Stranger Than Your Sympathy

Part One - Freshmen Year

Chapter Nine

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asked him when they were all hanging out in the common room late on Sunday evening.

"'Course I am, why wouldn't I be?" he quipped back, hoping that it was masking his internal turmoil.

Cas narrowed his eyes slightly in a way that Dean knew that he was seeing through his bullshit. He shot his friend a confident grin.

"You have been a little jumpy today, brother," Benny chimed in.

"And you spend even more time than usual in the library," Ash pointed out.

Dean shrugged. "I think I'm getting close. Did I tell you about the art – "

There were groans from all three of his friends and Ash even threw a pillow at him. They had put their feet down a couple of weeks ago on him discussing his library research. Which, you know rude, but he guessed that maybe he was being a little obsessive and repetitive. In any case, it was a useful tool now.

"Let's just go to bed," Benny suggested. "Better than havin' to hear the speech again."

"Hey! It's been like…a full week since I brought any of this up."

"It's been two days, three hours, and…" Cas looked down at his wristwatch, "thirty-two minutes."

"Woah, Cas, now who's obsessive?"

"You," All three of them said at once.

"Fine, fine, we can go to bed," Dean pretended to pout. No one argued with him, which was a blessing and was going to make this night easier.

He had wrestled all day on whether or not to tell his friends about the secret meeting. He wanted nothing more than to tell them everything – an urge that he was unused to outside of his own family. But there was a feeling in his gut that told him it would be unwise. Top Secret, it had said. What would happen if he told his friends? He wouldn't put it past Sinclair to have some sort of hex on the card that would alert him if he told anyone.

At the same time, he could possibly say something vague enough that his friends would know what was happening but not so direct as to be telling the secret.

So, he had spent most of his day in the library, but not researching, as his friends had assumed he had been. Instead, he had been scoping out the location of the meeting and making sure that he had a solid plan for tonight.

He had no idea if anyone else from Gryffindor would be there, but he knew that he didn't want to be identified by either his housemates nor did he want to arrive in a way that if anyone spotted him on the stairs that it would be obvious that a Gryffindor had been invited.

So, using the plan he had spent all day crafting, he slipped up to Heaven and took the secret passageway (this time he brought a flashlight) down to the bottom of the Lighthouse. It was just as narrow and creepy late at night as it had been in the early evening.

The next part of his plan was particularly sneaky. He glanced down at his watch and saw that, when he arrived at the library, he still had fifteen minutes.

The card had not said where the meeting was taking place, but after watching for good parts of the day, Dean knew where they would gather. Interestingly, there seemed to be more than one entrance to the secret room as he hadn't seen anyone approach the one he knew about all day.

Moving gingerly, he snuck into the one Benny and he had used when they went to prank Slytherin, which put him towards the back of the room.

And, sure enough, there were a couple of people wearing cloaks like his posted near the door. Practically holding his breath, he snuck to the staircase and walked up to stairs to the Slytherin common room as quickly as he could.

He had barely made it into the room when a harsh voice sounded behind him.

"Freshman!" It said – or, rather, he said. "What are you doing?" His voice was distorted and a shiver ran down Dean's back because it wasn't a voice he had heard while wandering the halls of the school.

It was one of the voices of his attackers.

"Um – going to the meeting?" To his relief, his voice also came out sounding very different from what he was used to. It must have something to do with the cloak.

"Obviously, you moron, but you can't just be standing in the middle of the common room. Someone might see you."

Dean straightened up a little bit. "But they could hardly tell it was me, could they?"

The guy made an annoyed sound. "That's not the point. I swear the initiates grow more foolish every year. Listen to your elder, kid, and get your ass downstairs before someone sees you and called in a teacher because we've been "raided" again."

Dean couldn't help but smirk, especially because his face couldn't be seen. He couldn't wait to tell Benny that the Slytherins were so jumpy after their prank.

Thinking this was one of those situations where it was better to keep his trap shut, he just nodded in agreement and allowed for the upperclassmen to herd him back into the stairwell.

He had spent long enough sneaking up to the Slytherin common room that when he re-entered the secret library room, it now had about a dozen or so students in there. They were all wearing the same cloak as him and he couldn't make out any faces.

"Gentlemen," a soft voice called out to them.

Standing, dramatically, at the top of the railing on the second story of the room, was Mr. Sinclair. He was wearing a fancier robe than the rest of them and the hood was pulled back to reveal his entire face.

"Welcome, to another year at Hogwarts. Thanks to the generations of Hogwarts students who have kept this tradition up while our organization was forced into the shadows. I am pleased to be leading the meeting this year. It has been far too long since a Class Five Member has been in these hallowed halls. Please, follow me. Initiates at the front please."

