Note: Here's the second part. If you struggled through reading the first part, you may have thought to yourself, "It sure would be nice if there was something to show when there was going to be a time shift or a flashback starting." To that, I say a big "oops." I posted this story on Livejournal first and used a partial line of asterisks for section separators, and this site just erases those when you post them in a document. I've gone back and fixed it now, so there are dividers between sections in the first chapter here now. Sorry about that. There's one more part after this one, and I'll be posting it in a day or two. Thank you for reading.
"Sam. Wake up."
"What? Are you okay?"
It was still dark, and Sam was a little woozy, but already his mind was racing with the possibilities: did she need to vomit? Had she maybe already done so and need help cleaning up? But it was nothing like that.
"I'm an idiot, but I'm okay. My head feels like the entire population of Transylvania is Time Warping inside my brain, but it's all right. I brought it on myself."
"Oh. Good. I mean, I'm glad you're okay."
Her voice was earnest and apologetic in the dimness.
"I really hate to ask you this because it's gonna seem so rude, but do you think you could make it home okay?"
"Now? What time is it?"
"It's a little before four."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be fine, if you're sure you'll be."
"I'm so sorry, Sam. I just need you to go. I, it's just I can't… Nobody can see you walking out in the daylight. Everybody already thinks–"
"It's okay, Dacey. You don't have to explain."
"But I want to, Sam. Just not right now. Tomorrow. Later today, I guess. I'll call you, I promise. I'm sorry."
"I understand. It's all right."
"You don't. Not everything, but thank you for saying it anyway. Really."
"What do you normally take for headaches?"
"What?"
"Before I go, I'll get you something for the hangover, some water too."
"Oh, thank you. You're right. My head's on fire. Bathroom cabinet, right through there. Ibuprofen."
Sam retrieved the pill bottle but didn't see a cup or glass, so he headed to the kitchen for the water. When he returned, Dacey was sitting up, but she looked distinctly unwell.
"One or two?"
"I think this calls for two, please."
Sam handed over the two ibuprofen and the water glass. Dacey swallowed the pills and gingerly forced down a few extra swallows of the water before carefully placing the glass on the bedside table.
"My mom did teach me manners to walk guests to the door, but I don't think—"
"No, please, don't even worry about it. You just get some sleep. Keep makin' yourself drink the water if you can. It'll help."
Dacey didn't ask him for the source of his information on coping with hangovers, and Sam didn't volunteer that he'd learned what little he knew from observing his father's occasional overindulgences along with one or two of Dean's.
"Thanks, Sam. I'll try."
"Oh, and I put the wastebasket right there on the floor on the right where you can reach it just in case. Hope not, but just in case."
"That was good thinking. I really appreciate it and also that it's dark, so you can't see how awful I must look. Not that that matters."
"I'm sure you don't. Anyways, I'll let you get that rest now and not hover around. Good night."
"Good night, Sam. Be safe getting home."
There was that word, home.
"I will. Sleep well."
"Heeey, Candy-girl. Bet you do taste sweet. I'll lick up all your sugar. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then, you can suck my candy stick. You know you wanna suck me–"
"He called me 'Candy', Sam. Nobody even knows my given name is Candace, but he knew somehow or guessed. I don't even know. But that's what set me off with the booze. Pretty stupid, huh?"
Dacey hadn't told him exactly what the freak had said, but he could guess. The surge of fury was so loud in his ears that he could barely hear anything else, but he took a breath and made himself focus on helping her now instead of going off into some revenge fantasy about beating the guy to a pulp if he could find out who he was.
It had to be one of those football jerks, but probably not Eddie, since she would have recognized his voice. Too bad she hadn't thought to report the call, but he knew she just wanted so badly for all of it to end, to be over finally. At least she'd called him like she promised. Maybe just talking about it would help keep it from tearing her up inside.
"No, not stupid. Perfectly understandable, but if it ever happens again, call me instead, okay? I don't know what I can do to help exactly, but I can try."
"There you go again being so nice to me when I kicked you out of my house in the dead of night. I just didn't know what else to do."
"Don't worry about that. It's okay."
"I thought it was my Mom calling to check in on me, ya know? Then, I was so surprised I didn't hang up right away. I just hope… Never mind."
"Hope what? You can tell me. I… I hope you know you can trust me, Dacey."
"I believe you, Sam. It's just hard to relive it all again–"
"Then, you don't have to. It's okay."
