"Listen real good," John said as he tied Dean's tie for him the day of his hearing. "I want ya to tell the judge that you were dared to dig it up. I want you to say that you're the new kid, and you were trying to make friends and that's what you were doing."
"You want me to lie," Dean scoffed. "To a judge in a courtroom."
"You really think that 'I was digging up the corpse of a serial killer ghost', sounds a whole hell of a lot more plausible." John rolled his eyes as he spoke.
"But they're gonna make me swear to tell the truth," Dean replied.
"Yeah," John nodded. "And you're going to say what I tell you to say to keep your ass out of jail. Cuz you if open your mouth the way you usually open your mouth the judge is gonna take one look at ya and send you to county for being a wise ass punk. So you keep your smart mouth shut expect when the judge speaks to you and come off like a lost little puppy lookin' to fit in and you'll get off with a fine."
"You can't lie in a courtroom, Dad," Dean answered. "I could go to jail for that."
"Yeah," John nodded. "Just channel your little brother's puppy dog eyes and you'll be fine."
"I'm a horrible liar," Dean shook his head. "It's never gonna work."
"Lyin's part of the job," John said seriously. "You wanna be a hunter, right?"
Dean nodded and looked toward the floor.
"They you gotta start getting better at it," John said taping the side of Dean's face. "And if you play this right, you'll look like an idiot teenager and not a psychopath."
"I'm not a psychopath," Dean defended.
"You were digging up a grave in the middle of night," John said, talking across the room to pick up his leather jacket off the chair. "You don't play it off like a dare or a prank you'll be labeled a psychopath for the rest of your life. And the next time the police pick you up somewhere, you won't get off light. Let's get going."
Dean could think of about six hundred thousand ways he'd rather be spending the day than sitting on a hard court room bench sweating it out about how he was going to be a good liar in front of a judge and a court room full of people looking at him trying to find out why a sixteen year old kid was randomly digging a grave in the middle of the night. He tried to picture what Sam looked like when he really wanted something; how is eyes looked. Dean couldn't say no to Sam's sad face. Nobody could say no to that face. The two of them had been getting free desserts from middle aged roadside diner waitresses for years.
"Sit still," John whispered out of the side of his mouth.
Dean wasn't even aware he was fidgeting until his dad mentioned it. His palms were sweaty and his mouth dry.
"Calm down," John said placing a hand on Dean's bouncing knee. "When you get up there, you just tell the judge what happened. Breathe and stop fidgeting and you'll be fine."
"I can be nervous right?" Dean said back. "That's a normal reaction to being in a court room?"
"Breathe," John replied. "Just calm down, everything will work out."
When Dean was finally called up to stand before the judge, he'd been replaying the story his dad had given him to tell over and over in his head so many times he was sure he'd remember it.
"Mr… Winchester?" the judge looked down over his glasses at him.
"Yes sir," Dean nodded white knuckling the podium he was standing behind.
"Care to share with the court what you were doing in the Hillside Cemetery at 4 am on January 26th?"
"It was a dare," Dean mumbled, eyes fixed on the grains of the podium.
"Speak up, Mr. Winchester, we can't hear you."
"It was a dare," Dean said just loud enough to get the point across. "I was trying to make friends."
"You really think that's the best way to make friends?" the judge asked.
"No sir," Dean said quickly shaking his head, looking up toward the judge. "I just wanted to fit in. They said I could hang with them if I did it and when I got arrested I thought that they'd think I was cool or something but they didn't. So I still don't got any friends."
He let out a short breath. He'd gotten the story out just as his dad told him too. One hurtle down, who knew how many more he'd have to jump before he got out of there.
"Do you usually do whatever a group of other kids tells you to do?" the judge asked. "Is that how you make friends usually?"
Dean shook his head quickly, his dad hadn't given him an answer for this one. He did his best to wing it. "No sir. It's just… I just… I needed… I wanted friends. And I don't really make them that easily and I just wanted friends, sir."
