Title: Lessons in Learning
Author: PokeyDotes
Warnings: Language, references to drug use and violence.
Author's Note: I just want to say, this is not intended to be AU, but…if you try to line up the time lines and what not, it might drift that way. I know Sam was about eight when he learned about what John really did when gone, and I think he was twelve-ish when he first started hunting. But ladies and gentlemen, this is fiction, so please bear with me. Also, Dean's made references more than once throughout the series that suggest he's perfectly okay with recreational drug use.

There are OCs in this story, but they are minor. The story is about Dean and his family during a particular time in their life.

This story is already completed. It will be posted in six parts, and I will be posting them once a day in a selfish hope to get more feedback.

He knows that his dad isn't mad that he got in a fight, he's managed to get in at least two a year since the third grade. He also knows that he isn't in trouble because his dad had to come to the school. Most times his dad had been able to smooth over the situation with a phone call, but there had been one or two principals that had insisted on meeting with John face to face.

No, he knows that his dad's mad because the entire situation had crossed the threshold on being FUBAR, emphasis on the 'FU'. Usually, anything that requires the cops tends to be, or at least that's how Dean's come to view life. Avoid the cops, things are manageable, but once the boys in blue show up, things get risky.

Dean hadn't even expected the fight. He didn't even see it coming until it was too late. And in all honestly three against one aren't fair odds, even if he's a more experienced fighter than most thirteen year olds.

As he sits in the front seat of the Impala holding the steadily melting icepack to his tender nose, he wishes like crazy that either he could start the day over or that it would hurry up and fucking end all ready.

Two hours of interrogation and poking and prodding by a school nurse who Dean's pretty sure is older than Death has drained all the adrenaline brought on by the fight and the immediate aftermath.

He's hurt, he's tired, and he just wants to go to bed. The fact that his dad hasn't said anything to him aside from "get in the car" since they were given the all clear to leave the school tells Dean that the day is far from over.

As he feels a trickle of blood start to drip from his nose, he tenderly brings up the already stained wad of paper towels and presses it to his nostril, sniffing as best he can without causing any more pain.

"Stupid assholes," he mutters into the silence, more as a way to ease his frustration than to give his opinion on the three boys responsible for ruining his day. His voice sounds nasally and rough, a combination of the busted nose and sore throat brought on by all the yelling. The fact that one of the teachers had to practically put him in a choke hold in order to get him off one of the aforementioned stupid assholes probably didn't do him any favors.

Readjusting the icepack and paper towels, Dean starts to realize that this is definitely a new record. He's barely been at this school three weeks and he's already suspended and been promised a week's worth of detention. Usually, it takes him a lot longer to settle in and find a way to unintentionally cause some sort of trouble. It' mostly always unintentional, his dad having stressed the importance of staying out of trouble, keeping below the radar.

Three weeks at a school isn't enough time to fully get settled in, at least not according to the concerned guidance counselors worried about his future. However, it is more than enough time to seriously piss off a group of grunge rock wannabes whose highest achievement to date has been successfully fabricating a water-bong out of an empty coke bottle.

While he hasn't put forth an effort to make any friends, Dean has managed to make a few acquaintances, a task in which he grows more proficient with each new school. He's spoken to a few of the other students, gotten to know a few names, most of which he's already forgotten, but he hasn't really made any friends, not the kind you hang out with after school and invite over to play video games.

He learned early on it isn't worth the trouble. Even if his dad managed to keep them in one school for more than one semester, they'd still end up moving on, leaving behind anyone who had shown an interest in wanting to get to know them with a hollow promise to keep in touch.

Three weeks into the new school, he's already learned two students' names: Eric, who shares the lab table with Dean in science, and Becky, the brunette with braces and big, blue eyes. Everyone else just sort of blends into the background as far as Dean's concerned.

However, now as the third week ends, he's officially learned four more names, each of which he won't soon be forgetting.

Justin Alexander or as Dean now calls him Asswipe, is in the eight grade, too, but should really be in tenth. His remarkably low IQ is only rivaled by his questionable hygiene and unique ability to make everything sound perverted.

