Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form

Explanation: So I lied; the story wasn't a one shot. I hate the John that I have here, but the more I thought about it, the more I loved the story that was brewing up in my head from this. So my love for this plot overpowered my hate for this John. I promise that the next story I write will portray him in a nicer way.

Author's Note: Thanks so much for all of the reviews from last time; I'm so grateful! As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Rated for language

At first, Dean lied to himself. He told himself that he was only skipping out on his last class because Home Economics was a bunch of garbage that he'd never use in life. After his seventh period class, he'd walk down the hall and go through the gym, towards the boys' locker rooms, and out the side door. He'd slip across the back parking lot, keeping a wary eye out for any stray persons, hop over the fence, and walk around to his car, driving home. No biggie. He didn't need to learn how to properly make eggs to become a successful guy in life.

Of course, this didn't have anything to do with the fact that Sam's got home at 2:30, and he normally wouldn't get home until 3:15. Uh-uh – nothing like that. After all, Sam was safe at home – right? He just didn't like Home Ec.

But then the next semester came, and Home Economics wasn't his last class of the day every day – it was a mixture of classes, some that he liked and some that he didn't. But still he found ways to lie to himself, to convince himself that he needed to get home early because…well, there was a reason for it. He didn't need eight stupid classes everyday. But he definitely didn't need to go home just because he wanted to look out for Sammy, because that was stupid. Sammy was perfectly safe…

Until one day in mid January, when he was snaking out the back door like he had for the past few months…he didn't even see the janitor wheeling in the garbage cans as he was starting to hop the fence. "Hey, kid!" he yelled. Dean turned and saw him, angry as he started over. Of course, he didn't look and the ripped bottom of the fence caught the leg of his jeans and his ankle. He swore and let go of the fence in shock. His ankle was bleeding, but that was the least of his worries – the janitor grabbed him by the shirt collar and all but dragged him inside.

That was how he ended up in the assistant principal's office, his ankle slowly dripping blood on the pure white carpet. He smiled a little bit, even though he knew he was up to his neck in shit at that moment. He turned his head as he saw Assistant Principal Felix enter the room, closing the door. He sat down on the other side of the desk, rubbing his temples. "Mr. Winchester…" he said.

"That would be my name." Dean said.

"Sarcasm is not appreciated right now, Mr. Winchester. Now, I took the liberty of looking at your schedule, and apparently your last period teachers haven't seen you around for a while – coincidence there, Dean?"

"So it would seem."

"If you aren't willing to cooperate…"

Dean tuned out Felix as he glanced up at the clock. It was already 2:35 – was Sam wondering where he was? Was his father wondering where he was?

Felix laced his fingers together, placing them on the desk. "Why are you doing it, Dean?"

Why was he doing it? Why was he leaving? I mean, he had PE today. PE wasn't all that bad; there was nothing wrong with it. It wasn't like home economics, it wasn't like that at all…why was he cutting out on that? He wasn't worried about Sam, not at all…he was safe, it was their home…

"Dean?"

Their home was supposed to be a safe place, he wasn't supposed to be afraid to leave his little brother there alone…

"Mr. Winchester, if you are unwilling to cooperate there will be serious repercussions…"

He wasn't afraid to leave Sam alone with Dad, that wasn't the problem at all…no way…He tried to focus on his ankle. The blood was starting to clot, but his skin was stained with redness. The floor was, too.

"Mr. Winchester?" Felix said one more time, his voice sharp.

He looked up all of a sudden, his jaw set. "I'm not afraid to leave Sam alone in my house." he said at once.

Assistant Principal Felix looked a little confused, then shook his head slowly, and spoke with in a wondering tone. "It's good to know you feel that way, Mr. Winchester."

It was nearly four by the time he got out of there, with a week of detention. "I'm going to be calling your home, Mr. Winchester. Skipping classes is not a matter that should be taken lightly."

Dean got a little nervous then; not for himself, but for Sam. That was sure to get Dad mad. But all he had to do was get home quick.

"Alright, I need to go…so long." he said, jumping up from the chair and making is way towards the door quickly. Felix nodded as he picked up the phone, dialing.

Shit! Dean sprinted for his car and got in, trying to calm himself down. After all, he wasn't having that gut feeling that something was wrong…yet. Yet.

Each minute on the dashboard clock seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, even though only eight went by. He parked the car on a funny angle and slammed the door shut, hurrying up to the front door. He pushed it open and saw…

Nothing out of the ordinary. No scared, white, shaking Sammy, no Dad overpowering him, providing the scare. A nice, quiet living room, a nice quiet kitchen with a few dirty dishes in the sink…nothing you wouldn't see in a typical American household.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the staircase as Sam peeked down. "Dean?" he said, looked scared yet relieved.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"It's…Dad was looking for you."

"What?"

"I was upstairs in our room, and then the door burst open and Dad came in and he was so angry. He started yelling, 'Dean! Dean!' and then he muttered something. I asked him what was wrong and he told me to stay out of it. He kept saying stuff like, 'I'm going to kill him' and 'Where's Dean?' Then he stormed downstairs, slammed the door, and took off – he started walking. I think he went out looking for you. Dean, what happened?"

Dean felt his knees go a little weak. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, he was definitely looking for you. Dean, you need to get out."

"What?"

"You need to get out of here, Dean. I think he might really…really hurt you, this time."

Dean closed his eyes, thinking for a minute. Finally, he said, "Get your coat."

"What?"

"Get a coat and some clothes and meet me downstairs in three minutes."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're going, we're leaving. If you aren't downstairs in three minutes I'm leaving you behind."

Sam was utterly confused as Dean hurried downstairs. He threw the pantry opened and reached behind the boxes of cereal to pull out a small paper bag. He reached into it and dumped out some money. Most of it was in coins, but all of it was being saved precisely for this type of moment.

He checked his watch. "Sam, move it!" he yelled.

Sam came downstairs with a duffel bag. "I got some clothes for you too." he said

"Great. Come on, throw that in the trunk of the Impala. Do you have any money?"

"Some."

"How much?"

"I don't know!" Sam cried, exasperated.

"Give me the bag, I'll get this in the trunk and you go get the money – all of it."

Sam took the steps upstairs two at a time, and as Dean made his way to the door he stopped for a second. He turned around and reached for the notepad of the refrigerator, ripping off a piece of paper. On it, he scribbled, Consider us gone –Dean and Sam. He tossed the note carelessly on the kitchen table.

Sam came back downstairs. "You ready?" Dean asked him. Sam nodded.

"Get in the car." Sam scooted out the door and Dean took one last look around before he shut the door behind him.