So, Dean just got Amy's number. By the way, I'm not a huge fan of the drama thing where Person A rejects Person B so Person B attempts suicide and a bunch of drama happens, etc. Yeah, not very fond.

Also, to my dear friend Bellatrix-lestrangleyou, nice name.

Amy crossed the parking lot, looked to her left, then regretted it. Dean and Lisa were all but doing the do on the hood of his car, and she quickly tried burning the image from her mind. They were making out pretty heavily, and Amy practically ran the three blocks home. Dropping her books on her desk a few hours later (she had to pick up groceries), her phone made whatever noise it made when she got a text.

At Lisa's. Friends with pizza in the backyard. Join us? -D

She was especially lucky for her bedroom. If she opened the big window above her bed, and crawled out, there was a small flat piece of roof before the roof peaked again. She stood on that piece, looking at the neighbor's yard. There was a large cluster of people. And by large, she meant full-blown party. Not just a bunch of friends with pizza. Amy figured the party would last well after dark, even though it was only about 5:30. However, it was getting later in the year, so the sun was getting lower in the sky. A lone person standing just in her backyard looked up on the roof and waved.

Her phone rang again.

Is that you on the roof? Come have fun! Your first party as an American! -D

Chuckling to herself, Amy re-entered her room.

Sorry. No. Don't do parties. -A

You sure? Fun! -D

I'm sure. -A

Giving you 10 minutes to get your butt down here or I am collecting it myself. -D

No. You've got a girlfriend, why don't you have fun with her? -A

Dean didn't reply, and from her window, Amy watched the figure on the lawn walk back towards the party. She flopped onto her bed, chucking her phone in the general direction of her desk. It hit the floor with a thunk. She grabbed a book that was left on her nightstand. The top shelf that had been left empty was now full of books from the local library. Eleven, or maybe twelve? Didn't matter. She'd gotten her library card, and she was pleased. She pulled on her pajamas while reading.

Shimmying the snowmen-patterned pajama pants up her hips, she dog-eared the book and set it on the floor. Amy pulled her favorite quilt up to her chin and closed her eyes. The loud music from next door made that impossible, however, and so she sat in the dark with the moonlight filtering through her windows.

Jumping ahead to the middle of the semester...

Dean spent a bit of time looking for Amy that day, mostly to rub that she missed another great party in her face. A bit. But he couldn't find her, and that distracting blue head was gone all week. The next Monday, there she was, with a cast on her wrist and bruises and cuts on her other arm and face.

"What happened?" He asked under his breath in study hall. They were bench mates, their table somewhere in the middle of the room.

"Oh. I got hit by a car. Don't worry, I'm fine. The asshat wasn't watching." There she was, Scottish accent and grumpy personality all wrapped up in a blue bundle.

"What?"

"A car. Weren't you paying attention?"

"I was. Still, you didn't bother to tell me?"

"Why should I? You're not my next of kin."

It was true. But Dean still felt obligated to know, as he was one of her two main connections in Lawrence. She scowled at him.

"Still. I should know."

Dean was feeling a little tense. He'd gotten a form that said he needed to find a tutor. He'd tried so hard, but he really couldn't grasp, well, anything. Dean knew he wasn't a smart kid. That's why all the money he worked for went to Sammy's college fund. But he wanted to at least get through high school with decent grades, should college ever come up.

They sat in silence for the remainder of study hall, Amy devouring yet another book. When the final bell rang, Dean stopped Amy from leaving.

"I need to talk to you. Five minutes." Amy obliged, sitting down again.

His face almost entirely red, Dean managed to get out that he needed a tutor. Amy sat in silence, and nodded her head when Dean asked if she'd tutor him. It was a relief. All of the teachers liked her enough, and she was passing without a problem. Dean then proposed starting that day. She was perfectly fine with it. Dean offered a ride to her house, it was the least he could do.

The duo climbed into the Impala, Amy banished to the back seat because he didn't want anyone other than Sammy or Lisa to sit up front.

Amy was in for a real treat. She had to tutor Dean Winchester, the insufferable bastard who was one of her only friends. Climbing the two flights of stairs to her room, she cursed the higher power who decided it would be fun for Dean to fail. When they were all seated and comfortable, books spread and the furnace cranking (it was way too cold for mid-October), thunder clapped and it started to pour.

"Should I do it like this?" Amelia dog-eared her page, and leaned over to look at Dean's equation.

"Yeah. Only you need to do the simplifying like this," She took a pencil and scribbled something onto it. Dean nodded like he understood. When he reached over to grab another cookie (Amy had made them the other day and felt generous), she saw a ring of bruises on his forearm. Chalking it up to football (he was on the school team, and therefore popular), she let it go.

"What are you humming?" Dean asked.

"An old Russian lullabye." Amy hadn't even realized that she was humming.

"I thought you were Scottish."

"I am, but I had to learn it when I took Russian classes a while ago. So I can speak basic Russian as well as English."

"Cool." After that, the rest of the session was spent in silence. About an hour later, Dean looked at the alarm clock. "I think I have to go."

"Right. Adios, Dean." Before Dean was out the door, though, he stopped.

"Hey, Amelia?" Her head snapped up. "Thanks."