"How old are you?" the asked rifling through some papers he had in front of him.
"Sixteen, sir," Dean said eyes focusing back down on the podium.
"I'm guessing you just moved to this area?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Yes sir."
"There's easier ways to make friends than digging up a grave in the middle of the night," the judge said. "Life's not all about getting people to like you."
"I know," Dean mumbled.
"According to what I have in front of me," the judge said. "This is your first offence."
Dean nodded.
"You understand the maximum punishment for trespass is up to a year in jail?"
Dean nodded again.
"Do you think you learned anything from this Mr. Winchester?"
"Yes, sir," Dean answered. "I learned my lesson. I never want to go back to jail; even if it was just for a couple of hours. I don't want to do that again. I don't gotta impress anybody to try to fit in. It usually backfires anyway."
Dean still couldn't focus on the judge. He was so slippery with sweat he knew he'd have to shower when they got back to the motel. His shirt was sticking to his back in a way that "gross" didn't really cover.
"Since this is your first offence, and you seem like a kid who had a big lapse in judgment. I'm going to be lenient with you. You're being fine $600, which can be paid to the clerk in the lobby. You can also set up a payment schedule with her. But if I see you in front of me again, Mr. Winchester, you won't get off easy."
"Thank you sir," Dean said. He sort of half bowed to the judge as he followed the bailiff out of the court room.
It took about ten seconds to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. His dad met him moments later, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Good job," John told him.
"Where are we gonna get six hundred dollars?" Dean squeaked his voice hadn't cracked like that in a few years.
"There's a grocery store across from the hotel, you're old enough to work now," John suggested. "Let's fill out your paperwork and get back before Sammy gets out of school."
"You really want me to get a real job?" Dean asked after he got out of the shower. "Like a job job, bagging groceries or some shit."
"Watch your mouth, Dean," John sighed never looking up from his journal. "And yeah, I think that would be a good idea. You can work a few hours after school, maybe some weekends to get a little pocket money and pay off that fine."
"But… um," Dean exhaled slowly as he sat down on the bed. "I thought I was gonna get to go hunting more now."
"Here's the deal," John replied. "You pay off half that fine, I'll pay the other half. After it's done away with, I'll take you with me more. Sound fair?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, yes sir. Sounds more than fair."
"Put on some shoes and get over there, apply," John instructed.
"Right now?" Dean asked.
"Yes, Dean," John said not even bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. "Do it now."
Dean got a job bagging groceries for five bucks an hour three days a week. It wasn't hard work, but it sucked, it sucked horribly. From his years living on the road and traveling he knew that people on the Midwest were supposed to be some of the nicest, but people were assholes. At least he worked with some pretty okay people. Most of the people that worked the nights and weekend were around his age, he'd seen a few of them at school. He'd sit out behind the store on his breaks while a couple of his co-worker smoked cigarettes and make fun of the customers. He did his best to be the last one to leave when he closed so that no one would notice that he lived in the hotel across the street. Dean figured he could do a whole lot worse for a first job. Pulling in a hundred bucks a week wasn't anything he was going to complain about either.
He could've paid off the fine easy in about a month and half, but Dean found that money had a hard time staying in his new wallet.
"Wanna head out to the arcade?" Dean asked Sam after a slow night of nothing in the stuffy motel room. "Or catch a movie? Let's just get outta here for a while."
"That money's for your fine," Sam said sounding more like an adult any eleven year old had the right to sound. "You gotta save it, or give it to Dad so he can save it for you. You can't just blow it on whatever or you'll get sent back to jail."
"That's not how it works," Dean rolled his eyes.
"I'm pretty sure it is," Sam nodded. "Have you ever watched 'Cops'? That's what happened when you don't pay fines. You get arrest warrants and then you get pulled over for speeding and you go to jail, again, and not just for a couple hours this time. I looked up what the maximum punishment for what you were charged with. You can go to jail for a year. And not just kid jail, Dean, real jail, with gang members and murderers and stuff."