Dean knew that meant him. He, along with four other students, stepped forward. He noticed, for the first time, that their cloaks were black, while everyone else was wearing ones that were a very dark green.

Thankfully, he was towards the back. They headed up a small staircase that he hadn't spotted the last couple of times he was in the room. In fact, he hadn't even realized that there was a second floor until just now.

Mr. Sinclair stepped slightly out of the way as they came up to reveal an open door behind him.

They shuffled in single file. The teacher took a moment to whisper something to each kid's ear. It creeped Dean out. When it was his turn, Sinclair clapped him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Winchester, I was worried that you wouldn't find your way here. I can't tell you how thrilled I am that the secrets made their way to you. If you do well here, it'll be a testament to your upbringing. I'll be sure to report to High Command that John Winchester may need to be brought back into the fold."

Dean did his best not to show his surprise, he just nodded before going all the way into the room.

It was set up like an extremely fancy boardroom. There was a long, beautiful table in the center of the room surrounded by large leather chairs. At the front of the room, there was a roaring fireplace with a crest over the top of it. Dean didn't take the time to keep looking around because his head was spinning.

The gravity of coming here tonight was starting to settle on him.

If he did well in…whatever the hell this was…this could help him in his mission to get his father reinstated in the good graces of the government and the community. For whatever it was worth, it didn't seem that the Men of Letters were lacking in any material needs. He could only imagine what his dad could do with these sorts of resources at his disposal. He was already, in Dean's opinion, the best hunter in the entire country and that was getting by on credit card scams and hustling pool. If he didn't have to worry about that?

At the same time, these were the asshats who had attacked him on the stairs just because of the house he had been sorted into. He felt at war with himself. He wanted to live up to his family name – but none of this felt right to him. This whole cloak-and-dagger routine was over-the-top and completely eye-roll-worthy.

It was almost too much to comprehend.

Sinclair cleared his throat, and Dean looked up.

He had been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed that everyone else had entered the room.

Stupid. What kind of hunter are you? He thought to himself. Awareness of his surroundings should always be his very first task. Maybe his dad was right, maybe school was making him soft.

There were now just under twenty students standing behind chairs around the table. Thankfully, he had chosen to stand close enough to one that it looked like he knew what he was doing.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Sinclair said from the head of the table.

In one fluid motion, everyone sat.

The teacher smiled in a way that Dean knew he must think was sincere, but it was just creepy.

"We begin this meeting, as we always do, with a reminder of the men who have come before us. The Men of Letters have existed for as long as hunters have and have gone by many names throughout the world and history. It has never been an easy path. We cannot let such petty things as the court of public opinion or whatever is considered to be "politically correct" lead us astray. So please, a moment in remembrance of the generations of men before us who have sacrificed everything so that we may continue our sacred work."

Dean noticed that everyone around the table bowed their heads as if in prayer. He copied them, feeling very awkward and out of place.

"Very good," Sinclair said, breaking the silence. "This year we have five Initiates. Congratulations, gentlemen, not every legacy receives an invite to join us. You have been watched very carefully since the beginning of the year and you have each proven yourselves worthy of this invitation."

Watched? Dean suppressed a shiver. Who had been watching him? Why hadn't he noticed? Then he remembered what Sinclair had said about being worried that Dean wouldn't've found his way here. They couldn't have been watching all that closely if they had missed his many trips to this secret library.

"Of course," Sinclair continued, "you must maintain your worthiness throughout your time here at Hogwarts. Just ask your senior classmates, who have lost two throughout their initiation. You must always remain vigilant. You, freshmen, are about to take the Oath of the Men of Letters. If you have any questions about this path, I beg you, leave this room now. Sure, there may be shame on your family name, but that is nothing compared to what will happen if you betray us later."

He paused and looked around. The kid next to Dean shivered. It took everything in him not to do the same but he wasn't going to let some entitled jackasses stand in the way of what he needed to get done. He was a Winchester, after all.

No one left.

"Very good. Gentlemen, take the candles in front of you."

Dean looked at the candles that he had just thought were part of the spooky décor before, short, thick candles that, upon first look, appeared black, but as he brought the one in front of him towards himself, he realized it was blood red.

Creepy. All of this was just frickin' creepy.

"Repeat the ancient sacramentum after me." Closing his eyes dramatically, raising his hands overhead, and speaking in a loud voice, Sinclair began pausing every couple of words, "Iurant autem milites … omnia se strenue facturos … quae praeceperit dominus magnus, … numquam deserturos militiam … nec mortem recusaturos pro … Viri Epistolarum,"

Honestly, if it hadn't been for the last couple of months of Latin class, Dean never would have been able to follow that. Even with the lessons he spoke as quietly as he could hoping that his voice would be lost in the chanting of those around him.

