Writer's Note: TS is still on my mind but I thought I'd offer this two-shot. Next chapter I'll post either tomorrow or the next day. :)

"Round and Round / I'm not gonna let you change my mind / til you show me what this life is for" - Round and Round, Imagine Dragons

Dean flicked his cigarette absently, a redundant gesture since his bare hands were trembling from the cold - and ashing the Marlboro medium - anyway. He squinted as a wave of chilled wind tore through the empty field from his spot on the dented, graffiti-ed bleachers. He was pale under the diminished, ghostly afternoon light, his freckles standing out on his cheeks and nose, eyes hollowed out, dark smudges of exhaustion underneath.

It was three pm on Friday, overcast and drizzling, somewhere around forty degrees - thirty with wind chill. They'd been dropped off in a suburb of the Windy City in October. Dean knew the gusts weren't going to let up anytime soon.

The sky continued to look menacing with darker and darker clouds rolling in too. The junior high was just beyond, a cement monstrosity that looked more like an above-ground bomb shelter or prison than a school for ten- to fourteen-year olds. Sam would be getting out soon. He knew where he could find Dean. Then they'd walk "home."

Dean allowed himself a small shiver and shrugged his leather jacket closer as he surveyed the grim landscape. He was doing his best not to think about anything. Just let his existence blend in with his dreary surroundings. He had no music to listen to; no escape from the sounds of brutal wind blowing and whistling through open air. No escape from his own thoughts.

So he tried not to think.

He took a puff of his cigarette, enjoying the sensation of inhaling. His one miserable act of rebellion even though John knew and didn't care. It felt like rebellion though: in a life centered around surviving, this one small self-destructive thing felt good.

He had a mundane problem for once.

See Sammy? Dean thought. I can wish I was normal too.

Dean smiled bitterly to himself, shook his head, and needlessly ashed the cigarette again. He checked his watch. Three oh-eight.

Maybe he'd walk into the junior high's lobby to wait for Sam this time. At least it'd be warm.

Dean took another puff considering it; exhaled and dismissed it. Didn't feel like getting up, he told himself, but really he just wanted to chain smoke, weather be damned. He wanted the emptiness, the isolation, the weather's metaphor. Just a few minutes to wallow, brood, self-destruct like any other teenager. He really didn't have the energy to do much more than that anyway.

Dean had been... invited... to visit the principal's office during his second to last class when he'd been caught asleep at his desk. Upon waking he hadn't been able to think of an excuse fast enough, his late night having been the result of missing the bus after tending bar 'til last call downtown thirty miles north - where he wouldn't be recognized.

Thirsty Thursdays, Dean thought, unconsciously clenching his jaw and giving a severe flick to his cigarette with his stained thumb. He circled his thoughts around the gritty, hole-in-the-wall bar and its clientèle. Working class alcoholics whose sponsors would sometimes visit, order something virgin, and try to convince them to attend a meeting in the basement of the church across the street.

Jack had been there too last night. Dean hated seeing Jack. He bore an uncanny resemblance to what he imagined Sammy would grow up to look like - long brown hair, dimples, innocent yet haunted eyes - and he'd walk in, knock back shot after shot, chasing each with a generous swig of PBR, and happily announce things like, "one is too many and a hundred's not enough," and "alcohol is my enemy but the Bible says I should love my enemy, right, D?"

Dean had almost hit his breaking point. Almost begged Jack to stop calling him "D" - Sam and only Sam called him that - while he was picking him up off the floor during last call. The guy always hit a plateau but last night he'd tearfully confessed his life story about having been on the straight and narrow before he'd lost his wife and daughter in a car accident.

Dean had been pretty messed up after that. Distracted, he'd lost the time having a cigarette in the alley out back. His hands were shaking then too but for a vastly different reason.

Dean sniffed and rubbed his eyes against the wind. He realized he'd smoked down to the butt and flicked it out over the dead and frosted field grass. He looked at his watch again. Three fifteen.

Jesus, time is fucking slow, Dean thought as he sighed. He rubbed against the thick denim jeans covering his thighs and knees with his hands for warmth. Looking around and seeing only one small child walking the path along the field, he gave up any pretense and hunched over, pressing his palms together between his thighs. He'd unfreeze his fingers before having another cigarette.

He let his mind wander again despite best efforts to think about nothing. It was pretty impossible to do anyway. Sam insisted he was smart; he knew he probably was. It's just that he'd realized long ago he had too many other things to do than be smart. Intelligence counts for nothing if it won't get you weather-appropriate clothes - Dean shuddered and pulled his jacket tight again - or meals - shit, he'd have to ask Sam what he'd made himself for dinner last night - or shelter - he'd be paying Lars, the manager, sometime tonight with the earnings he'd made yesterday (er... this morning).

Dean felt his stomach growl at the thought of food so he pulled out another cigarette. Shitty but convenient that they served as appetite suppressants. He fiddled with the lighter and realized he hadn't cut his fingernails in awhile. They'd collected a lot of dirt and grime underneath. Shitty and inconvenient that cigarettes wreck circulation: his hands and fingers were pale white. Zombie hands, he joked as a deflection whenever Sam would notice. He lifted the lighter up to the tip of his cigarette, about to light it.

"Hey."

Cigarette dangling from his lips, Dean startled and twisted his gaze to find the boy that'd been walking the path along the field. The kid was looking up at him from the ground to Dean's left, holding the straps on a dirty, beat-up red backpack.

Normally Dean would tell anyone to fuck off - even if the kid was in junior high - but as Dean studied the kid's features he realized this was different. Dean tilted his head, confused, and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Hey yourself."