"There's no murderers in county lock up," Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, I just need to get out of this space. It's too small."
"I'm not letting you spend all your money," Sam reasoned.
"Then we won't buy anything," Dean sighed. "I just need to get out of this room."
Sam got up like it was a burden and followed Dean out of the room and down the stairs.
"Whaddya wanna do?" Dean asked throwing an arm over Sam's shoulders. "What do all those cool sixth graders do now-a-days?"
"I have no idea, Dean," Sam sighed trying to squirm out from under Dean's arm. "Since I'm definitely not one of the cool kids."
"What are you talkin' about?" Dean chuckled. "You're my kid brother of course you're a cool kid."
"Whatever," Sam rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, though," Dean said. "Whatcha wanna do? It's not gonna be the end of the world if I spend twenty bucks."
"Do… can we go to the music store?" Sam mumbled. "There's a tape that I want. This kid at school has it, and I listened to it. I don't think Dad would get it for me cuz it's not his kind of music, but I really like it."
"It's some stupid top forties shit music isn't it?" Dean asked.
"They play it on the radio," Sam answered.
"I'll get if for you," Dean said. "If you promise never to put it in the cassette player in the car."
"I'll only listen to it on my Walkman," Sam nodded. "I also need new batteries for that."
"Alright," Dean smiled grabbing Sam by the shoulders and pointing him toward downtown. "Lead the way, Bitch."
"Jerk," Sam mumbled under his breath.
Dean ended up buying Sam three cassettes of some band he'd never heard of and from the look of the guys on the cover, he didn't think he'd ever want to.
"Where did you even find music like this?" Dean asked turning the case over in his hand at the McDonald's down the street from the record store.
"School," Sam said, wrapping his mouth around the straw drinking his chocolate shake.
Dean looked at his brother skeptically. "I don't like these kids that you're hanging around with."
"You don't even know them," Sam rolled his eyes. "You can't judge people by the type of music they like."
"Yes, I can," Dean replied.
"You listen to old people music," Sam responded.
"I listen to good music," Dean corrected. "I don't even know what this is."
"Give it back," Sam sighed reaching across the table. "Don't be a jerk."
Dean placed the case on the table and flicked it back toward Sam. "You about ready? We can walk and finish up your drink."
"Yeah," Sam nodded, placing his wrappers on the tray and standing up.
Dean pulled Sam close as they walked down the sidewalk back to the hotel.
"You need a new winter jacket," Dean announced.
"No," Sam shook his head. "This one's good."
"It's two sized too small, at least," Dean said. "I'll get you a new one."
"After you pay off your fine," Sam replied. "I don't need a new one right now, this one's fine. You don't even have a real coat."
"I'm plenty warm," Dean shrugged. "Sweatshirts are good enough, but you need a good coat. One that fits. I'll take you to Kmart before we leave here, alright. Get ya some good stuff. Some pants that fit too, you're showing off a little bit too much sock."
"Don't spend all your money on me," Sam shook his head. "You worked for it."
"But I don't need anything," Dean answered. "You're growing. Your shoes are probably too small."
When they reached the hotel, Dean dug around in his pocket for the key.
"You don't have to by me stuff," Sam said. "I'm fine, really. Thanks for the tapes and stuff, but you don't gotta spend all your money on me."
"If I don't who's gonna?" Dean asked seriously. "When's the last time Dad took us to a store? It was like two years ago."
Sam shifted on his feet as Dean unlocked the door to the room. He dropped his empty shake cup into the trashcan by the door. John was sitting at the desk rifling through his journal.
"Hey boys," he said, not looking up.
"Whatcha got?" Dean asked sitting down on the corner of the bed. "Anything good?"
"I think there's a shape shifter in Milwaukee," John answered. "You working this weekend?"