"I want to. I was gonna say I hope I cut the call off before he heard me…"
Seconds ticked by, and Sam thought maybe their connection had been lost.
"Dacey? You still there?"
The heavy breath that came through the receiver broke Sam's heart, but then it was hers to break and had been almost from the moment he met her.
"Yeah, I'm here. I screamed, Sam. Loud, like he was right there in the house with me."
Saying those words tipped her over the edge, and she began to cry. It was unbearable.
"I'm so sorry. It's okay. It'll be okay."
"Sam?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
He heard a deep inhale and shuddery exhale as Dacey tried to recover herself.
"Can you come over?"
"I know. You think you killed all the brain cells with the Algebra you need for that test tomorrow in 'em, so you need me to go over it again, right?"
Sam held his breath. Was it too soon for a goofy joke?
"Yeah, that's it. You see right through me."
Her voice was rough from crying, but she sounded a little better.
"It's two now. When will your Mom be home?"
"Some time this afternoon, but it's okay. She trusts me. You might have to meet her though. Guys hate that stuff."
"Not me. And Moms love mathletes."
"How can they help themselves?"
"Be right there."
"Thanks, Sam."
Lying in the dark with Dean snoring distractingly in the twin bed nearby, Sam's emotions were all over the place, but then why should now be any different? The job over, Dad and Dean were there in the apartment when he returned from Dacey's, and it wasn't that he wasn't happy to see them, to see that they were safe and well, but their presence was still a bit of a jolt out of the dream-world he hadn't intended on letting himself build, the one where he could stay here in Brockton and just be normal, but mainly so he could be with her, with Dacey. They were both still too keyed up, still juiced from the hunt, to quiz him any further when he said simply that he'd been studying with a friend. He had his book bag with him, so there wasn't any reason they should, but Sam knew it was much more than that for him.
He'd barely gotten in the door of her house and set the book bag on the floor before whatever line of brave chit-chat Dacey had been trying to cover with had trailed off, and he'd instinctively held out his arms. They'd sunk onto the sofa, a place that could have been fraught from their one-sidedly-drunken make-out session the night before, but it wasn't. She'd let him hold her, and he'd felt so many things, many of them physical, but none were overtly sexual.
That was how Sam knew for sure that he was ruined because it was all deeper than that, the swelling ache of tenderness and the primal protective instinct, and the anger-tinged sadness, all of it filling him to overflowing inside, so he'd tried to let it out bit by bit with stroking her hair and making soothing sounds.
Later, her mother, Claudia, had arrived home, and they'd ordered veggie pizza, and Sam hadn't been the least surprised that Dacey didn't say a word about the horrible phone call even though she shared that she and Sam had watched the movie together. The two of them had looked at each other in this connected way that he didn't know a word for and said, "Virgin" at the same time and then laughed, and he'd loved it because their laughter included him somehow, pulled
him into their little circle.
He never wanted it to end because that was just it. There was one other emotion that wasn't so pleasant swimming around in his belly, and Dad and Dean coming back here only intensified it: it was guilt. Not only was he still confused about how the part of him that had taken a little sabbatical while he was helping her through this immediately-past crisis, the part that wanted her to be sober and willing and really wanting him to when, or more like if, he kissed her again and touched her, was ever going to be reconciled with the part that knew that just that kind of activity was the source of her deepest pain, but there was also the other thing he knew that she didn't, that he hadn't told her yet.
As badly as he wanted to stay in the dream-world where he was a new student like she was, where he would at the very least finish out the school year with her, be her friend and confidant and protector and maybe, as long as it was a dream-world, even her boyfriend, it was completely untrue. At any time his dad would get a call or put together the signs and indicators of another job, and Sam would be gone out of Dacey's life as suddenly and finally as the death it was going to feel like to him when it happened, so he had to tell her. The guilt demanded it even if it meant she'd be the one to cut him out of her life instead.
Mon. passed relatively quietly, and, since Dacey had to take the Algebra exam in the afternoon, Sam thought it was perfectly reasonable to postpone telling her about his family's propensity for frequent relocations. Instead, he reassured her that she'd do great on the test, and she couldn't have been sweeter when she thanked him yet again for his tutoring. Of course, Sam couldn't exactly revert to his usual standard self-deprecating reaction without undermining her belief that his efforts would prove successful, so he had to accept her gratitude with what he hoped was only a minor blush or two instead of verbal demurrals.