"It's... It's cold out here," the kid said simply, pulling the straps of his backpack tighter.

Dean bit back a comedic "Captain Obvious" retort. He wasn't sure if the kid would get it. Besides, there were more important things to say.

"Yeah it is," he agreed mildly, lighting his cigarette and coming down a few benches to reach the bottom rung. He stayed seated so the kid could look down at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Sssch-School says cigarettes are bad."

"They are," Dean replied glibly, "where're your parents?" Dean asked as he exhaled, squinting with judgment as he noticed the kid was shaking like a leaf. The jacket looked like some kind of heavy wool - perfect for this weather if it wasn't secondhand and moth-eaten: holes littered the sleeves and front, rendering it relatively useless in conserving heat.

"She-she's coming."

"When?" Dean grilled. He wasn't used to interacting with these kinds of kids but this one didn't seem fazed in the least.

"Soon," the kid replied quickly, like it was a script.

Dean looked at his watch, confused... and annoyed on the kid's behalf.

"Why isn't she here now?"

"Running... late."

Dean took a puff of his cigarette.

"She pick you up here?"

"No. I just saw you."

Dean rolled his eyes skyward, trying to make sense of the kid's words.

"So..." he drew the word out, then looked back to the kid. "Does she pick you up at the end of this path?"

"Yeah!"

Dean turned around to look behind him towards the end of the path. He saw neither a waiting car nor a woman that could be the kid's mother.

"I don't see her," Dean said, squinting past the wind.

"Me neither," the kid replied. Dean turned back to look at him. The boy held his arms against his chest and just continued to shiver as he stood looking down at Dean. Dean took a puff of his cigarette and asked another question on his exhale.

"Don't you have an adult to... you know... take you to see your mom-"

"-she's not my mom," the kid interrupted, his tone indicating that he thought he was being helpful.

"Well whatever doesn't the school have somebody to take you over there?"

"No," he replied. Dean tilted his head with confusion. "They left me."

"Alone?" Dean asked, anger mounting.

"Yeah," the kid replied dully. The kid kept shivering.

Dean just stared at him wondering what the real story was but after a few seconds he dismissed it as the kid's tremors grew.

"For fuck's sakes," he murmured to himself, standing up. "What's your name, kid?" He asked as he pulled an arm out of his jacket.

"Os...Osc...Oscar," the kid barely replied, now stuttering from the cold. Dean rolled his eyes at the sound. How could any parent... nevermind. Whatever.

"Oscar take your backpack off for a second," he asked, pulling his jacket all the way off. Dean shivered in the chill but came to terms with it and took another puff of his cigarette.

"Why?" Oscar asked, the first hint of suspicion in his voice, but more like because he, for whatever reason, thought Dean wanted his backpack.

"I want you to wear this," Dean gestured to his jacket.

"No no it's... it's okay," the kid stuttered.

"It's not a request, it's an order. Take off your backpack, Oscar," Dean appropriated the stern voice he'd used ever since he'd been a big brother.

"Okay," Oscar replied easily and Dean almost smiled. If only Sam were so pliant about being taken care of.

Dean reached out and pulled the kid closer to help him with getting the backpack off, vaguely aware that kids like Oscar were rarely very fast with coordination tasks.

"Whoa," Oscar said, stumbling towards Dean and letting him shake his lightweight burden off his back. Dean set it on the lowest bleacher.

"Open your arms like you're flying," Dean said, somehow managing to sound gruff despite the childish wording. Oscar giggled and opened his arms. Dean clasped his cigarette in the corner of his mouth so he could use both hands to pull his jacket onto Oscar's left then right arm. He tugged the front together and zipped it up, cigarette still smoking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Th-thanks," Oscar said as Dean stepped back and pulled the cigarette from his grinning lips. His jacket reached the kid's knees, the sleeves a good several inches beyond Oscar's fingers. Yeah he was cold and he was feeling the drizzle seeping into his shirts already... but Oscar wasn't shivering anymore so he figured he was allowed to laugh: the kid looked like a little bad ass elf or something.

"You're laughing at me," Oscar pointed out.

"Yeah," Dean said, unwilling to lie, and threw his cigarette away. He grabbed Oscar's backpack from the bottom bleacher. "Here you go, Munchkin," Dean added, smiling as he handed the kid his pack. Oscar held it to his chest instead of trying to put it back on his back. Good call. Once he got the kid to his guardian he'd be asking for his jacket back. He really didn't have money for another one.

Dean sat down again on the bleachers, crossing his arms in a huddle to conserve his own heat now. He turned to check the end of the path again but he didn't see anyone. He figured maybe the woman hadn't been told Oscar was released from school early... or... something?

"People... shouldn' make fun 'a me," Oscar piped up. Dean swiveled around.

"I wasn't making fun of you," Dean said pointedly.

"You were laughing."

"Yeah but I wasn't being mean," Dean replied simply.

"Okay," Oscar replied, looking down at the ground, clutching Dean's jacket to him. Dean looked at his watch. Three twenty-five. Awesome.

"I'm Dean," Dean said evenly, putting his practically frozen hand out for a shake.

"Hi Dean," Oscar said, extending his hand. Dean chuckled as he found the kid's hand through the folds of his jacket's sleeve and shook it.

"So listen. I'm waiting for my brother. In five minutes he'll be out here and then we can all walk over to the end of the path with you. Sound like a plan?"

"Cool."

Dean gave a sideways smile.

"Cool."

That's when Dean heard the bell ring in the distance from the junior high. Perfect timing.

Writer's Note: Thank you for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex