Okay, so before writing this I went on the internet for help (bad idea) because I couldn't decide if Dean had ever graduated or not. Turns out nobody else can either! Anyway, I went with yes figuring that John was too strict a father to allow otherwise, but am happy to change it if the majority think I'm wrong! Just drop me a line either way if it bothers. Now, on with the story...

Demon Revenge 3: The Reawakening.

…The Dead Don't Always Stay That Way

Riley High – or to give it its full title Walter R. Riley High named after nobody quite knew who – was the second school Sam had attended without Dean, his brother's graduation a distant memory of the previous summer, he and John sitting proud and a little relieved in the seats lining the lawn of the little school in Indiana that had been Dean's last, watching him chat up the brunette wannabe-doctor sitting beside him until his name was called before sauntering across the stage with a wide grin as casual as if he were collecting a fast food order.

"Thank God for that," John had muttered under his breath as his eldest son had wrapped a hand around the paper and shaken hands with the Principal. Dean – although a lot more intelligent than he often let on – had not been the world's most natural pupil and what with scraping passes by the skin of his teeth and constant begging to ditch school in favour of hunting it was no great surprise that John had started to fear he'd never see the day dawn. But it had and with it had come the comforting notion that he would have no such worries with Sam, after all, the kid practically lived for school. If he'd known that his younger child had spent the last of his three morning lessons with his head buried inside Lindsay Fuller's date-note however, he'd have been significantly less than pleased.

The scent of the gel pen had worn off somewhere mid-biology, either from constant exposure or else repeated inhalation – which Sam had begun to expect when he'd started giggling for no reason during English – but the note still held the heady sense of excitement it had contained the first moment it had been slipped across his desk and that was good enough.

Demon Revenge 6?

The swirl was ingrained in his head, his eyes filtering every sweep and pen stroke, his brain memorizing the hand and carefully filing it away. Everything about it was perfect, especially the bit where he got a date.

Following the previous night's vague anxiety attack, Sam had regained something of his optimism by the time John had dropped him off that morning en-route to the library. Dean had still been in bed, just staggering towards the breakfast table as they'd left, but he'd still managed to throw his younger brother a meaningful nod, a silent assurance that everything was going to be fine. Sam, if he was honest, was still a little dubious about the whole thing but he wasn't seriously about to cancel a date with Lindsay, besides which, as he kept telling himself, who knew women like Dean did? Anyway, if the worst came to the worst – and there was no reason it would – he could always offer to take her bowling instead, or for a meal, they'd still be together at least. His eyes flickered downwards again,

Demon Revenge 6?

He was obsessed.

The pounding of the bell loud along the corridors released them from maths with an audible sigh of relief, books, pens and paper being shoved hastily into bags even as Mr. Vickery was issuing homework assignments, struggling to raise his voice above the rising babble of excitement. He gave up halfway through with a disgruntled flap of his hands, seemingly missing the fact that Sam at least was listening, not that he was exactly about to argue the sudden lack of work. He did have another two Demon Revenge movies to get through after all.

Swinging his bag up onto his shoulder and following the rest of stampeding class out into the freedom of lunchtime, Sam was surprised to find Lindsay standing up against his locker, books clutched to her chest against a pink hooded-top, a small and incredibly hot jean skirt poking out of the bottom. She smiled as she saw him heading towards her and he blushed instantly under the scrutiny, dropping his gaze a little and listening to her giggle in response.

Maybe Dean was right after all.

"Hey Sam," she greeted brightly, her tone carrying a hint of shyness alongside the cheerfulness. They liked each other that much was clear, but neither of them was exactly sure what to do with it. Which was never a problem Dean seemed to have had.

"Hi," he nodded back, leaning against the lockers and trying to channel some of his older brother's 'cool'. It failed miserably as he misjudged the distance and almost tumbled sideways into the wall with a frantic wheeling of arms. Yeah, real smooth. He could have kicked himself, he knew Dean would have. Lindsay however simply giggled again, gracious enough to pretend it hadn't even happened. She was amazing.

"So..." she began after a short pause, making eye contact before glancing away quickly with the beginnings of a blush, "…you just had maths?"

Sam nodded awkwardly, the answer sounding pretty lame even to him,

"Yeah,"

Lindsay still wasn't making eye contact,

"Who'd you have?"

"Mr. Vickery."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

"English, Mrs. Clark,"

"Right."