So, he wasn't thrilled to be greeted at the door of the next morning's study hall he shared with Dacey with news that his presence was requested in the Office. Since he knew he hadn't done anything to be in trouble over, he figured it was probably somebody checking up on his "incomplete" education records. With as many schools as he and Dean had attended over the years, there were a few gaps in the paper-work, and a new school almost always wanted to talk to him about it at some point. Still, it was annoying to have to wait to find out how Dacey thought she did on her math test from wasting time on this exercise that was likely to be nothing but paper shuffling that wouldn't amount to anything.
Sam approached the reception desk with a neutral expression carefully constructed to hide his irritation.
"Excuse me. I'm Sam Winchester. I was told somebody here wanted to see me."
"Yes, Sam. The Guidance Counselor, Mr. Davies, will be with you in a moment. Please have a seat."
The woman smiled at him genuinely enough, so Sam smiled back briefly and then sat down to wait. Since he had his book bag with him, he reached in and came out with his U.S. History textbook and decided to pass the time reading ahead on the next chapter they were going to cover instead of sitting there twiddling his thumbs. After a few moments of re-reading the same paragraph several times because his mind kept wandering to his curiosity about Dacey's math test and his real desire just to get back to Study Hall where he could be in the same room with her for that one hour of the day before it descended into boring Dacey-less routine, Sam looked up to discover that somebody was staring at him intently.
Maybe the staring had contributed to his inability to concentrate, but in any event the guilty party in question, and she had startled just slightly before looking away quickly, was another student, a somewhat-blandly pretty blonde, in Sam's opinion anyway, seeing as how he was currently a devotee to the beauty construct that put glossy dark hair at the top of the rankings, especially when it was complemented with toffee brown eyes that had flecks of green and gold in them that stood out more when the light was right, and boy he must have subjected Dacey to some pretty high-level-intensity staring himself if he'd made note of such details.
Anyway, now that he'd given up actually reading the textbook due to whatever combination of distractions had done the trick, he used pretending to continue reading as a cover for staring right back at the girl who'd been eying him so closely. She was tall and athletic-looking, her movements graceful as she walked around the table where she was organizing and sorting papers. When she strolled over to the Staff mailboxes, Sam realized she'd bean sorting their mail and that some of the colored papers must be memos and notices of various kinds.
It gave him a chance to study her while her back was turned, or, more accurately, to picture her face as linked to her form while he tried to figure out why she looked so familiar when he was sure he'd never met her. After a bit the flash of insight came: she was a cheerleader, on the varsity squad specifically, the ones who performed during school-hours pep rallies, since Sam had never attended a football game to see them in that capacity. The realization wasn't particularly helpful though because it told him nothing other than that there didn't seem to be a reason in the world why such a girl would spare him more than a passing glance.
"Becca, when you're finished there, I have the minutes ready from the faculty meeting. Will you sort those for me next, dear?"
The cheerful secretary had just provided Sam the girl's first name, not that it really mattered, but at least now he remembered her last name as well. She was Becca Allen, and she was a Senior like Dacey, and she was also one of the officers, Vice President maybe, of the Student Council here at East Brockton High. So, that meant she was popular enough and probably a pretty good student too, considering that it was generally true that those were the prerequisites for which students got the opportunities for working in a school's office during the school day.
The Guidance Counselor had ended up being an okay guy and had wanted to go over Sam's class choices, especially in math and computer science, for the upcoming semester, but his enthusiasm and helpfulness had been damaged in Sam's eyes by the fact that he'd taken up the whole hour, which meant that Sam didn't get to see Dacey at all for the rest of the school day, since they didn't have the same lunch period or any other classes together.
The only good thing about any of that was that it gave Sam the perfect excuse to call Dacey instead as he could make it seem like legitimate business to do with following up with her about the Algebra test. Once dinner was over and their dad was busy making notes and sketches in his journal about the hunt he and Dean had just successfully concluded, the subject of which had been a ghost afflicted with a curse connected to an obscure charm piece with markings on it indicating Celtic origin of some kind, and with it being Dean's turn to do the washing up, Sam seized the window of privacy to make his call.
How embarrassing was it that just listening to each ring while he waited for somebody to answer seemed to craft an interval to measure the acceleration of his heart rate in anticipation of hearing Dacey's voice? That and focusing on not saying anything stupid or overly-mathletey in the process of getting the supposed reason for his call out, not stuttering or sounding like a total doofus, were reasons enough to set his pulse racing.
