AN: Here is chapter two, thanks for reading, and for waiting for the update. Thanks to Bartlebead for the beta. I hope you all enjoy the story! Also, I do not own Supernatural.

Chapter two

Dean jerked Sam back inside and shoved him away from the door. He hit the lights, plunging the room into grayness, broken only by sporadic sunlight coming through the windows on the far wall.

"Somebody close those blinds."

Several students moved to obey the sharp words, unconsciously following the command in his tone. Dean gripped the heavy desk, shoving aside the teacher, who was frozen in shock. He heaved it against the door, effectively barricading them inside the classroom.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What's going on?"

"Was that gun shots?"

"Oh my God! We're all going to die!"

"Just like Columbine…"

It was pandemonium in the classroom now, students trembling under their desks, bunched in dark corners. The teacher was still standing by the door, mouth puckered in a silent "O" of protest, lips quivering like a guppy. Dean turned to Sam, who stood tense, next to him. He was stuck in a classroom with hysterical civilians, limited resources, and an unknown situation escalating on the other side of a very inadequate barrier. He needed information and he needed it now.

"Sam, what the hell is going on?" Dean stared fixedly at his little brother. When he got no response, he shook Sam's thin shoulder. "Focus Sam, just like it's any other job. Now, report."

Sam swallowed, and cleared his throat. He looked at Dean, eyes tortured and lost. "But it's not just any job Dean! Their humans! Humans hurting, killing other humans."

Dean made his voice hard and commanding, knowing Sam would respond to the blatant use of the conditioning put in place by John Winchester. "Details, Sam. Now!"

Sam made a visible effort to calm down. He said, "I had to go to the bathroom. I got a hall pass and as I was walking I saw eight men in ski masks enter in the front building."

Sam looked away for a moment –good, Dean thought. Sam was concentrating now.

"Go, on Sammy."

He looked back at his big brother. "They were armed. I saw handguns and semi automatics, sheaths with knives, walkie talkies on belts. They were in full gear, Dean! They were even wearing kevlar, all in black.

"Did they look like pro's to you?"

Sam nodded, "yeah, they looked professional. I crept back around the corner and then ran up the stairs for your room. Before I heard the first shots, though, just as I had started running, I heard one of them shout…" Sam's voice faltered and his tear filled gaze shifted to the floor.

"What did they say Sam," prompted Dean.

"Find the Winchester's. Kill the boy."

Oh, Jesus.

Inside, Dean reeled. All around them, people were getting hurt, maybe even dying, and it was all because of them. Then he registered the second part of what his brother had said. They were coming to kill Sam. Over Dean's dead body. Or more accurately, over their dead bodies, cause he'd murder anyone who tried to hurt Sam.

It had gone quiet in the room after Dean slammed the table against the door. The other kids must have been listening while Sam described what he had seen and heard.

"Wait, wait, wait. So all they want is you guys? Get the hell out there so we don't die. Have a conscious, man!"

Luke Turner, a senior on the soccer team, was suddenly talking loudly and standing belligerently in Dean's space. He had one hand raised like he was prepared to shove Dean and Sam to the slaughter. Laurie Middleton looked like she momentarily wanted to protest, but at the sounds of renewed gunfire she firmed her lips and looked away.

Mr. Sternhull stuck his head out from around his desk. "Quiet, all of you! We don't want to attract their attention." He made an agitated jerking motion with his hand before rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Now, get down out of sight."

The students complied, including Sam. Dean couldn't argue with the suggestion and crouched down next to his little brother.

"Now, does anyone have a working cell phone?" the teacher continued. Everyone dutifully reached into bags, pockets, and purses, all suddenly realizing they could communicate with the outside. There were many muttered curses and groans as each and everyone confirmed the loss of service.

"They must be blocking it, maybe a scrambler. What about the phone in the classroom?" said Dean. He looked over at the teacher, who raised up long enough to grab the phone off of the desk. He stretched the cord as he moved it, and resuming his previous position, lifted it to his ear. Mr. Sternhull cursed and set the receiver down with a bang, his frustration evident on his face.

"No dial tone," answered the teacher.

"A scrambler, what do you think this is X files?" It was the Turner kid mouthing off again.

Dean, temper fraying, running on adrenalin and not much else, turned and snapped at him.

"No, but what I do think is you need to shut the hell up so I can concentrate on trying to save your ungrateful ass, instead of listening to your whiny voice bitch, bitch, bitch." He didn't even realize he had taken several steps towards the sneering boy until he felt Sam grip his shirt, tugging him back.

"He's not worth it Dean. You're right, we need to save as many as we can. So, what's the plan big brother?"

"Gear check," said Dean simply. "What supplies do we currently have?" Dean grabbed his backpack, from where it had fallen earlier. Sam, however, rooted around in his pockets. Sam was the first to speak.

"I have my butterfly knife, holy water, and my lock pick set. Everything else is in my backpack back in my classroom." He looked forlornly at the door.

"Okay. I've got lock picks, my knife, holy water, the 45 and one extra clip. So at least we know where we stand weapon wise." Dean paused to think, ignoring the wide eyed looks from the students and teacher.

The teacher spoke up. "Young man, you better not be thinking of doing anything stupid. An attempt at misguided heroics will only get you killed."

Dean ignored him and stuck the gun in the waistband of his jeans with an ease and familiarity that spoke of his experience. The classroom was on the second floor, all they had to do was open a window and climb out. He just needed to make a rope. Chewing his lip thoughtfully, Dean looked around. It was February in the Midwest. Everyone had layers.

"Give me sweatshirts, flannel whatever you have that we could tie together, enough that we can climb out of the window." Sam started gathering the offered garments and soon he and Dean had tied enough together to create a suitable rope. Dean secured one end to the teacher's desk and then walked over to the closest window. He set the end of the rope down, intending to open the window very carefully, with Sam providing cover.

"Wait," said Luke. "Let me go first, that way I can steady the rope from the bottom and help guide the others down." Luke reached the window, bending to pick up the rope as he spoke.

"Hold on," Dean barked. "I haven't cleared the window. Just let me look and see first…"

"Jesus, get off your high horse, I'm gonna go down and help the others. Take a break, hero boy." As he spoke, Luke threw open the blinds and shoved open the window. With a careless smile he tossed the other end of the rope over the ledge. "See you on the other side."

At that moment, Dean saw the red light appear on Luke's forehead, even as his eyes narrowed in concentration, one leg already over the ledge.

"Sharpshooters," Dean breathed. Reacting almost instantaneously, Dean dove for the other boy yelling, "Get down, get away from the window!"

But he was too late, the bullet, fast, expertly aimed, and deadly pierced Luke's skull even as Dean was throwing himself to the ground and yanking on Luke's ankle to pull him from the window. The boy fell on Dean, showering him with bits of blood, bone, and brain. Amidst the screaming, Dean took a second to contemplate the turn of events.

"Well, shit," he sighed. "The windows out, now what?"

AN: Thanks again for reading, please review. Please, please, please! ( shamelessly begging)