Hey guys! I'm not a very popular fanfic writer, I know, but please review? Ideas (for ANYTHING, really), inspirations, a bit of Scottish history (I'm only a little bit myself), constructive criticism, flames, ANYTHING. Please.

Skipping ahead to the first day of school...

Dean pulled the Impala up to the front of the middle school, letting Sammy out. Dad was too busy to take his little brother-and by busy, he meant having a world-class hangover. Hey, at least he was home. Dean stretched, wincing as the skin around his bruise tugged.

Luckily, the middle school and the high school were right next to each other, so it was easy on the gas. After finding a decent spot, Dean was (slightly) prepared for the first day. The large doors were propped open, students streaming in. Dean quickly joined the crowd, looking for a few familiar faces. Lisa, for one, and his friends. It was futile, however, as they were most likely in their classes. A quick look at his schedule confirmed first hour as Mechanics. It was more of an extra option, going all year long, but it was his favorite. Also, an easy A.

He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, then quickly located a table in the back. He hoped no one bothered to be his benchmate. Screw hope, his mind pestered, what's it done for you?

Dean leaned back as far as he could, the front legs of the chair a good two inches above the ground. As Mr. Singer, the teacher, took attendance, Dean looked over his schedule.

1. Mechanics

2. Algebra-HON

3. ELA*-HON

4. Spanish

5. Geography

LUNCH

6. Chemistry-HON

7. U.S. History

SH- Mr. Singer (Mechanics)

Honors classes? Dean hoped it was a fluke. He was pretty smart, yeah, but honors? He didn't think so. Then the bell rang, signaling for classes to start, and Dean was thrust full-on into the workings of an airplane engine.

Amelia was in super-grump mode. Most of the school was composed of idiots, and the rest were teachers. Her mother had nagged for the past week that she needed to make friends, but she had friends. Wasn't her fault she moved across the pond. So instead of being friendly, she shot glares to everyone who decided to make eye contact with her.

It was quite a lot of people too, because Amelia had decided to grace the school in her full, amazing glory. Which included her outfit: a T-shirt that had a Dalek on it (and the words, To Victory!), dark-wash shorts that reached mid-thigh and gray low-top Converse. To top it all off, her hair was down. So, she attracted stares. Whatever. She really didn't want to deal with anyone today, especially as it was a reminder her friends were having fun without her. In Scotland. She took a look at her schedule.

1. Orchestra

2. Algebra-HON

3. ELA-HON

4. Spanish

5. U.S. History

LUNCH

6. Chemistry-HON

7. Geography

SH-Mr. Singer

At least she had Orchestra first. Amy was practically in love with the violin, and had (illegally) pulled some of the music Sherlock composed from the Internet. And played that, too. She was glad she was in mostly honors classes, and figured that it was for the smartest people. Which (not to brag) was her. For the most part. She had no clue how to change a spare tire, but she could bang out Fur Elise on the piano. (Sorry the 'u' doesn't have the accent mark.) But whatever.

Collapsing into a random seat, the Orchestra teacher entered the classroom.

Mechanics went all too quickly for Dean, and then it was time for Algebra. Math had never been his strong suit, but he trudged along, usually with the barely-passing grade of C. The teacher, Prof. Crowley**, who seemed a little too strict, had already put a seating chart on the board. The desks were divided into five rows, with six desks a row. Dean was surrounded by total strangers, on either side. Now he'd focus better, with no one to distract him.

Until distracting blue hair sat directly in front of him. And then she turned around. "How in the seven rings of hell did you end up in here?" Amelia hissed.

"I could say the same about you, princess. And I could. But I'm not going to, because you're a smart little cookie, aren't you." She turned back around, some strands smacking him in the face. Dean found it a sort of blessing that Amelia was seated in front of him, instead of behind, because if he moved just to the left, he could see most of her desk.

"Now, students, I'm going to see if your asses are in your seats." The teacher had a vague English accent, as if it had faded from being in other places for too long. After going through almost every single kid, the professor called out, "Whelan?"

"Present," Amelia mumbled.

"Good. Winchester? Ah, a Winchester."

"Here." Class started without a hitch, mostly of Prof. Crowley covering what they learned last year. Dean didn't understand a single bit of it. After class was over, the professor pulled him aside.

"You've scraped along these past few years, Dean. But if your grade, in my class, dips below an 80, I am giving you a tutor. End of story."

"Yes, sir."

Dean meandered to his next class, Language Arts, because he never really cared for creative writing or grammar. He didn't really care for much, honestly. Again, there was a distracting blue head in front of him, and he seriously wondered if there was a higher power out to get him.

"You again? Christ, you're everywhere." Dean narrowed his eyes at the back of her head, simultaneously writing down the basic rules of grammar, as Ms. Masters called it. His chicken scratch earned a sort of glare from the teacher, because it wasn't really legible. It wasn't like he was focusing on it anyway, instead Dean's attention was drawn to counting every freckle on Amelia's otherwise creamy skin. She was seated sideways in her desk, her blue gaze on the teacher.

The next few classes blurred by, and then it was lunch. He brushed by the distracting blue head once more, plopping his books at the center of the table. When he turned, the normally confident blue head looked...lost. Standing up again, he took the slender wrist in his large hand.

"Come sit with us, sweetheart." He smirked as her face flushed a little at the pet name. He dragged her to the spot to his right, as Lisa took the seat directly across from him.

"Oh, Dean, you're so sweet! Inviting the new girl to sit with us, how nice," she simpered, while shooting Amy a look that said stay away. "Aren't you going to get anything to eat?"

"Not big of a lunch eater." Amy said softly. She looked a bit nervous and a bit sick, but it was her first day in American schools. Anyone would be nervous.

"Oh! You're Irish!" Lisa exclaimed.

"Close. I'm Scottish."

Lisa made a face. Picking at her lunch (which was brought from home, and looked really good), Lisa took Dean's and held it across the table, as if staking her claim. Dean looked a bit uncomfortable, and Amy knew he wasn't one for PDA.

"Hey, cutie." A girl with hair as red as Amy's was blue plunked next to her. "Come here often?"

"Charlie," Dean laughed, "Stop hitting on the new girl. Amelia, this is Charlie, the resident lesbian. Don't respond to any of her flirts, please."

Charlie grinned. Amelia stuck out her hand. "Amelia. Well, Amy. Um..."

"Oh. Scotland? I can tell you're not from this country. Here, write down your number. Not hitting on you, but we'll be friends." Nodding, Amy plucked a pen from her backpack. Holding it in her left hand precariously, she scribbled her cell number down on a napkin, only for it to be plucked out of her hands by Dean.

"I want it too."

*ELA=English Language Arts

**I think Crowley would rather teach college...