Instead, Sam was thrown off for just a moment when an unfamiliar voice said, "Hello."
Almost immediately he figured out that it had to be Dacey's mother, but he hadn't been sure right away because her tone was so different from the bantering and welcoming one she'd adopted at their pizza dinner. She sounded tense, worried even.
"Hi, Ms. Henderson. It's Sam Winchester. I was calling to talk to Dacey, but, also, thanks for dinner the other night. It was really nice of you to include me."
Sam heard breath exhaling through the receiver, but it ended up being a sign of relief or something, which was a big relief for him too.
"Oh, Sam. We were happy to have you. You can call me Claudia. I'm sorry if I sounded off before. We've been getting strange phone calls, hang-ups. It makes me worry that somebody's trying to figure out our schedule because they want to break into the house or something. It's upsetting Dacey even more than me. Anyway, I'll get her for you. Nice speaking with you again, Sam. You'll have to come back for a home-cooked dinner soon. I'll let Dacey work out a date. Bye, Sam."
"Bye, Ms., I mean, Claudia. Thank you. That sounds great."
Well, now Sam wouldn't have to worry about whether or not to ask Dacey if she'd told her mother yet about the harassing phone calls because she clearly hadn't. Sam was pretty sure that the caller would only hang up without speaking when it wasn't Dacey answering the phone, which explained why her mother was the one answering it today.
"Hi, Sam."
When Dacey came on the line almost immediately, the thought was so fresh in his mind that it gave him the courage to bring it up with her as well.
"Hi, Dacey. I was just calling to see how you thought you did on the test, but your Mom sure sounded worried. I know it's hard to talk about, but maybe it would help her to know what's really going on, and maybe she could help you."
If Sam thought his heart was pounding before, then the time passing without a reply from Dacey set it into overdrive. Now he'd done it, overstepped the boundaries of the fragile trust he'd built up with her and ruined everything, but that wasn't it.
"No, Sam. I can't be upset with you for thinking so, but maybe you've just never been in this position before where having somebody else fight your battles for you only makes things worse, ends up hurting them instead of helping you."
On the contrary, this reaction from Dacey stung too, partly because he felt like he doubly understood what she meant because, not only did he have first-hand experience from the times that Dean had gotten punished for trying to intervene on Sam's behalf with their dad over some small rebellion that he'd dug his stubborn heels in about, but also due to the fact that he felt too awkward about keeping secret the kind of life he was rebelling against to let Dacey offer him the commiseration she'd almost certainly extend if he did offer up some heavily-censored version of these feelings they had in common. It still didn't stop him from the hypocrisy of urging her to do what he couldn't though because he cared about her too much to balk at the twinges of guilt he surely deserved for adding another to the list of secrets he was keeping from her.
"Well, she could give you her sympathy and support though, and you know she'd want to. You shouldn't try to handle all of this alone."
"I'm not alone. I have you, Sam, to talk to, I mean. That's enough. It is."
Well, now he really was ruined more than he'd already thought he was because the only way he could stand telling her about the Winchester nomad existence, a tale that probably should be told in person rather than on the telephone, was if he didn't stop at being just that somebody she could talk to for however long he was able to stay here in Brockton, and hearing her say it did things to his heart that made him glad they weren't face to face because he'd be sure to embarrass himself into oblivion if they were, but now he simply had to do something to put an end to all of this ugliness, and he'd have to risk exposing himself to some serious humiliation in the process, but not from Dacey.
The first sentence was a sing-song melody that he knew all too well and could counter with just the lifting of an eyebrow.
"Sammy has a girlfriend. One question there, Sam, does she know anything about it, or is she only the girl of your, ya know, dreams?"
The graphic obscene gesture that Dean performed emphatically, timed to the last and equally-emphasized word in his query, miming the exact kind of dream he thought Sam would be having about Dacey, would normally only be mildly annoying too, but under the circumstances his eyes flashed a warning that Dean, even at the height of enjoying what he'd expected to be only the usual run-of-the-mill response from his younger brother, didn't fail to perceive.
"Easy, tiger. No disrespect intended to your girl. What's this about?"
"I swear, Dean, I'm coming to you for help because this is important enough to me to put up with your jokes. It's not about me. It's about her, more specifically about trying to stop somebody who's hurting her but is too much of a bully and a coward to even do it out on the open—"
"Meaning?"
"I'm getting to it, but first I need you to promise me that you can hold off with your usual crap, giving me crap anyway, until I finish and you give me your advice, your suggestions on what to do."