"Bleed, now, you Men of Letters."

Ugh. There was a small needle also on the table. Following the movements of those around him, Dean pricked his thumb and let a drop of blood fall into the flame, which sparked with magic.Which, he had to admit to himself, was pretty cool as it happened simultaneously at each candle.

Sinclair grinned at them in a way that Dean tried to convince himself was not creepy in the least. "Welcome to the Men of Letters. Now, I turn the rest of the night's proceedings over to Magnus. The floor is yours."

A cloaked student took Sinclair's position at the head of the table. From his stance, Dean was pretty sure that was the kid who had manhandled him down here from the Slytherin common room.

"Thank you, Respected Elder Sinclair, we will start tonight's meeting by approving the minutes from our last gathering…"

From his voice, Dean knew it was the same son-of-bitch.

And he was not only an asshole, he soon discovered, but he was friggin' boring.

If anyone had told Dean that this secret meeting was not going to be an exciting evening of evil plots, but rather, the longest friggin' strand of boring nonsense he wouldn't have bothered to have come. Dad or not. And it was never-ending. Each and every time that he thought they were going to wrap things up (after the pointless and frankly exhaustingly polite and civil arguments) there seemed to be yet another stupid item of business.

Nearly two hours had passed when Dean heard what he thought might be the most beautiful words he had ever heard.

"Now, onto the final business of this evening," the senior student said. Dean sat up straight. There were excited murmurs around the room. Dean wondered if everyone else was as relieved as he was that this was all about to be over.

"Gentlemen, comport yourselves," Sinclair snapped during the dramatic pause. Everyone stilled and got quiet.

"Thank you, Respected Elder Sinclair," the senior said. "It is time that we decide who we allow to progress in the election being held tomorrow. Remember, selecting class presidents here at Hogwarts is not just about who we like the most. It's a strategic decision. While political office is beneath the work of the Men of Letters, we need to keep close control on those who may rise to the top."

"Isn't that determined by the votes?" He couldn't help but blurt out.

The other students all laughed. Dean was grateful that no one could see the heat on his face.

"Initiates," one of the older students said, with a degree of fondness in his voice.

"No, freshman," the one in charge said, "we cannot trust the general population of Hogwarts to be able to handle such an important decision. It'd be like inviting Muggles to weigh in on HUCUSA laws."

There was more twittering around the table, which was silenced by the senior's eyes sweeping over them all.

"Now, I think there is one clear throwaway candidate. We've already allowed one Gryffindor," he sneered the name of the house, "to be class president, so it should be plausible for another six to eight years that there not be another. Those of you who are just getting here should be grateful that you'll be spared from this so-called sort of leadership."

"We need to send a message!" Another student at the table shouted.

"It's bad enough," an upperclassmen said, "that they let such filth enter this school in the first place. Who the hell does he think he is trying to become President? He should be happy that Muggle-baiting was outlawed."

"Not that it stops your family."

The other kid just chuckled, "Pure conjecture, I'm sure," he said.

"I thought that no one knew who everyone else was," Dean muttered under his breath while listening to a disturbing conversation about the party that a kid's uncle threw.

"After our first year, we get to find out who everyone is," a boy to his left whispered back to him. It was the first time that he heard one of the other freshmen speak. Panic coursed through him a little bit.

"Does that mean that everyone but the freshmen know who I am?"

The tiniest shake of the other kid's head. "Didn't your father tell you anything?"

No, Dean thought bitterly. "Maternal line," he said, thinking quickly on his feet.

"Ah. That makes sense," he said, his tone both condescending and filled with pity, "that explains a lot – I thought there were too many of us here. For a second, I thought you might be Winchester with how little you seemed to know and your gauche manners. Would be just the sort of idiotic thing that Gryffindor would try and pull off, even after Magnus put the fear of God into him. But I do know that sometimes the women we marry fail to produce male heirs."

Dean wanted to throttle this asshat.

"Don't worry, there have been plenty of maternal-line Men of Letters in the last century. It may hold you back a little at the beginning, but you'll prove yourself in time. There are even rumors that…"

Whatever there were rumors were about was lost as they both realized the entire table was staring at them.

"Is your conversation over, gentlemen?" Magnus asked.

Dean nodded and so did the kid next to him.

"Very good. Now, even though he isn't quite from the right stock, I believe that we should put all the votes on Odem."

There were general nods around the table.

"I motion that we elect Odem as Freshmen Class President," the student to the left of Magnus said.

"Seconded," the one to his right said.

"All those in favor?" Magnus asked.

Reluctantly, Dean put his hand up with everyone else, just to avoid suspicion. He had no idea what in his behavior had made this kid beside him suspect who he was but he wasn't going to do anything to add further speculation. Not that he'd be able to hide from it forever, but hopefully he'd be able to get what he wanted before he had to reveal himself.