David Moore, a.k.a. Fuckwad, is Asswipe's best friend. Despite being the younger of the two, he's the man in charge, or at least that's what Dean has managed to gather from the two times he's seen them. Dean secretly suspects that he probably learned to roll a joint before he mastered the art of tying his shoes.

Next is Reggie Barnowski. Dean now affectionately refers to him as the Poor Sorry Bastard. Reggie is that one stereotypical kid in the movie that no one really likes, but they let hang around anyway. In horror movies, Reggie's brand of kids are always one of the first to die, and by the time end credits begin to roll, most people have already forgotten the Reggie's of the world were even in the movie.

The Poor Sorry Bastard follows the other two around like a lost puppy waiting for someone to scratch him behind the ears. Dean's almost willing to bet Justin and David could tell Reggie to strip naked in the cafeteria, and he'd do it just to impress them.

Last but not least is Isaac Hardwicke. Dean simply calls him an enigma, not really sure why the guy did what he did, but grateful nonetheless.

Dean closes his eyes and rests his head back on the seat as the rain starts to ping on the roof of the car, light little drops that promise to show their strength with a little more time.

His tongue darts out, tasting the cut on his lip, the coppery taste of blood mixing with whatever antiseptic the nurse had cleaned it with. He hasn't even looked in a mirror yet, but he's almost certain he looks like he just had his ass handed to him, when in fact he was doing pretty well until Coach Reynolds materialized out of no where and began to pull the boys apart.

Each day, the students are given a nine-minute break between first and second period. Dean likes to spend those nine minutes sitting on the bleachers near the practice field. Hardly anyone goes there due to the mud and the borderline dilapidated wooden slats serving as the seating area.

Dean had been sitting alone on the bottom bleacher farthest from the school, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin dropped to his chest while he contemplated skipping the remainder of his classes.

However, any thought of playing hooky were wiped from his mind when the distinct sound of mud squishing beneath sneakers drew his attention to the area at the far end of the bleachers. Keeping his head down, Dean had used his peripheral vision to keep track of the slowly closing distance of the two approaching boys.

His head jumped up when a third, and previously unseen boy had made his presence known by kicking the metal pole supporting the bleachers Dean had been sitting on, causing a loud metallic ringing to echo across the empty field.

"Your name's Winchester, right?" Justin had asked, raising his leg and propping it on one of the bleachers.

Dean hadn't answered, but continued to look at the boy before turning away from the obnoxious smirk to see the other two boys standing maybe two yards away, identical smirks on each of their faces.

"I think he asked you a question, Dickhead," David had said, earning a high-pitched snort of laughter from Reggie.

Dean dropped his head, shaking it from side to side. When he looked back up, he had been grinning that playful, crooked smile his bus driver had warned him about, saying that when Dean's older that smile will hold the ability to make a smart girl forget her own name. Dean likes their bus driver.

"Very good, I was starting to get the impression that you weren't capable of thinking at all," Dean had retorted, resulting in an immediate frown from David and a look of confusion from Justin.

"You think you're funny, don't ya?" David had taken a step forward, letting the growing sneer completely take over his face. "Well, I'm thinkin' you need to learn to keep your mouth shut."

Dean had heard the bell ring in the distance, signaling the end of break, but he had been too caught up in realizing that the three stooges' dumber cousins were seeking revenge to worry about trying to get to class on time. The day before, Dean had made the mistake of directing the teacher's attention to one of the three boys during Health class. The teacher had asked him if he could name the different aspects of the male reproductive system displayed on the overhead projector.

Dean had shaken his head 'no' but pointed to David, saying, "Why not ask him. He looks like he's more than familiar with the different aspects, Mrs. Wade." When everyone in the class except for David proceeded to burst out laughing, it became obvious that he wasn't paying attention, causing Mrs. Wade to get very agitated.

Dean had forgotten about the incident, up until the moment David had taken another step towards him and Justin had pushed Dean's stack of books off the bleachers, sending them into the muddy grass.

Dean had wanted to punch the stupid right out of all three, but he wasn't a complete idiot. Not only was he outnumbered, but Justin was at least six inches taller and David had a good twenty pounds on him. No way did he want to get in a fight he knew he couldn't win.