Dean made a visible effort to wipe any trace of a smirk from his face and answered in a serious tone.
"Okay, Sam. I promise."
"Good. Okay then, well, this part is hard to say because I know your first reaction is to be all 'Hey, I like girls who don't hold out. What's not to like?' But just remember you promised not to make any jokes at her expense. I mean it, Dean."
"I can see that."
"Her name is Dacey Henderson, Candace actually, and she was with the quarterback of the football team over this past summer—"
"And by 'with' you mean—"
Sam's eyes were hard.
"Just what you think I mean. The point is nobody gives a damn what he does, or they think he's some big stud or whatever, but she's like this social outcast because they had sex, and he apparently dumped her before school even started, which makes him a total jerk in my book. Anyway, some loudmouth spread it around to all the other loudmouths, so she walks in the door of the school her first day there already with this reputation for being a slut, and, like I said, it only makes him a bigger man on campus or some such bullshit."
"Okay, so that sucks and all, but what can anybody do about it?"
"That isn't all, Dean. Somebody's making obscene, scary obscene, calls to her house, and she's really shaken up about it, but she won't even tell her mom, so I have to figure out who it is and make them stop before Dad comes in the door and says we're off to Kalamazoo or Idaho or somewhere."
"Does she know?"
"Know what?"
"That you're not gonna be able to stick by her either."
Sam flinched. Trust Dean to cut to the heart of the matter.
"I'm telling her the next time I see her, but I wanted to get going on coming up with a plan of action to help her as much as I can before we have to go."
"Do you have anything to go on to figure out who's doing it, who's making the calls?"
"I didn't, but then something Dacey told me about what the guy said got me thinking. I was in the school office today, nothing major, just going over my class choices with the Guidance Counselor, and this other girl was in there, this cheerleader girl working in there. She could get access to the student records, right?"
"Right."
"Well, Dacey said the guy on the phone called her 'Candy' and that no students at the school would have any way to know that her real name is Candace. This cheerleader girl could have looked at Dacey's file and seen her full name and told the guy making the calls. It makes me sick thinking about the kind of things a guy like that could say using disgusting references to candy and stuff to do with sex. No wonder Dacey is so upset."
Sam knew that Dean would be very likely to make jokes in some ways similar to what the harassing caller had no doubt done with the fodder of a name like Dacey's, but Dean would only do it as jokes and would never say them directly to a girl to hurt her. Despite his bravado and actual impressive success with people of the female persuasion, Sam knew something even more relevant to this subject about his older brother that the Winchester in question mostly tried to hide: Dean was a romantic at heart, and Sam was sure of it both because of the reverence he knew Dean felt for their late mother but also from the kinds of movies he only watched when he thought Sam was asleep or when he mistakenly thought he'd convinced Sam that there was some other reason for the film choice.
After all, Dean had taken him for his fifteenth birthday last year to a second-run theater showing The Wedding Singer, no doubt because he'd gambled that the Adam Sandler feature had enough ridiculous comedy to disguise it's big-red-hearts-and-flowers-level cornball heart, but Sam hadn't failed to notice the tender, starry-eyed grin that had lingered on his tough-guy brother's face when true love won out in the end. And no amount of covering later with comments about Drew Barrymore's talents for filling out a sweater would ever persuade Sam that Dean hadn't secretly been rendered into a leather-jacket-clad pile of goo. Because Sam had grown quite fond of the tidy alignment of his own teeth over the years, he couldn't foresee an occasion when he would ever reveal this intuited knowledge. Some subjects were just off limits as teasing material, and the psyche-deep link to their departed mother that this one featured meant that Sam had no intention of ever mentioning Dean's melty center underneath the crunchy candy coating.
Maybe part of Dean welcomed the opportunities all the moving from town to town afforded him not to get involved in serious relationships himself because of how much their mother's death had hurt him so that he couldn't face the idea of that kind of loss again, more specifically because he just didn't want the pain of leaving a serious girlfriend behind when the Winchesters left town. Sam didn't pretend to know the complete answer, but he was very sure it wasn't all just the thrill and novelty of adding notches to his proverbial bedpost. It was why Sam had decided to come to Dean with this in the first place. Dean's face told him he'd made the right decision.
"What makes you think this cheerleader has something against Dacey? Is she hot for the quarterback herself?"