"Motion passes," Magnus said. "Guy Odem will be President. Respected Elder Sinclair, would you like to choose the member to deliver the results?"

"Certainly, Magnus, it would be my honor," Sinclair agreed. "There is one of you that has proven himself to not only be particularly resourceful in the face of unexpected challenges but has something to prove before he is revealed to the brethren." The teacher's gaze fell on Dean.

"Initiate, I bequeath The Quill to you," with those words a…feather appeared in front of him. "Tomorrow, when it is time to vote, you will use this implement on your ballet. It has an enchantment on it that will change the majority of votes to our choice. Do you accept this task?"

Dean didn't think he had a choice.

"Yes, sir."

Sinclair grinned.

III

It was nearly two in the morning when Dean crept back to Gryffindor tower. He was both exhausted and wired at the same time. It had taken some evasive maneuvers to pretend like he was going to the Slytherin common room rather than his own, which made the night even longer.

As expected, it was completely dark and silent in the common room when he got there.

He was looking forward to slipping back into his room and crashing for a couple of hours. To be fully functional, he needed at least four hours, and if he fell asleep right away, he would be just about there.

A lamp clicked on and he jumped.

"Winchester," a female voice said.

Crap. Jo.

"Uh, hi there, um, Jo," he said. The girl had barely spoken to him since the prank. Had only looked his way to shoot glares. A little late, he realized he was still wearing the stupid cloak that he was given. As quickly as he could, he took it off.

"Smooth," she commented dryly. "I guess there is no use in asking you where you've been tonight."

"I – uh, don't know what you're talking about," he said, internally wincing at home unconvincing his voice sounded.

"That is the cloak of an initiate of the Men of Letters," Jo said, not mincing any words.

"Shhh," he said, rushing over to her, "how the hell do you know that?"

She gave him a look.

"Did Prickolas tell you?" He demanded, finding it hard to believe that jerkwad had betrayed the group to someone like Jo.

"That's none of your goddamned business," she bit back.

"So, it was him."

Jo said nothing.

Dean flopped down on the sofa across from her, too tired to keep standing. "Why are you even here, Harvelle? Shouldn't you be lurking somewhere else waiting patiently for your boyfriend to come home from our meeting?"

"He's not my boyfriend," she snapped.

"Could've fooled me."

She glared. But then, to Dean's surprise, she softened a little. "Look, I know that Nick is a little…rough around the edges. He's had it tough, especially in the last couple of years."

Dean snorted. "We're hunter's kids. We've all had it hard our entire lives."

She looked at him, tired. "Yeah. I know. Winchester – I'm sick of fighting with you."

"You started it," he muttered.

"I did not. You did with your stupid prank!"

"He attacked me!"

She took a deep breath. "I'm really trying not to hash this out again. I thought you might get an invite to the gathering tonight and I wanted to take this chance to mend fences."

"Why?" He honestly did not understand this woman at all.

"Because Nick isn't as tough as he pretends to be. He needs someone watching out for him."

"And you think I am the best man for that job? 'Cause you know I'd sooner punch him in the face than help him with anything. That kid is a prick."

"Winchester…Dean. I know. I know what he's like. How he has to pretend to be. Deep down…"

"Deep down he's an asshole."

"Maybe," she said, frustrated. "But maybe not. Just – could you, if you have the chance, help him if he needs it?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed. "Because he's like a brother to me. And I know that you understand that. What would you do if your brother had fallen in with the wrong crowd?"

"Sam would never…"

"Yeah, yeah, your little brother is perfect. Nick is not. Come on, Dean, if you watch out for him, I'll – I'll… go on a date with Lafitte."

That makes things interesting. "Really? You can't stand the guy. You've made that very clear."

"I – he's not my favorite. But for Nick, I'd…"

Dean shook his head. He knew Benny, despite his constant posturing in front of Jo, wouldn't want to get a date this way.

"He's determined to win you over and I'm not gonna interfere with that."

Jo rolled her eyes. "What do you want then?"

"Just – cut us some slack, huh? And don't tell anyone about this," he indicated to the robe, "especially not your precious Nick."

She swallowed. "Your friends don't already know?"

Dean shook his head. "Not about the meeting. I just – I need some time to figure it all out." He wasn't worried about his friends, but he didn't want his identity to get out too early. Before he had a chance to make things right for his dad.

"Fine. And you'll watch out for Nick?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't even know what that means."

"It means not doing anything to put his position with the Men of Letters in jeopardy," she whispered the name of the organization. Dean was impressed that she knew. And, painfully, Dean realized that really wasn't too much for her to ask.

"Fine. But no promises that I won't deck him if he messes with me."

"Deal," she said.

"Can I go to bed now? I'm going to fall asleep in homeroom at this point."

"Yeah, sure," she said.

He stood up and waited a second for her to do the same.

"I'm going to stay out here a little longer," she said, noticing his hesitance.

"Oh. Alright. Goodnight."

"'Night, Winchester."

He turned and went to his room, remembering to keep quiet as he scaled to the top bunk. He was asleep in about two seconds flat.

III

The next morning came far earlier than Dean would have liked it to have.

"Come on, brother, we've gotta keep Cas's spirits up this mornin'," Benny said to how sluggish getting ready.

Dean looked around blearily. "Where is he?" He didn't see their friend anywhere.

"Already down at breakfast. The girls fetched him first thing."

"Why?"

"'Cause he's as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room of rockin' chairs," Benny said, "I don't know if he slept at all last night."

"He was asleep when…" Dean shut up.

Benny looked at him curiously.

"Uh, when I went to sleep," he finished lamely.

"You're gonna explain that to me later?"

"Yeah, wanna wait 'til we're all together." Dean didn't know what exactly he was going to reveal to his friends – but he knew he didn't want to keep it all a secret. Especially since Jo knew about it. He was a little disappointed that Ash and Cas weren't there now.

"Good. Your shirt's on inside out," he said, waltzing out the door.

"Son of a bitch!" He really was too tired for this shit.

When gathering his things, he only just remembered the quill that he had been handed the night before. He hadn't had time to think about what it meant, but he felt a little sick, holding it in his hands. Last night he had just been so thrilled to have made it to the meeting undiscovered that he hadn't thought about the weight of the assignment that he had been given.

Thankfully, he didn't have too much time for deep thoughts. He followed behind Benny about ten minutes later, doing his best to wake up with a quick, cold, shower, so that he could be on his game today.

He was in a rush to get down the stairs when a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Winchester!"

He stopped, just outside of the mess. It was Sinclair.

What now? He thought.

"Yes, sir?"

"A moment of your time, if you don't mind?"

Dean glanced at the door, really wanting to both get some caffeine and food and be with his friends, but he had decided to play this game, so he nodded. Sinclair led him to the same area where he had overheard Prickolas and Jo talking not that long ago, but to his surprise, there was a doorway that he had never seen before. With trepidation, he followed his teacher in.

"Dean – close the door behind you," Sinclair said.

Trying to not show any discomfort, Dean did as he was told, the usual feeling that something was wrong with Sinclair coursing through him as he locked himself in a room with the man.

The room was small – a study of sorts, with just a large walnut desk and some comfortable chairs.

"I pleased to see you at the meeting last night," the teacher said, indicating with his hand that Dean should sit as he sat casually in the chair behind the desk, "as I told you, I was afraid that the knowledge hadn't passed on to you. Of course, you could have joined later in your career here at Hogwarts and beyond, but you get the best leg up if you are initiated your freshmen year."

"I'm grateful, sir," Dean managed to ground out.

"I know you are. But even though you are more knowledgeable than I thought you would be, I feel like you must understand the importance of the task you've been given."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "The quill?"

Sinclair nodded gravely. "The quill. We're at a crossroads right now, my boy. The Men of Letters are returning, but we have those who fight against us. Who want to continue to see a change in the tide in the name of…progress…instead of relying on what has always worked in the past. It is suspected that we play a part in the politics here at Hogwarts, but not been proven. It is why I chose you for this task. No one will suspect you, a Gryffindor Winchester. The others will be watched. You, not so much."

He stiffened. "I thought I was chosen because I had "proven myself,"" he said, quoting the professor from the night before.

"And you have my dear boy, but that was not the only reason. I know that you may feel conflicted about this election, seeing as you are friends with the Muggleborn Novak. But the danger in his election does not just lie in his blood status. There are things you don't know about your friend. He must be kept from power."

That seemed like a bit much to Dean and he bristled, ready to defend his friend. Sinclair held up a hand to stop him.

"Oh, I know that he is nice enough. Dean – we're trusting you. I'm trusting you. This is the ultimate loyalty test. I have been authorized to tell you this, and just this, that your father was given a similar opportunity in his freshmen year. I cannot tell you the details, but High Command was not pleased."

The threat hung in the air. It was the Men of Letters that had doomed his dad to a life in obscurity? That changed…everything. And nothing at the same time.

"Are you threatening me, sir?" He asked, unable to hold back his temper and pretend like any of this was alright.

Sinclair cocked his head. "That would be crass, Mr. Winchester," he said sharply, "and tasteless. I would never threaten a student. I am simply letting you know that actions have consequences. Magnus is concerned about your loyalties. I assured him that there was nothing to be concerned about. That you have my utmost confidence."

