Sam twisted around in the sofa when the front door swung open. He had been watching the game with no particular interest in it.
"Dean," he hissed, "where the hell have you been? Mom's been-"
But he didn't get to finish his sentence; Mary Winchester had come into the room from the kitchen, her apron dusty with flour.
"Sit down, young man," she ordered.
Dean, who hadn't even set both feet into the house rolled his eyes and let his backpack fall onto the floor.
Mary clicked her tongue, "No, sweetpea. Not there."
She followed him with her eyes as he grabbed his bag, sat down next to Sam and looked up at her belligerently.
"So, what happened at school today?" She asked him.
Sam pretended to keep watching the game.
"Nothin'," Dean shrugged. "The usual."
"The usual huh? You mean like skipping class and flunking tests, sassing teachers?"
"I don't sass teachers, Mom."
Sam checked his watch, "Hey, Mom. I think I'll head out to Jess' place for a little bit."
"Be back before dinner, alright, Sam?" She said quickly turning her attention back to her older son.
Dean watched Sam out the door and growled, "how come he gets to frolic in the sun?"
Mary folded her arms, "Sam has been doing very well at school. No trouble from him. Not as much as you at least. So are you going to tell me what happened today or not?"
"Sounds like you already know."
"God, sometimes you sound just like him."
Dean knew who she meant. He kept himself from saying anything that would upset her. He kept himself from saying anything at all.
"I got a call from your principal," Mary said. "Again."
"She invite you to a wine-tasting or something?"
"Dean, stop it. I'm serious. You really need to stop moping around and get your life back together. I know what happened with Jo was horrible. But we all lose people. Don't dishonor her memory by using it as an excuse to do badly at life."
He looked up at his mother. She hadn't ever spoken so sternly to him. Not even when he had come home at midnight, buzzed on too many beers, raving about 'that deserter'. But Mary Winchester's eyes were still soft. The same soft brown he had always sought comfort in when he thought there was something in the closet at night, during thunderstorms, on the night that John had left for good. The same soft brown eyes looked down on him now, a weary mother with two sons and mortgages to pay. Dean sat up a little straighter and ran his jacket sleeve over his nose. Without looking at her he said:
"I'm taking care of it."
"Are you?"
"Hannigan's assigned me-"
"-Mrs Hannigan."
"-Mrs Hannigan... has assigned me a mentee, or whatever you call them."
"Mentee?"
"Some transfer student from Illinois. Name's Castico or something. I'm supposed to help him, I don't know, get acquainted or something."
"Well, that's a start."
"Kid's got a 4.0 GPA; maybe he could mentor me."
"It's a thought."
Dean felt he had said enough. He picked his bag up and sighed, "Guess I better do that homework then."
"If you don't I'll hear about it," Mary said, watching him trudge up to his room. She knew he wasn't going to do any homework. He would just sit in his room for house. She had heard him, talking to himself. Talking just like there was somebody else in the room. But she never heard anyone talking back.