Rule Twenty-Seven: Don't tell civilians what you do
Dean Winchester waited eagerly for Ms. Perkins to tell the class what she wanted them to do with the paper and pencil crayon she had set out for them while they had been at recess.
"I'd like you all to draw what your Mommies and Daddies do for work," the elderly Kindergarten teacher told her students. She peered at them from behind her thick bifocals- twenty-eight eager faces staring up at her- as she stooped in front of them. She should have retired ages ago, but she loved her work so much she refused. Dressed in an old flower-patterned skirt, white blouse, black loafers and blue sweater draped across her hunched shoulders, she looked like anyone's grandmother.
"They could be a firefighter, a doctor, a dentist, a secretary," Ms. Perkins continued, as half the class picked up the coloured pencils and began to draw, "I want to put your pictures on the wall outside so the other children can see them."
Dean knew exactly what he was going to draw. Tongue sticking out in concentration, he grabbed a red pencil crayon and began creating streaks of blood across the paper, intent on recreating a picture of his Daddy killing a vampire.
Ms. Perkins walked amongst the students, commenting as she went- "I didn't know your Daddy worked at the bank, Amanda", "You're Mommy's a baker, Timothy!"- until she at Dean's table and watched the young Winchester and his three table-mates colour for a few minutes.
"What are you drawing there, Dean?" Ms. Perkins bent forward so that the little boy could smell her scent of Yardley soap and talcum powder.
Dean sat back and smiled proudly.
"My Daddy kills monsters," he told his teacher, "He's chopping off a vampire's head."
Ms. Perkins wasn't smiling. Her withered hand was clutching her throat and her blue eyes wide with shock.
"I asked you to draw what your Daddy does for work," she told him in a cold tone, quite unlike her normal warm, thin voice, "Not make up stories."
Dean's smile faded. He wasn't making up stories. His Daddy did kill monsters.
"It's true, Miss," Dean told her, "My Daddy kills monsters."
The elderly teacher shook her head.
"You're done here," she slid the picture Dean had drawn off the table with one gnarled hand, "You can sit in time out until you're ready to tell the truth."
The little boy's tablemates sniggered as he got up and walked to a corner of the room where a single child-sized stool sat facing the blank wall. Dean sat down, arms crossed over his chest, fuming with the indignity of it all.
W
After ten minutes in time out, Ms. Perkins allowed Dean to rejoin the class once it was clear he was not going to stop with his lies.
"I'm going to have to speak with your father when he comes to pick you up tonight," she told Dean when she freed him from the Time Out.
"Good," Dean growled, "He'll tell you the truth too!"
W
When the bell rang to signal the end of the day, Dean grabbed his backpack and waited outside in the fenced-in Kindergarten yard with the rest of his classmates for their parents to pick them up.
Dean sat at the edge of the sandbox, repetitively throwing handfuls of sand into a plastic bucket in front of him. He watched as one by one, Mommies and Daddies picked up the other students until he was the only student left.
"Why don't you come back inside?" Ms. Perkins offered the little boy, her tone soft.
Dean shook his head, "Daddy's coming."
As though by the magic of his words, John came around the corner of the school building, Sam in his arms.
"Daddy!" Dean jumped up and ran to the fence.
"Dee!" Sammy called and reached for his big brother. John handed his infant son over the fence to Dean before opening the gate.
"Mr. Winchester," Ms. Perkins said, "I'd like to speak with you for a moment, if I could?"
"Is everything okay? Did Dean do something wrong?" John asked, glancing down at his sons. Dean had brought Sam over to the sandbox and was playing with him.
"Not exactly," the old woman admitted, "But he drew a rather disturbing picture."
From the pocket of her skirt, Ms. Perkins brought out the picture Dean had drawn earlier in the day.
"I asked the students to draw what their parents did for a living," she handed John the picture, "And Dean told me that you killed vampires."
The eldest Winchester stared at the drawing for a moment before handing it back to the teacher.
"Dean had a wild imagination," John told her, "I definitely do not kill vampires. I'm a mechanic. I fix cars."
Ms. Perkins smiled, "I thought it might be something of the sort."
"Thank you for telling me about this," John told her and walked over to his sons, picking Sam up and taking Dean's hand, "I can assure you it won't happen again."
W
"Why can't I tell the truth?" Dean pouted, sitting in his car seat beside Sam. He had expected his Daddy to yell at him- he did that sometimes and it was scary- but he hadn't raised his voice at all. Instead, he had talked really calmly and quietly, almost like he was sad.
"It's dangerous," John told his son.
Dean frowned, not understanding.
"Dean, if you tell anyone what I really do, they could take you and Sammy away from me," John tried to explain the risks to the four-year old in a way that would make sense to him.
"Take us away? Where? For how long?" Dean asked.
"I don't know," John admitted, not wanting to even think too hard about it himself, "Maybe forever. That's why we all have to be careful what we say. If anyone asks you again what I do for work, tell them I fix cars, okay?"
Dean nodded, the fear of being taken away from his Daddy and maybe his brother terrifying him.
"And no more drawings about it either," John finished.
"Okay," Dean muttered and broke the digestive cookie his brother was chewing on in half and cramming his piece into his mouth. He was never, ever going to tell anyone about monsters anymore. He didn't want to lose his brother and Daddy. He had always thought lying was wrong- his Mommy had told him that it was wrong to fib- but if it kept his family together, he would only ever tell lies.
"Dee!" Sam squealed, throwing his soggy piece of cookie at his brother.
Dean smirked and fished another one from the package and placed it into his brother's hand.
"You hear that, Sammy?" Dean muttered as his brother gummed the new cookie, "Dad fixes cars."
"Caaaahhh!" Sam squeaked, kicking his feet excitedly, waving his cookie in the air.
Dean chuckled and, looking in the rearview mirror, he saw relief on his Daddy's face.
Author's Note:
Rule provided by reannablue.
Thanks to StyxxsOmega, jensensgirl3, reannablue, hecatess, Mama's Stories, and SamDeanLover28 for reviewing.
I'm so sorry for the long wait, folks! I was stuck on what to write for this 'rule'. I hope to be able to update another soon.
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