Ahh, another update that isn't My Twist to the Winchester Tale. I know, I know, I know. I'm sorrryyyyyyyy. Please forgive me. I AM working on it. It's about 5,000 words in if it makes you feel better! I hope to have it up soon. I know you really are sick of my excuses but I'm going to throw them at you anyway. I have been swamped with homework, teachers, medical nonsense, life, finances, and just I kinda wanna curl up with a pizza, my dog, and watch television, ya feel me? (Please don't physically feel me, I don't think I know you like that.)

I needed the release that this chapter allowed, and that's why it's being posted. I'm a little sorry.

UPDATES YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT!
FIRST AND FOREMOST OHMYCAS.
There has been cahoots, guys! Major cahoots! I have partnered up with sweetkiwi604and we created a lovely little diddy titled Not Our Emily which can easily be found (maybe not easily considering the number of stories) on sweetkiwi604's page*. If you are interested in having your heart squeezed and maybe shedding a tear (I kinda really hope you shed a tear) then I DEFINITELY say check it out. If you love Supernatural and just really wanna read some fun fanfiction DEFINITELY check it out. If you just really like my personality as a human-bean (hush, child, I know it's 'being') then DEFINITELY check it out. I can come up with at least 50 more ways to tell you to DEFINITELY check it out, and unless you want me to physically list them, go look it up. And if I have ever begged for a review before, Imma embarrass myself and do it worse now. PLEASE review the story and let us know what you think. We were hella (I did that) nervous about putting it up and I personally want verification we did a decent job. So review. REVIEW. REVIEW LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.

And as always, check out Becca's inspired list on my Spotify page. That link, along with handles to some social media sites are all on my Profile as well. Feel free to follow me. Then you can see I'm not just a major spaz in Author's Notes. I'm a major spaz in real life, too. If there is a handle you want to know, but isn't listed-ask. I'll probably share it. I'm sorta cool like that.

Okay, okay. I've bugged you and rambled quite enough. Here is your story. And a thank you to my special helper. You know who you are.

READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)

Disclaimer.

Say Something

Ages:
Dean - 20
Sam/Becca -16

Year:
1999; Late Spring

3rd Person POV

As happened every afternoon at 3:17 pm the brick high school erupted with the sound of students as they flooded from classrooms to fill the hallways and fling open doors to metal lockers. Voices carried over the heads of others as friends shouted out to one another and feet practically pounded as each body moved to evacuate through the nearest unalarmed exit. In addition to the low roar of commotion, as it often happened, a scowling brunette attempted to send a death glare at her teacher as she left the classroom last, the forever chanted 'And check your attitude, Rebecca, or next time it'll be detention' rang after her.

The rage that filled her face seemed to give Becca tunnel vision as the students parted around her and she made her way towards the main doors, ignoring her locker and anything else that wasn't already in her book bag. She paid no mind to those she bumped into or knocked out of her way as the livid feeling inside attacked her like a hurricane. Storming through the front doors of the school, she passed the other students who finally seemed to sense the anger emanating from her. Not looking toward the line of cars that waited to collect teens, she made her way to where the Impala always parked.

Dean's brows rose the moment he saw her clearly, the scowl and upset evident on her face. Quirking an eyebrow further he looked past her for their brother who was missing. Before he was able to open his mouth to ask her, Becca threw open the back door of the car and tossed her bag in with enough force that it collided into the window on the other side before falling to the floor.

"Whoa, if you break a window—"Dean began snapping as he turned to face her.

"I didn't break shit," she bit back hard enough to silence him. "You're precious car is fine, got it?"

Confusion and shock twisted on his face. Something had obviously happened and he intended to find out what. "Where's Sam?" he asked, hoping that a calmer twin could explain what had his sister ready to turn into a murderer.

"How the hell should I know?" she sneered before slamming the door behind her hard enough to shake the vehicle.

Looking at her through the rearview, he grimaced. "You wanna tell me what the hell has you trying to destroy my car?"

"Nothing."

"Obviously."

"Bite me."

"Look, I've about had it with your shit and it's only been five minutes. Either you tell me what's going on or I'm gonna stuff you in the trunk."

Becca fumed, glaring at the glass of the window. "When are we leaving this stupid town?"

Dean sighed and began to chalk up her anger to yet another comment from her peers after the words left her mouth. It wasn't uncommon for any of the Winchester children to have to deal with the words that students would throw at them or the bullies that seemed to swarm to his younger siblings—but since he'd dropped out and was now too old for high school, it had become harder for him to handle any issue immediately. He figured he would have to talk to Sam about how as her twin and official oldest, he would have to be the new eyes and ears for what happened from now on.

"We leave when he calls. Like normal."

"How long do you figure?" she questioned with an annoyed groan and sarcastic tone.

"Few days," he shrugged. "Tuesday at the latest."

"Then she can go fuck herself. There's no god damn way I'm doing any more shit for her class."

Dean was completely lost now with his brows knitting together so tightly it formed a single hairy line across his forehead. "What are you talking about?"

Becca bit her tongue and shook her head once as an indicator that she wasn't going to discuss it. She'd made up her mind so it didn't matter much what Dean had to say anyway. The fact was that she wasn't going to have to deal with that horrid teacher a minute longer. There wouldn't be any more comments or critiques; no more sarcastic smiles and smirks that only smashed their way through any confidence or pride Becca had left. Today would be the last day that she'd be made out as a pathetic fool in front of the class. She was done. "Nothing," she bit quietly as the lingering feeling of humiliation once again started to throb within her.

He noticed that she had pulled into herself—her knees stuck under her chin while her hands clutched to the fabric on her arms, making her knuckles pale under the strain. She had gone to staring through the window with eyes already lost and heavy lidded as though they were fighting to stay open and face the world. Sticking his tongue in his cheek, Dean ran through everything that had occurred since they'd gotten into the small town of Fair Haven, New York. Even with everything that had happened, he couldn't remember any mention of bullies or problems from either sibling. Feeling at a loss for how to fix whatever was bothering his sister, his mind continued to work as his eyes scanned the now thinning crowd of students for Sam.

It didn't take long before Sam's long legs were lopping him towards the car. Ducking into the seat and closing the door behind him, he didn't even take a breath before dropping his bag over the seat and turning to his sister. "I was looking everywhere for you, Bec. Did you even think to tell me you weren't waiting around after class?"

Becca's eyes narrowed as she spoke, not bothering to face her twin. "I don't need you to walk me to the car, Sam. Dean parks here every day. I made it here alive, okay?"

He made a face in response as the car started and then pulled away from the curb. The quick rise in volume drowned out any words he was ready to announce, dragging a glare in Dean's direction. With a quick notice of Dean's raised eyebrows and concerned glance, Sam doubled his gaze over his sister—noticing her demeanor and raised guard.

"The hell are you talking about?" Dean bit angrily as Sam finished his explanation.

"I mean it, man. The teacher has it out for her. Ever since we got here, she's been giving Becca all kinds of crap for any reason she can come up with... She calls her out in class, embarrasses her, constantly uses Becca as "an example of what not to do", and more. It's all over school that the teacher doesn't like her." Sam shook his head from where he sat at the edge of the bed, taking off his boots. "I don't get it. I've helped Becca with her homework, and someone else said that they had the same thing—and the teacher didn't comment on them. Whatever issue she has, it's specifically with Becca."

Dean felt the growl building up in his core as his eyes flicked to the bathroom door quickly, double checking that his sister wouldn't emerge. He knew better by now that just because the water was running, she wasn't necessarily in the shower. "That's bull," he announced when he heard the thump of something colliding with the tub's floor. "Teachers can't do that."

Sam scoffed through a laugh and met his brother's eyes. "Dean, teachers do that all the time. Especially to kids like Becca and me. This isn't even the first time it's happened. This is probably just the worst one."

The anger pulsing inside of Dean seemed to burn hotter at the confession. "Why didn't she tell me?"

Pushing off the bed and grabbing his bag, Sam sighed. "Really?"

The growl was audible this time. "That's no reason to not tell me, Sammy. If something's serious, she should have come to me. You should have come to me."

"You really think she would tell me this stuff if she knew I would just tell you? There's a reason she doesn't talk to you, Dean, and you know it."

"Why? 'Cause I don't sugarcoat everything I tell her like you do?"

"Because you're a dick."

Silence settled between the two of them as Dean mulled over Sam's words. He couldn't deny that things had been rocky between him and the youngest Winchester for the past few years—and increasingly only seeming to get worse—but Dean pushed it aside. "I don't treat her any different than I treat anyone else."

Giving his brother a pointed look, Sam quirked a brow when Dean didn't get the hint. "Regardless. The problem is that Becca—" he paused when there was a mild crash from the bathroom followed by annoyed yell of swearing. "—'s teacher is singling her out, and it's buggin' her."

"What class is this anyway?" Dean huffed after the string of curses continued and there was the vibration of the something being thrown from the shower and hitting the bathroom door.

"A history class."

Rolling his eyes before making his way to the couch, Dean then dropped onto the furniture and shoved his hand into Becca's left over fries. "At least it isn't something important," he mumbled. Sticking the food into his mouth, he continued to talk around it. "Wars happened, people died, end of story."

Settling into her seat the next day, Becca's annoyed gaze settled on the front of the room where the teacher was leaning against her desk, leafing through the papers that she intended to hand back. When the bell rang, her deep brown eyes instantly lifted to connect with the green of Becca's, and a satisfied smirk pulled at her lips.

"I gotta say," the teacher spoke over the conversations that had failed to quiet down, "most of you did well on your papers. Some of you, however," she made a pointed look towards Becca that drew an audience of her peers both sympathetic and humored eyes. "Some of you seem to be struggling with how to even grasp the basic concept of understanding the question at all." When Becca's hard gaze turned into an angry glare, the teacher continued. "Rebecca Winchester," she called out with an appreciative smile. "Stand up."

Becca pushed herself out of her desk and stood to her full height, grasping her pencil tightly in her hand. The heat of stares from her classmates felt as though she were physically on smoke, clogging the room with both the hatred and humiliation that fueled her for the moment. "Yes?"

"Explain to the class what you wrote."

"You have my paper. You know what I wrote."

The smile on the teacher's face only deepened as her brows rose quickly and then angled over her upturned eyes. "I want you to share it though, please," she posed with an excessive amount of thickness over the final word.

Becca's grip on the pencil tightened to the point she could feel her nails piercing into her skin. "I said that I felt—"

"Ah, we don't feel in this class, do we, Rebecca? We think. Feelings are liable to get hurt. If you feel something, then I'm subject to tell you that you can't be wrong. That's not my job. My job is to tell you when you're wrong so you learn, remember? So what do we do, instead of feeling?"

Breathing deeply through her nose, Becca felt her jaw tense as she held back. "We think," Becca seethed through tight teeth.

"And what do you think?"

Trying to compose her shaking form, Becca glanced behind the teacher where she saw a terse looking Dean standing in the open doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest and the vein in his neck could be seen throbbing all the way from where Becca stood. Catching his eye she felt herself panic for a moment before his fist tightened and a sharp nod gave her the only permission she needed.

"I think," she inhaled with a smirk of her own, "that you can go blow it out your perky little, coal squeezing, diamond shitting, too tight to take a proper shit ass. I think that you're a complete and utter bitch who doesn't know how to feel a damn thing—so therefore you won't let anyone else feel anything either. I think that ring on your finger slips and slides around your bony ass knuckle as much as your husband tries to think up a way to slip and slide out of your sham marriage. I think you can take my paper, give yourself a thousand paper cuts and then jump into a tub of vinegar just so you can feel the torture you dish out to innocent kids like me. I think that in all honesty, you need a shot, a joint, and to be screwed so hard that your body ends up as fucked as your mind. And I think that you can kiss my ass."

Without a blink, Becca had her things collected and began walking to the front of the room towards the door. Stopping in front of the teacher, she pulled her paper from her hands and smiled before tipping her head. "Tell me, Mrs. Hamilton, what do you think?"

Stepping past her teacher she stopped in front of Dean whose hardened look hadn't changed from the moment he arrived outside of the classroom. Becca swallowed, suddenly feeling that she may have crossed a line with her outburst. Suddenly he had a hand on her shoulder, moving her to the side as the clacks of Mrs. Hamilton's heels were quickly striding towards where Becca had disappeared. The older woman stopped when Dean made his way into the classroom and towered over her, the intimidating features on his face begging her to push her luck.

"Who are you," Mrs. Hamilton spit at Dean with an angered drag of her eyes over his frame.

"I'm her guardian," he bit back just as upset.

With a glare, Mrs. Hamilton raised a pointed finger towards the door. "That girl is done. She—"

Dean cut the woman off with a scoff. Lowering his voice so that Becca had to step back into the door frame to try and understand him, his movement forward pushed the teacher back until she was leaning against her desk where she had now knocked her coffee over.

"—and if you talk to her like that one more time, I'll fillet you like the fish you reek of," he finished above his previously lower volume.

"You can't threaten me, I'll report you!" she hissed back in an attempt to seem unshaken.

Dean smirked in her face, caging her in with his hands on the edge of the desk. "I dare you to try." Satisfied with the silent swallow of response, he righted himself and entered the hall, grabbing Becca's arm as he moved them towards the main doors of the school.

"Too tight to take a proper shit ass? Really?" he questioned with a confused humor in the back of his throat.

"I was put on the spot, okay? What would you have said?"

"I had a few things planned."

Their footsteps echoed around them as they finally stepped into the sunny afternoon air. Becca began chewing on her bottom lip. "So…." She drew out, gaining a look. "Am I in trouble?"

Dean sighed before stopping in front of the Impala and unlocking his door. "No. Not this time. Next time, maybe. Was she like that every day?"

"No," Becca answered shaking her own head as he got in and unlocked her door. "Today she was actually nice. She's been worse….way worse. Way worse," her voice dropped around the words as the memories began to build.

Sensing her mood change, Dean started the car and looked over his shoulder before pulling out on to the street. Eyeing her occasionally, he blew out a deep breath and slouched. "Hey, I could go for a drink."

"Okay?"

"So whaddya say to picking up a case of beer, parking the car, and you telling me about the crap this teacher did. I need to know that me pullin' you outta that class ain't for something stupid like you just don't wanna run in gym."

Becca eyed him, unsure of what his catch was. When his eyebrow quirked up and he kept her gaze for a moment and pushed the question once more she nodded skeptically. "Okay…sure. Let's do it… but what about Sam?"

Dean shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe he'll use the empty room and get laid."

"Oh, gross," Becca whined dramatically. "Why do you always do that? You're such a turd…"

* In case you are unable to find it on sweetkiwi604's page yourself, there are direct links to not only her page specifically, but the story itself listed on my Profile. So no excuses.