Dean nodded in acknowledgment.

"Very good. Now, run off to breakfast. I look forward to working with you this year."

Dean turned and left without a word.

III

Mechanically, Dean chewed the piece of toast he had on his plate.

"You alright, Dean?" Cas asked, looking concerned, and a little pale. Guiltily, Dean put his toast done.

"I'm fine. I'll tell y'all about it later – but we've gotta focus on you now buddy, how are you feeling? Excited for the big day?"

Cas blinked. "I – am more nervous than I thought I would be. It is such a small thing – it won't change anything, but I…"

"It ain't no small thing, chief," Benny cut in, "you're gonna make history today, I just know it."

"I didn't enter this to make history," Cas insisted. "I did it…"

"To help me out," Dean finished for him, remembering that it was him that had forced his friend into all of this. What kind of scum would he be if he, the one who forced his friend into this competition, rigged it against him? He found that he was no longer interested in any of the breakfast in front of him.

"And because the opportunity presented itself," Cas said, "I don't do things just because you ask me to, Dean." He sounded annoyed.

Dean waved him off – because he was sure that it was a big part of it.

"It doesn't matter why you entered, Cas," Cassie said to him, Dean hadn't realized she was listening in on their conversation and was grateful that he had the foresight to not say too much at the table, "You're the best guy for the job. I, for one, will be very proud to vote for you." She said the last part loudly enough that the rest of the table heard her and a few cheers echoed at them.

Cas blushed.

"And you're gonna make history, Castiel," Jo joined the conversation. It was the friendliest thing she had said to any of them (in public) since the prank. "Don't let any of the traditionalist jerks get you down. I think you've got this in the bag."

He gave her a wary sort of smile.

Dean stopped paying attention as the rest of his friends and housemates worked on getting Castiel to feel better about the upcoming vote.

Breakfast felt like it was over in a blink. Feeling sweaty, he followed his friends out of the mess.

They were all talking jovially as they headed outside. It was a dreary day, typical of this area this time of year, and even though it wasn't that cold, Dean felt a shiver run through him.

Benny was shooting him a concerned look as they got to the classroom building. Dean did his best to look normal, but he could tell from some sort of telepathic conversation that his friend was having with Ash, that it wasn't working.

"We'll catch up," Benny said, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder, to hold him back. "You alright, brother? Do you need to go see Nurse Butters?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm fine. Nervous for Cas is all."

"Uh huh," Benny said, "that can't be it. You barely ate. Did someone come after you again? Do we need to start up the patrols again?"

Dean laughed dryly. "No. Just – Benny, I can't get into this now, we'll be late for Turner's class and the vote. But would do you do when you're between a rock and a hard place? I thought the choice would be easy but…"

Benny quirked an eyebrow. "Dunno what's goin' on, but I'd ask for help. What do you need help with?"

A whine-like noise that he barely recognized came out of his throat. "Ben, I can't…"

"Right, of course," he looked thoughtful, "whatever it is, I'd go with my gut. Go with what feels right to ya. Now, I know, for hunters, it ain't always easy to choose, but I'd like to think that I'd go the way that would create the least amount of harm."

That makes this situation clearer than mud, Dean thought to himself. He swallowed and plastered a fake smile on his face. "Thanks, man, we better get to class."

Benny clapped him on the back. "You'll do what's right. I know you will. And I expect one hell of an explanation later."

"Of course," Dean said.

The two of them went into class.

Mr. Turner was going on and on about something, but Dean wasn't paying one bit of attention.

His dad had said, over and over again, that he had dropped out of Hogwarts. Decided to serve his country instead of wasting his time at school. But now Dean knew that there was some sort of conspiracy that had led to his expulsion. Maybe there was more truth to what his dad had said than he had initially thought. He couldn't help but wonder what choice his dad had to make.

Turner started passing out the ballots for them to vote with. "I don't expect this will take you a whole hell a lot of time, seeing who's in this class, but please, let's get this done and over with as quickly as possible. We have important material to get through."

There was a single piece of paper in front of him.

At the top, there was a space for him to put his student ID number – probably to anonymize the votes for any student or professor carrying them to be counted. Below that, the names were listed – all he had to do was circle who he wanted to vote for.

He reached into his bag, to ensure that the quill was still there. It was, of course, feeling heavier than a feather should. He pulled it out. For what felt like an entirety, he stared at it.

This was it. This was what he had thought was the key to everything. The key to get his dad off the blacklist. The key to ensuring a better future for his family.

But at what cost? Cas would be fine if he wasn't elected. Dean knew that. His friend may even understand – when and if he explained this all to him. He could imagine the look he would give him. First, he'd be disappointed, unable to hide his first reaction. Worse than disappointed, he would hurt. Dean knew him well enough to know that Cas would do his best to put on a brave face after that and pretend that this whole election was beneath him, anyway.

And maybe his dad had known there was something rotten about the Men of Letters? And he had been faced with this same choice? Dean was a legacy, but he was beginning to wonder about a legacy of what? A company man? Or a rebel?

What if, by betraying the Men of Letters, he made things worse for his family?

He picked up the quill, carefully writing 6712479. It was difficult, and his already terrible handwriting was even worse when trying to use this damn fancy fountain pen-like tip. Who the hell writes with quills? He couldn't help but think.

Looking down at the names, he sighed, poised to do as he promised. Prepared to make a sacrifice to protect his family.

There was something niggling in the back of his mind, though. Not just the betrayal of his friend. Not just that he was essentially being blackmailed by a secret group that he was trying to join. No – it was what Ms. Moseley had said to him, the other night in the kitchen.

Something about how he had more people in his corner than his dad had.

Had she known? She was a psychic. Did she know that he needed to make this choice? At the time, he had been slightly embarrassed and thought that she was referring to his friends and possibly Bobby. If she had known…

He glanced over at his friends. Benny had already filled out his ballot and Ash was gently teasing Cas, making the kid laugh.

Briefly, Dean pondered using the quill to vote for Cas, to ensure his victory. But that would make him no better than the Men of Letters, in the end. And he knew that's not how Cas would want it. When he won, it would be fair and square. Because he earned it.

Giving the quill one last glance over, he made up a rash decision. He did what his gut was telling him to do.

Holding it between both his hands, with one swift motion, he snapped it in half. The crack was extremely satisfying. And he knew if had done the right thing.

He'd have to clear his father some other way. Maybe he'd take down the entire organization. It's not like there had been no secrets already spilled to him.

"Hey, Benny," he said, feeling lighter than he had in months. "Can I borrow a pen? Mine broke."

"Sure thing, chief," Benny said, giving him an odd look, and handing over the regular ballpoint he had been using. The top of it had chew marks in it. Gross, Dean thought briefly, before proudly circling Cas's name.

"Come on, Mr. Turner, you know we've all made up our minds. I can't wait to hear what you have to say about the Statute of Secrecy today. Been on the edge of my seat about it all weekend, haven't I been Benny?"

Benny gave him a side eye but played along. "You shoulda heard him, Mr. Turner. Wouldn't shut up."

The teacher rolled his eyes.

"I don't need that sass from you, Winchester. For that, you can gather all the ballots and deliver them to Principal Cerventez at the end of class. Means you're going to have to run – I won't write you a note to allow you to be late for your next class."

Dean groaned, but his heart wasn't in it.

III

"Want us to go with you?" Cas asked as soon as the bell rang and they were out of class.

"Nah, there's no reason to make us all late. Plus, I think that old Rufus forgot somethin'."

"What, that our next class is with Cervantez since he took over?" Ash asked.

"Exactly. Can't be late if I'm with the teacher."

"Not that you'd care," Benny said.

"True. But I'd rather not have detention this weekend. I've got big plans for us this weekend. We're gonna need to celebrate Cas's victory."

He didn't give his friends a chance to respond before he slipped away to go to Cervantez's office. It was not unusual for the principal to waltz into the class ten minutes late and he imagined the man was actually quite busy with the election.

So far, Dean had managed to avoid so much trouble that would require him to visit the principal. Which, for him, was an achievement. By this time in most years, he would have been in three different schools and there would be some jackass or another that managed to piss him off enough to start a fight. That always seemed to land him in front of some kind of Mr. Rooney wannabe who would try and "set him straight."

But not only had he managed to (mostly) stay out of trouble, he found that he wasn't even quite sure where the office was. Quickly turning down a less crowded hallway, he pulled out the spelled blueprint. It only took him a couple of minutes to find the small label of "Principal's Office," on the top floor of the classroom building.

Trotting up the steps, filled with more confidence than he had for a long while, he found that he didn't need to knock on a door at all.

In fact, there was no door on the principal's office at all. Instead, there was a beaded curtain straight out of the 1970s. Shaking his head slightly, Dean stepped in.

Woah, he thought. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this.

It looked less like the office of an important school official and more like what Dean thought the inside of an opium den might look like. The walls were covered in colorful tapestries and while there was a desk in the middle of the room, most of the floor had thick carpets layered on top of each other with…bean bags laying all around.

"Welcome, Dean," the principal spoke to him, pulling him out of his observations, "what do you think about my office?"

"Groovy," he said.

Mr. Cervantez laughed.

"Is that a lava lamp?" Dean asked, incredulously, spotting a glowing lamp on the desk.

"It is. An original – not the cheap stuff you kids buy these days. Do you have something for me?" He asked.