Dean had been considering his options when a loud thud drew all four boys' attention to the far end of the bleachers. A new kid with shaggy, black hair had dropped his books onto the bleachers, slamming them down with enough force to insure he was noticed.

New Guy had cast a quick glance to Dean before turning his attention to the other three boys. "Looks like someone's having a stupid convention. How come I wasn't invited?" He had placed one hand over his heart, feigning hurt as he exaggerated drawing the corners of his mouth down, dramatically causing his bottom lip to quiver.

'Who the hell is this guy?' was the only thought Dean could think as the new arrival casually walked towards them.

"Fuck off, Hardwicke," had been David's only reply, shortly followed by Justin's taunting, "And while you're at it, tell your mom to keep her schedule open tonight. I want to see if I can really get my money's worth. You know, put my money where her mouth is, if you know what I mean."

Dean had watched as the new kid smiled as a look of hate flickered in his eyes. New Guy had ignored the jab at his mom, but took a step closer to Dean. "You do realize the bell rang, right? I don't think any of you can really afford to miss out on any good learnin', you know what with all those missing brain cells and what not."

"You need to watch yourself, Isaac." David had warned, giving Dean a name more useful than New Guy.

Isaac had ignored David once again, but still kept his body turned so that he was facing all three boys as he bent down and picked up one of Dean's muddied books.

"I just came to get my friend. Coach was looking for him, and I figured he'd be here," Isaac had lied. Dean had forced his features not to betray his surprise. He had never even seen this Isaac kid and he doubted the coach even knew his name.

Dean had bent down and grabbed the ruined notebook before standing to move next to Isaac. Dean didn't know why, but he liked the kid, if for no other reason than the fact that he obviously had the guts to help a complete stranger stand up to three stoned out degenerates. That and he appreciated the guy's sense of humor.

When Justin brought his leg down from the bleacher and looked towards David for guidance, Dean had known that he and Isaac needed to get out of there if they were going to avoid throwing punches. His dad had already been pissed, and Dean had been trying to put forth an effort to stay out of trouble.

Dean had turned to Isaac, mouth opened as he was preparing to speak when a fist caught him off guard, sending his head back and creating a bright light behind his eyes.

He hadn't heard the crack, but he had felt it. Any thought of trying to stay out of trouble had evaporated the moment David threw the first punch.

Dean had forced his eyes open, and allowed the anger to hide the pain as he lunged for David, blindly trusting newly aquatinted Isaac to have his back. Dean's weight and sudden attack had managed to knock David off his feet, bringing both boys to the ground. Blood had steadily poured from Dean's nose, mixing in with David's as Dean continued to pound his fist into the other boy's face.

It hadn't been until Reggie's foot collided with Dean's ribcage that he realized David was unconscious. Dean hadn't been able to look, but he had been able to momentarily hear Isaac and Justin fighting as he turned all his attention to the boy using his side like a kickball.

Reggie had gone down just as easy as David, but Dean had been a little surprised and secretly pleased when the kid began to fight back. He had ignored all logic and allowed the welcomed release of all the frustrations he had felt over the last month.

His dad's anger, and disappointment. Sammy's whining. New school. New students. New teachers. No trust.

The last month had sucked, and Dean had decided to take it out on Reggie Barnowski. He had been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't heard the yells, or the whistle. He hadn't even been aware of anyone else until Coach Reynolds wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders and began to pull him off of Reggie.

Dean had continued to kick as he was dragged away, pushing against the arm around his chest, forcing the coach to bring his other arm up and wrap it against Dean's neck, screaming in his ear for him to calm down.

Dean had stopped struggling, letting the teacher hold him back as he fought to get his breathing under control, the adrenaline pumping through him like fire.

At first, things had seemed bad. One of the women had been leaning over David, one hand resting on his chest to hold him down as he furiously tried to blink away confusion and pain. Several other teachers had stood between the other boys, serving as human barriers. Reggie, Coach Reynolds, and Dean were still on the ground.

Yeah, things had looked bad, but Dean would look back and realize that bad would have been preferable.

