Dean paid the cab driver and waved off the guy's concern when he mentioned the dried blood on the teen's shirt. Walking into the school, Dean stumbled. The painkillers were no joke, but at least he didn't hurt anymore. The pills killed the pain. Ha, that was funny! What was he doing?

Right. First things first: clean up the blood. Dean always kept a spare change of clothes in his locker, so a quick stop and he was headed to the bathroom for a patch job.

It was a miracle that the boy managed as well as he did to clean up the excess blood; tape some paper towels around the side wound; and change into the new, bloodless shirt. Gripping the sink, Dean looked himself over in the mirror and could hardly tell he'd fought with werewolves.

He dumped the bloodied shirt in the trash and started making his way to his next class. What was his next class? What time was it?

Dean tried looking for a clock, but all he could find were stickers that looked like clocks where he knew the old clocks were. Maybe if he stared hard enough, one would turn back into a real clock so he could figure out what the time was and where he needed to be.

"Dean?"

"Shh. We gotta be quiet."

"Why do we have to be quiet, Dean?"

"Because the clock isn't gonna come back if we scare it off."

"Dean, can you look at me, please?"

The teen turned his head towards the voice and saw a woman. Dean's eyebrows pressed together as he struggled to figure out who she was. "Math. You're math!" he said excitedly.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked. Why was she so close to him?

"I figured out who you are! You're math!"

"I am your math teacher, Dean, that's right. Now, why don't we go for a walk?" She offered him her arm, and Dean gave her a huge smile and wrapped his arm around it.

"Are we off on an adventure?" he asked.

"If you'd like," was her response. Dean thought hard for a moment.

"I don't think I want an adventure. I just came from one, and I didn't really like it."

"I can imagine." The two made their way into the main office of the school, and the woman directed Dean towards a row of chairs. "Have a seat now, dear, take a break from your adventure."

"Gee, thanks, Miss!" Dean plopped himself down in a chair and was suddenly fascinated with the carpet pattern. He blinked, and a man appeared. "Tony!"

The man did not look as happy to see Dean as Dean was to see him. The engineer was wearing a tank top, jeans, and sneakers and had goggles pushed up into his hair. His arms and face were covered in a black substance. Clearly, he had been experimenting in the workshop before he came.

Tony bent down to kneel in front of Dean and look him in the eye. "Dean, what did you take?"

Dean looked at the man in confusion. "What?"

The man sighed. "What did you take, Dean? I need to know."

"Take? I took an adventure! I didn't like it, though."

"You–for heaven's–Dean, I know you're high as a fucking kite right now. What drugs did you take?" Tony was angry. Shit, Tony was angry.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. Tony quickly snatched the pills and immediately poured a couple tablets into his hand.

"Be careful, Tony, they're really strong," Dean warned. He didn't want Tony to accidentally get addicted again. That wouldn't be fun.

"Seriously? Fucking codeine? This is like the most addictive painkiller, Dean! What the fuck were you thinking?" Tony was really angry now.

"I'm sorry, Tony." The apology came out in a whisper.

"Yeah...I bet you are," Tony sighed. "Come on, we're going home." He stood up and waited for Dean to find his balance before heading to the car that was parked haphazardly in front of the school.

Tony opened the passenger door. "Get in."

"I don't think I like this adventure either," Dean whispered as he climbed into the seat.

Tony slammed the door and walked around the car to get in on the driver's side. After putting on his seatbelt, Tony glanced at Dean and saw that the boy was having trouble with his own.

"For fuck's sake." The man reached over and fastened the thing for the teenager that was now staring out the window.

"Why would you do this, Dean? There was no record of drugs in your file. We did everything we were supposed to, we've handled every obstacle you've thrown at us, but this?! Why the fuck would you do drugs?!" Tony was borderline yelling at Dean as he drove them back to the house.

"I fucking–I fucking knew this would happen! I told Steve that seven is too many! That we needed to think about the other kids, how you would affect them, but no! No, he just had to get attached to the stupid fucking pictures," Tony was muttering to himself now, completely unaware that he was speaking aloud for Dean to overhear.

The teen's heart broke. He was so excited to see Tony, and–the man doesn't even want him? He probably never wanted Dean. He's a fourteen-year-old with problems a mile high–of course, he didn't want him. None of his foster parents ever wanted him; they showed him just how much with their words, their fists and their belts. Not to mention when they made him serve his 'only useful purpose.'

Without him, Sammy could've found a loving foster home in half the time. Hell, even his dad only saw Dean as a reminder of his mom and a babysitter for Sam. A lot of the time Dean wondered if his dad ever wanted him in the first place, or if it was his mom that wanted kids and then his dad just got stuck with him.

Tony was too busy muttering to notice the single tear run down Dean's face.