"Oh yeah," Dean said, pulling the ballots out of his bag and handing them over.

"Thank you," he said. "Elections are important but I am glad that we are moving onto the rest of the school year now. It's fortuitous that you are here, Dean, because I'm going to need you to tell the class that I'm going to be about fifteen minutes late. I need to be sure that I get all of these in order and locked up before class can start. Ask everyone to start reading the next chapter in the textbook."

"Isn't it above your pay grade to count ballots for freshmen class president?" Dean blurted out.

Mr. Cervantez raised an eyebrow. "Nothing at this school is below my paygrade – we all have our parts to play. But I suppose it is unusual for a principal to take on the task. But I'm afraid that I can't trust anyone else with this."

"With counting?" Dean asked, not believing the man.

"Ah, yes, I know that while you grew up in the life, you haven't been a part of hunter…culture until you came here. There have been rumors for decades that the elections are rigged. I've been trying to put those rumors to rest and the best way is for me to certify the votes myself. They go straight from the classroom to me. Each teacher is instructed to pick a random student and no student has access to any other class's forms."

Dean could see several holes in that plan, but he figured it wasn't his place to say.

"Go on, tell me," the Principal said.

"Tell you what?" Dean asked, innocently.

"The problem with my plan. Clever kid like you – you must see it."

"Several, but…"

Cervantez gave him a look.

"If the students aren't watched, what's stopping them from swapping the ballots out? And Mr. Turner just left these on his desk. If someone was quick enough, they would've been able to do something to them."

"Hmm. Yes, excellent points, of course. But I think your blind spots are obvious."

"What blind spots? There is also…" Dean cataloged another six ways that the ballots could be tampered with.

The principal looked amused, his eyes twinkling. "You really thought about this, didn't you?"

Dean refused to blush. And honestly, it hadn't until he had been handed a way to cheat the system. "My best friend is running, and I think security is more important than trusting any student with the ballots."

"You're smart, Dean. But I didn't just leave it to chance. Here – take this ballot," he took the one from the envelope that Mr. Turner had put them in. Dean could tell from the student number on top that it wasn't his. But he was pleased that it was a vote for Cas. "Try and change the vote on there. Or make any changes to the ballot at all."

Casting a suspicious look at Mr. Cervantez, Dean did as instructed, pulling out the pen he had borrowed from Benny. He figured someone could change their mind while voting, so he went to cross out the vote for Cas. As soon as the pen hit the paper, he yelled out.

"Ow!" A shock ran up his arm. And not a light one. "What the fu- heck?" He asked, remembering who he was talking to, just in time.

"We printed the ballots with cursed ink," the older man explained.

"How do you even curse ink?"

"Carefully. The printer broke five times while making these. The Council is not going to be happy with our costs for this semester."

It was clever. And Mr. Cervantez was right – he did have a blind spot when it came to magic.

"But you're assuming the tampering is happening after the votes have been cast," he said, finally revealing a little of what he knew.

"Huh," Cervantez said, "explain more."

"What if people did something – before the ballots ever reached this office? Before they were even printed?"

"That would take a great deal of effort. How might one go about that?"

Dean thought about it for a second, his heart beating quickly. It was one thing to not do as instructed. It was another to nark. But something in him…trusted Mr. Cervantez. He wasn't sure what it was but the man felt familiar and was one of the best teachers in the school.

And having an ally when the Men of Letters came after him, especially one this high up, might be for the best.

"With this," Dean pulled out the two pieces of the quill he had been given and handed it over.

It was almost comical how wide the man's eyes got. "Is this…"

"I dunno know what it is. And I won't say who I got it from but I was asked…well, I was asked to do somethin' that didn't feel right. I didn't use it. Not even for Cas. I promise."

He realized now, how incriminating this was. Shit, he was going to get himself expelled. If Sinclair turned this around on him – it may seem like…

"Whatever you are worrying about, Dean, stop," Mr. Cervantez said, "this is a very powerful magic item. And I don't believe that a freshman would have even begun to understand the potential. You, Mr. Winchester, are a credit to your house. It was very brave of you to give this to me."

"Dunno if it was brave or stupid," he muttered.

"You wouldn't be your parent's son if it weren't a little bit of both." Parent's? Dean thought, but before he could question it, Cervantez continued talking, "There is a line of students waiting for me to turn their class ballots in – we must'nt make everyone late for class."

Feeling a little dazed, Dean turned to leave.

"Thank you, Dean, for trusting me," the man called after him. Dean nodded and left.

Sure enough, there were about eight students just outside of the bead curtain. He wondered how Cervantez had kept them out. Probably with magic.

Although he felt a little ill, there was something in him that felt that, for maybe the first time in his life, he had really done something right.

He just wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.