One of the lunch ladies, hair net still in place, had bent over and picked up something from the ground. The word 'Ziploc' stood out in frosty lettering against the murky texture of the bag, and yellow looking pills had bundled together in the corner as she held the bag at an angle in the air.

Dean had stared a the bag, wondering why Coach Reynolds had suddenly tensed behind him, pulling him up by his collar when the world righted and Dean had realized just how bad it all seemed.

The next few hours had been a nightmare. David and Justin claiming the drugs belonged to Dean and Isaac, prompting a screaming match between the boys, Dean getting reprimanded for 'unkind' language.

Dean had rolled his eyes and spit more blood into the nurse's sink. The freaking cops were on their way to investigate a potential felony drug charge, and the assistant principal was worried because he had called his fellow students a bunch of fucking liars.

When the cops had arrived, Isaac and Dean were left alone in the nurse's office. Each holding ice packs to different portions of their faces.

"I'm Isaac by the way." Dean had turned a surprised face to the boy who had one eye hidden by ice.

"Dean."

"Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, uh…you, too."

The conversation had ended when John Winchester walked in the room. He was pissed, and all of his attention had been focused on Dean.

Dean knew his father had been told about the drugs. When Dean tried to explain, his dad told him to be quiet, his tone not offering any room for discussion. Dean had felt the pit of his stomach rebel and had been embarrassed when he jumped from his seat to empty his stomach in the small sink labeled "Eye Cleaning Station."

An hour after his father arrived, Dean had been allowed to leave. Thankfully, Reggie had gave his friends up, telling the cops that the fight hadn't been about drugs and that the bag had belonged to David, supporting both Isaac and Dean's story.

Dean had tried once more to talk to his dad, but John had kept his eyes forward, one hand on Dean's shoulder as he steered him down the hall. "Get in the car."

Now, sitting alone outside New Hope Elementary, Dean reaffirms his belief in that old saying. What was it? Murphy's Law or something. If anything can go wrong, it will. And in true Winchester fashion, it goes wrong in a big way. Dean snorts as he thinks to himself, Good ole Winchesters, never doing anything half-assed.

The rain begins to pick up and Dean opens his eyes as he looks to the large, wooden doors situated at the front of the school. With perfect timing, the doors part open and Sam comes running out, his book bag held over his head to fight off some of the water.

Dean can see his brother smiling; he can hear the loud, thunderous footsteps as his brother barrels towards the car in all his nine-year-old glory.

The back door swings open, letting in cold air, rain, and a little brother. Sam isn't quiet about getting situated in the back seat. He heaves his book bag to the opposite side of the car with a loud grunt. The leather seat creaks as Sam moves to sit on his knees and drapes his arms over the back of the front seat, bringing him face to face with his older brother.

"You got in a fight again." The words aren't accusing, just matter-of-fact, but Dean still gives his bother a glare that screams no shit, Sherlock. The glare probably would have been more effective if Dean's face wasn't covered by a bag of ice water.

"Why are you all muddy?" Sam asks, looking at the dry dirt coating his brother's hair and neck. Dean had changed into his P.E. clothes, saving him from having to strip down to his boxers for the ride home.

"Because, the ground's muddy, Runt." Dean hears the nasally muffle in his voice, and half expects to hear his brother's amused laugh, but all he gets in return is a look of concern and silent empathy.

"I'm fine, Sammy," he says, pursing his lips and experimentally flaring his nostrils. "Now, get your feet out of the seat before Dad gets back. He's already pissed."

"Yeah, I could tell," Sam says as he moves back in his seat, using his jacket to wipe away the water near the door. "It was kinda like before."

Dean closes his eyes to keep from rolling them. His brother may only be nine years old, but he's been able to put two and two together since he was five. When Dean doesn't say anything to confirm or deny Sam's theory, Sam leans forward again, gripping the seat and resting his chin on his fingers. When he talks his head moves up and down as the seat prevents his chin from moving.

"Is it like before? Like in Goodsprings?"

"No." It's mostly the truth. His dad's pissed because for the second time within a month, Dean has gotten in trouble. Both times drugs were involved, but unlike in Goodsprings, Dean doesn't have anything to do with them this time.

Despite the fact that the cops and principal believed him, and he had voluntarily taken a drug test, Dean knows that his dad isn't convinced. His dad won't take his word for it. Not anymore. Not after Goodsprings. One time, and he managed to loose all his dad's trust.

"Then why is he so angry?" Sam asks, bringing Dean's attention back to his brother.

"Because he had to come pick me up. Because I've been suspended for the rest of the week. Because I can't watch you after school next week because I'll be in detention. I don't know, Sammy. Take your pick." Dean feels the anger coming back, hating how easily it comes these days. The counselor at his last school had said it was normal, most boys his age have a difficult time controlling their emotions. She had said something about hormones, testosterone, growing responsibilities, blah, blah, blah. Dean didn't want her to be sympathetic, he wanted her to leave him alone.

"If you say so." Sam removes his hands and leans back in the seat when he sees their father making his way to the car, his entire stride showing anger. "I just don't want you to be in trouble again." Sam's voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Dean doesn't have time to reassure his brother before their dad is opening the driver's door. In all honesty, Dean doesn't know if he can promise his brother that he'll be fine.

Goodsprings had proven to Dean that his dad wasn't completely blind to everything outside of the hunt. It had also proven that Dean wasn't too old for the belt, either. Albeit, then he didn't have a broken nose, busted lip, and bruised ribs. Dean's hoping his dad will at least take that into consideration if he isn't able to convince John that he really had nothing to do with the drugs.

John starts the car, pulling it out into the long driveway, and maneuvers it around the long line of cars and minivans waiting for the last bell to ring. As they pass the row of school buses, Dean looks to John but quickly looks away when he sees the muscle along his father's jaw begin to twitch, a sure sign that John's fighting to reign in his anger. They ride in silence, the sounds of the windshield wipers keeping tempo with Dean's increasing heartbeat as they get closer and closer to the small trailer park outside of town.

John slows the car down, easing it over the potholed street to the two-bedroom trailer at the end of the lot. He cuts the car off and pulls the keys out of the ignition, letting his hands rest in his lap as he runs a finger over one of the silver key chains. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it in a huff of air, he opens the door and quickly makes his way up cinderblock steps, unlocking the front door as the boys huddle close behind him.

Dean lets Sam walk in first, following close behind. He tries to wipe his bare feet on the worn mat by the door displaying a neatly printed 'welcome', but whose true function is to hide an intricate repelling symbol. He's on his way to the bathroom to jump in the shower when John finally decides to speak.

"Sammy, go take your bath." Dean watches as his brother's eyes dart nervously back and forth between him and his father. Sam's worried; he doesn't want to leave Dean alone with their dad. He doesn't want Dean to be in trouble again. Sam knows more than he should. He had figured out that monsters are real, despite Dean and John's best efforts to shield him from it, and he had figured out why John had been so angry four weeks ago, prompting an impromptu upheaval from the small town.

Dean knows that Sam's figured it out, but John still isn't about to talk about it in front of his nine year old. He knows how close Sam and Dean are, and the last thing he wants, the last thing he had expected, was for Dean to drop the ball and set a bad example for his little brother. He had hoped that he had gotten the message across last time, but when Dean's new principal called telling him that Dean had been involved in a fight that had escalated over drugs, he realized he had been wrong.

Ever since Dean hit puberty, the kid has been a magnet for trouble. He always seems on edge, and it's way too easy to make him angry lately. John's only saving grace at the moment is that Dean is still Dean, just with a little more attitude and a lot more uncontrollable emotion.

He still looks after his brother, still puts Sam first. Dean still follows orders, at least when it comes to a hunt; he might not always be happy with them, his building teenage emotions causing him to slam doors and grit out a less than respectful 'yes sir', but he still follows them. John just hopes Dean's past all of this by the time Sam hits puberty, because there's no way he'll be able to deal with two emotional teenagers at the same time. Part of him hopes Sam will be easier to deal with.

When John notices that Sam has yet to move, he points a finger towards the bathroom, "I said go take your bath."

"But Dean's all dirty, and he's got blood on his shirt…"

"I said go, