A/N: So this is my first chapter story. I hope you'll enjoy.
Summary: In which Dean tries to get Blake to do his homework.
Blake showed up for the weekend and had math homework to do.
Dean wasn't sure how to parent at all. He was sure his mother didn't know how to mother either. That probably explains why he's so screwed up.
It was now Saturday and Blake hadn't even touched the math book. The math book was thick and heavy, as Dean learned when he picked it up.
"Are they trying to destroy your spine with this?" Dean asked, looking at the Algebra 1 text book.
"Yes," Blake answered bluntly.
"Here do your math." Dean said, giving the 'paperweight' to Blake.
Blake grabbed it and looked at the book with disgust. He looked back at Dean and whined, "But Dad."
"No. I'm a parent now and I'll parent you." Dean said and faltered. "Did that sound really weird to you?"
Blake just nodded, "Please never say 'I'll parent you' again."
Dean looked at Blake, "Agreed. Now do your homework."
Blake shook his head, "I don't understand a single thing. My teacher doesn't explain it clearly. I have no clue what the heck is going on. I missed the first four months because I was in the mental hospital and she won't explain things to me."
"Have you asked your friends?" Dean asked.
"I did, but they couldn't explain it better than my teacher," Blake answered. "They got frustrated because not even they can explain it to the point where I can understand it. That's why I asked you for help, but not even you can't figure it out."
"We didn't do this shit in high school. What the fuck is the Pythagorean theorem?" Dean asked.
"That's what Alex said," Blake said. "Literally. I'm not doing that. I can't understand a single thing it's asking."
"Do you want to flunk math like I did?" Dean asked.
"You flunked math?" Blake asked, stunned. He was beginning to find out new things about his cousin…or dad…whatever.
"I'm stupid. In math," Dean said. "That other shit, I passed. So, do your work."
Blake pouted, "You're supposed to be the fun parent."
Dean scoffed, "I am fun. Now finish your work and we can do something."
Blake dropped the text book. It landed with a thud on the ground.
"Seriously? They're trying to destroy your spines by having you lug that thing around all day," Dean said. He was wondering if he was this difficult when he didn't want to do his homework.
"I know," Blake said. "The only lockers we have are for PE."
"I will chase you down the street with power tools, if you don't do your homework," Dean threatened.
Blake gave Dean a strange look, "No you won't."
Dean gave Blake his 'Crazy-Eyes,' however Blake just looked at Dean like 'what have you been smoking?'
"Why is Dean chasing Blake down the street with a drill and screwdriver?" Paul asked Mrs. Hendrickson.
The woman shook her head, "I have no clue."
"Do your homework!" Dean shouted.
"There's our answer," Paul replied.
Mike just looked confused, "That's not how you get someone to do their homework. I should know; I have two kids of my own."
Mrs. Hendrickson nodded, "I know. But it's amusing though." She just smiled as Paul shrugged.
"If you want to kill someone, just stab a syringe of air in someone and it'll mimic a heart attack. No one will notice because it looks like a heart attack," Paul said. Mike just stared at his husband in shock. "I watch a lot of crime shows."
Across the street, a girl that looked to be around sixteen turned to her house. "Mom! Dean's chasing after Blake again!" She put a trash bag in the trashcan and went to her house. "Again!"
A police officer was down the street talking to a couple of suspects, when they heard the commotion.
The cop looked at Dean chasing after Blake with a screwdriver and drill. The cop shook his head, "Jesus Christ. Not again."
Dean and Blake turned around, and headed back to the house.
"Who wants to measure Mount Rushmore? Just ask the freaking tour guide for information. They know their crap," Blake shouted.
Dean wasn't sure how to respond to that. That makes a lot more sense then figuring out how tall Mount Rushmore is. "I'm sure the teacher won't appreciate you trying to be a smart-ass."
"It's true. Just ask the tour guide," Blake said. "Who wants to do all these calculations?"
Dean shrugged, "I think there are people out there that are like that."
"I bet they're fun at parties," Blake said.
"So are Satanists," Dean said.
Blake looked at Dean, "I'm not going to ask."
"There was this one guy when I was in high school—" Dean started to explain.
"That explains a lot," Blake said.
"Shut up." Dean said, "Do your work about that weird-named chick who wants to measure Mount Rushmore for…thrill reasons."
"I think I'm getting the hang of this father thing," Dean said. He sounded so proud of himself.
Seth and Roman weren't sure how to feel about that.
"Your first day of fatherhood?" Roman replied, "And you're already getting 'the hang of it?'"
"I partially raised him," Dean said.
"So what did you do?" Seth asked.
Dean shrugged, "I made him do his homework."
"That's so fatherly," Roman said in a sarcastic tone.
"I chased him down the road with a screwdriver and drill. I was yelling at him to do his homework. Does that count?" Dean asked.
"Aw. That's what my mother used to do." Seth said and smiled fondly at the memories. He frowned, "Except she wanted me to clean my room."
"Our mothers would get along so well," Dean said to Seth.
"Your mother would scare my mom," Seth said.
Roman wasn't sure how to interrupt this conversation. He decided to somehow try, "So what happened after you chased Blake down the road?"
"I got him to do his homework," Dean said. "Who wants to measure Mouth Rushmore?"
"I know, just ask the tour guide." Roman said, "I hear they know what the hell they're talking about."
A/N: I remember when I was in geometry; there was a math problem that involved some weird named girl wanting to measure how tall Mount Rushmore is.
Also, I forgot to mention that my brother had moved to Reno Nevada with his friend last month. They moved in with some of their friends that had moved there in December. They got a cat and my brother's friend named her Willow Anne Pond.