Four conversations that probably happened and two that probably never will

If there was one thing in common that all the other kids had, it was their presence. All sizes and colors. Brunettes, blonds, red-hairs, real color, bottle colors, tall, short, fat, slim and even a couple of downright anorectics. All moms. All there for their kids first day at school.

"You all right there, champ?"

"I wanna go home dad," Dean replied, resisting the urge to stick his finger inside his mouth and suck.

"You'll do fine, buddy," John said with a smile. "You're a Winchester!"

Yeah... he was. And that meant he would never be like them.

Sam looked from under his bangs and stuck his finger in his mouth.

"I don't like them," he announced sullenly.

"You don't have to like them," Dean reassured him. "Besides, you love learning."

Sam's eyes lit up as he remembered why he was there. He did love learning new stuff, but... "Will you be here?"

Dean looked at his own class room, four doors away. Miss Dyrt was already giving him grief over the lack of school books, but the look on Sam's eyes...

"Sure kid... I'll be right outside, waiting for you."

"Like a guard?"

Like a brother.

"You coming over to Porky's after?"

Sam took the square hat from his head and dropped it on the empty seat beside him. It was hot as hell and with a name as Winchester, in a highschool that big, he was in for a long wait. "Nope."

"But EVERYONE's going," his class mate whined, gown too big for his frame dragging leaves around him on the grassy ground. "Family celebrations can wait for later... Porky's is just for us!"

It wasn't... not when your dad's leg is broken and your brother is still recovering from a near-death brush with pneumonia.

The knife's cold against his fingers, which, really, makes no sense. Not in here, not in this place where even the air melts skin.

"You've made your choice, boy," Alistair hisses against his face, horns prickling against his ears. "You backing out now?"

Dean looks at the empty rack. He can almost see himself there. Naked, bleeding, begging.

He looks down, knife gripped tight, red sweat running down his face and dripping over the body of his first victim.

It's kind of fitting, if he were to mind those things, that the first would be her. Bela's first scream hurts.

They were not quite white, but not quite grey either. The fluff and puff of soft feathers served only to rustle up the dust inside the room and strengthen the might of his sneeze. "Damn it!" Dean blared for what seemed like the hundredth time. "There has to be some frigging way to keep these GODDAMN HEALTH HAZARDS under control!"

Castiel frowned at the blasphemy but offered no help whatsoever. "Angel teleportation sucks ass, I believe were your exacts words. This... this is an acceptable alternative."

Dean scowl, testing how flexible his new, unrequired, wings were, before replying. "You suck!"

"Ask me anything you want"

"Anything at all?"

"Anything"

"Is there a catch?"

"No catch"

"No strings either?"

"Trust me... ask what you want, what your heart wishes for, and it shall be granted"

"And if I ask for a one night-stand with Cindy Crawford?"

"You wouldn't ask for that"

"You're minion, Zach, thought I would... or something like that"

"Zach was a bad... apple"

"Apple... eh... you're a funny guy"

"I try... do you know what you want?"

"I do"

"So, ask away"

"I wish that none of this ever came happened"

"You sure?"

"I am"

"So be it"