haven't been either place.

The SOG knife is a weapon carried by many Navy SEALs. I learned that watching NCIS.

The TV programs Sam considered are real. The book of John's is not.

Hugemongous shout-out the world's best beta who caught my own little Easter egg/foreshadowing in this chapter without even the extra little phrase she had me add to make it clearer. Be sure to let me know in a comment if you caught it!