"Maybe. I don't know. It's just that I caught her staring at me when she thought I wasn't looking, and I'm starting to think it's because she's seen me around with Dacey. Otherwise, who am I to a Senior girl, a cheerleader no less, to be staring at like that?"
"Do you have any proof, Sammy?"
"No, it's just a hunch so far. Something was just off about how that Becca Allen, that's her name, Becca Allen, was looking at me."
"Then, I can help you get some."
Normally, a line like that would have led instantly to Dean making a joke about the alternative meaning of the last two words of his reply. Not this time though. This time Dean's eyes were agleam with the same kind of determination that they held when he was schooling himself in preparation for a serious hunt, and that was exactly what Sam had been counting on.
It was official. A random Wed. was now the best day of his life. No matter what else was going on, Sam had already learned over the course of a life filled with uncertainty to look for little things to be happy about. He wasn't anywhere near as good at it as Dean was, but he had his moments, and today was at the top of his list.
He'd been standing at his locker collecting the books he'd need for homework just like after any school day when he was startled by a sudden "attack" from behind. Two arms encircled him, and a body clearly less than his own height crashed into him. But before any kind of hunter instinct could kick in enough to elicit a defensive maneuver, a great thing under the circumstances, a giddily-excited female voice exclaimed, "I aced it! You're a genius, Sam Winchester!"
As he hurriedly turned to confirm the identity of his "attacker", Dacey let go long enough for him to see her beaming grin before she launched herself at him again and burst out laughing.
"Oh, Sam. You should see your face. I totally freaked you out. Sorry about that, but thank you, thank you, thank you!"
So, yes, he was caught off guard, but he had the presence of mind to have returned that second embrace. Bathing in the exaltation of her praise and of her body pressed against his, even as he took care not to hold her too tight or to hold on past the point when she moved to be released, Sam rode the immediate wave of joy that coursed through his veins. It was all he could do not to kiss her right there in the hallway, but somehow he restrained that impulse.
Tonight he'd finally given up trying to study once he finished his written homework assignments because all his brain wanted to do was relive the moment over and over again. Besides, as soon as Dean got in, there was something new Sam needed to report, the one tiny dark cloud that had dared to intrude on his special moment with Dacey. Even as he'd smiled and nodded and tried to listen to her recount the details of her test results along with continued praise of his tutelage, Sam couldn't help taking note of two people further down the other end of the hall who were feigning casual indifference but were still obviously observing their conversation and straining to hear it.
One face was all too familiar because he'd only just seen it yesterday: it was Becca Allen again, and the guy whose locker she was lounging next to looked familiar too even though Sam didn't know his name. The guy was the main cretin yelling the nasty insults at Dacey the fateful day Sam first met her, and Sam couldn't wait to fill Dean in on this breakthrough connection, since he was now convinced that the jerk was almost certainly the one making the menacing phone calls to his girl, and, yeah, if he didn't start thinking of her that way inside the privacy of his own head, how did he expect to find the courage to say it to her out loud, especially when in the same conversation he was going to have to tell her that he had no control over how long it could last?
Sam didn't know how that conversation was going to go, but he did know now that there was no way he was going to tell Dacey anything important on school grounds, not with Becca and the Hulk lurking around eavesdropping. He was going to have to be alone with her again to do it right, and that meant asking her out on an actual date, a thought almost as terrifying as the subject matter he felt honor-bound to finally cover that might end up making it both their first and last one.
"Edward Holtower?"
"Yes sir."
"And you are…?"
"What's it to ya?"
Dean already wanted to slap the punk, but he had to maintain his cover. If said punk's back wasn't to him, he might do it anyway. The quarterback gave the guy a push in the shoulder, all the while grimacing like this wasn't the first time his smart-ass friend had shot his mouth off at the wrong time, and he at least didn't need to see the FBI ID that Dean whipped out and held up with practiced ease in order to show appropriate respect. Even though the feeling was fleeting at this point due to repetition, Dean did still always enjoy how that badge magically wiped the smirk off the faces of most arrogant pricks, and this other kid was no exception. He was a little taller than golden-boy quarterback, who appropriately enough, was blond and athletic-looking, while as-yet-unidentified-arrogant-prick-boy was dark-haired, heavier-set and just generally denser in both senses of the word.
"That would be Agent Young to you, and I'll be asking the questions."
The jerk looked suitably cowed, just like most bullies when confronted by somebody with the actual authority to kick their cowardly asses with more-or-less impunity even if it would most likely be a figurative ass-kicking.