God it was awkward, even by their standard as a couple of awkward teens. No, scratch awkward, it was excruciating and why the hell could he not think of a single thing to say. Think you idiot, think!

"Are you…" as Lindsay's voice broke the silence, her tone hesitant but hopeful, Sam looked up at her trying to temper the embarrassment with an open expression, "…are you still on for Friday?"

"Yes!" he breathed back quickly, a whole jumbled string of words following in his haste to convince her that he was in fact, very much on for Friday, "No, I mean…" he took a deep breath, gathering himself far too late but at least finally managing it. He smiled across at her, offering a nod, "Definitely. Are…you? I mean, do you still – ,"

He tailed off hopelessly, feeling the blush quickly transfer from her cheeks to his as he again failed at basic English. How could he be so different from Dean when it came to women? How the could he be the brother of the same Dean Winchester who'd once got a date from a girl in a bar by literally miming a phone with one hand and pointing at her with the other.

"Oh yes," Lindsay supplied hurriedly, if not sensing his inner self-loathing then at least cutting in quickly enough to stop it mid-flow, "Definitely…" she smiled, sending a cloud of butterflies directly into his stomach. God he was such a girl. She cocked her head cheerily, "…as well, I mean."

"Good."

Sam's sigh of relief was audible, and for the first time since she'd passed him the note his chest un-tightened just enough to allow him to breathe. It was all going to be fine after all.

"Only…" Oh God, there was an only, and an 'only' was as good as a 'but' which meant that, "…I kinda mentioned it to Kelly and now she wants to come along too – ," Lindsay frowned mid-sentence, her expression moving quickly through embarrassed and awkward before stalling somewhere around off-hand curiosity, "…you know Kelly?"

Sam bit back a snort, a better question was who didn'tknow Kelly Morris, head cheerleader and Riley High's resident Queen Bee. Super-rich, super-spoilt, pink-wearing, convertible-driving Kelly, the social equivalent of influenza – always threatening to strike and incredibly difficult to deal with, the only difference between them being that nobody ever much wanted the flu but anybody who was anybody wanted to be 'BFFs' with Kelly. Realising he still hadn't answered her question however, Sam shrugged, not entirely sure what to say.

"Not very well,"

Or in actual fact not at all although he vaguely knew Lindsay was friendly with her, not sleepover, makeover friendly, but evidently friendly enough to tag along on one another's dates.

Wait…

It took Sam a second to realise the wider implications, his frown of confusion changing abruptly to an open-mouthed stare of slow comprehension. He was going on a date with two girls? Maybe he was more like Dean than he thought…

"Oh, well that's okay," Lindsay replied, her voice barely reaching him through waves of elation and the mental imagery, "Brandon will be there too."

The bubble burst. Loudly.

"What?"

"Brandon," Lindsay replied, blinking at him a little as if he were some sort of moron, "You know…Kelly's boyfriend?"

Ah, of course. Brandon Benson, head jock and Riley High's Queen-Bee counterpart. Super-huge, football-kicking, nerd-beating, convertible-driving Brandon, the food poisoning to Kelly's influenza – impossible to ignore and particularly partial to inflicting pain on individuals crouched over toilet bowls. If nobody much wanted the flu then nobody ever wanted food poisoning, especially not when it spent its time stalking the corridors with its burly teammates shoving people into lockers. Sam's nose wrinkled on instinct,

"Brandon?"

He obviously sounded horrified because instantly Lindsay's expression shifted remorsefully,

"I'm sorry," she murmured awkwardly, sighing heavily, "I know I shouldn't have said anything to Kelly. But she asked and, well…are you sure you're okay with it?"

He wasn't, not by a long shot, but if Sam had learnt anything on his life-long trek through the American schooling system then it was the lure of peer pressure. People like Kelly were notoriously hard to say no to, nor were they used to such a word being used as a viable response to any request of theirs. Besides, Lindsay didn't exactly strike him as a 'no' kind of girl…which was something Dean would probably have taken down a whole different route. He shrugged again, trying to sound upbeat,

"Sure," he smiled thinly, running a nervous finger around the inside of his shirt collar as he did, "I'll see you on Friday. Pick up at six?"

"Yep, looking forward to it," she replied, nodding with such enthusiasm that he got the distinct impression that she really was – which was something, although as it turned out nothing compared to the look of gratitude she gave him as she turned to leave, "Thanks Sam."

He swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly feeling dry,

"No problem," he squeaked mildly.

Only it was, a big problem.