"Sorry, sir. I'm Josh Bennett."
"Either of you know a student at your school named Candace?"
Dean was watching carefully for any tells of facial expression or body language that would tip him off to lies or evasions. Eddie appeared to be pondering the question, but a micro-expression of recognition flashed over Josh's face before he covered with a wiping motion across his brow, as if he was trying to erase or hide the thoughts racing through his brain. He was obviously the guilty party, so now it was going to be just that much harder to resist giving him a smack upside his thick skull.
"No, sir. Is she in some kind of trouble?"
Why did the liars always feel so obligated to pipe up first and then try to dig for information? Must be the guilty conscience.
"What about you, Edward?"
"I don't think so, sir. "
"You boys play football?"
"Varsity, sir. Eddie here's our QB, and I'm one of his Guards."
"I just bet you are, Josh. And maybe you've taken a few too many hits to the head in the process too because I, on the other hand, remember that I already told you that I'd be asking the questions here today."
"Don't mind him, sir. He just always has my back. Is there anything else we can do to help?"
Dean looked from Eddie to Josh and back again and had a thought. It would be different than what he was used to expecting, messy-tangled-relationships-causing-trouble-wise, but it was a possibility.
"Well, Edward, what I can tell you is that in the course of another investigation it has come to our attention that somebody is harassing the young woman in question. So, if this harassment continues, the investigation will take a turn to see if there's any connection between that and some very serious crimes, federal crimes, that I'm not at liberty to discuss. Suffice it to say that neither one of you wants any part of this matter. Am I making myself clear?"
As he spoke Dean glanced at Eddie a couple of times, but mostly he kept his eyes trained on Josh, and, despite the fact that the jack-hole had recovered enough to be trying to feign macho indifference once again, he could see a trace of fear in the eyes and was even delighted to note that a droplet of sweat was working its way from hairline to jaw that he let the kid see him follow the progress of as it crept down, and Dean pointedly raised an eyebrow when the itchiness of it drove Josh to jerk his chin over and try to wipe the call sign of his guilt away on the shoulder of his t-shirt.
"So, I was right. It was the same guy."
"Has to be, Sam."
"How'd you find them?"
"It's a good thing for you that I'm just as amazing at sweet-talking moms as I am at terrifying punk-ass bullies."
"Well, you did say they were playing basketball, right Dean? Maybe that was why he was sweating."
"Give me some credit, little brother. He recognized the name 'Candace' immediately. That Eddie kid didn't even blink. I'd say he has no idea what's going on now even if he was a jerk for dumping her after he…uh, their summer fling or whatever."
"I'm glad to give you credit, Dean. Thanks a lot, really. It'll be awhile before I can pull off being a Fed., if ever, and I do think what you said will work. Guys like that only care about their sport, and that Josh guy probably at least thinks he's got a shot at an athletic scholarship, even if it is only to some Podunk U. with a football team."
"Well, nobody ever said that it takes a lot of brainpower to be an obnoxious jerk. I'd say that it does suck for him to be such an obvious stereotype, but in one way I don't think he is."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I can't be sure, but I don't think old Josh is jealous that Eddie was with Dacey before, but I do think he is jealous of Eddie being with anybody else."
"You're not making sense, Dean."
"Like I said, I'm not sure, but I think if you try a little harder and use your gaydar you'll figure it out."
Sam's eyes widened.
"Oh. You think Josh wants Eddie for himself."
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm not sure he even knows it himself. Probably wouldn't admit it even if you beat the crap out of him. Just a hunch."
"Well, anyway, thanks again, Dean. So now that just leaves one person to be set straight, and I'll take care of that myself."
"No problem, Sam. So, how is Dacey anyway?"
"I have a feeling I'll regret telling you this, but we have a date Sat. night."
"Adorable."
"Yep, it sucks to be right sometimes."
It was a good thing Dean had reverted to form though because it gave him the excuse to end the conversation before his brother remembered to ask him whether he'd been straight, a word that had a double-meaning for him at the moment due to Dean's theory about Josh, with Dacey yet about the Winchester family's gypsy wanderings, which he hadn't. Once he'd stammered through the date invite on the phone, he had decided for the last time that the news would have to be delivered literally in person and not on the phone, a possibility he'd let himself reconsider one last time after having previously ruled it out because in the end he knew that he needed to be able to look her in the eyes for fear that otherwise he'd lose her on the spot.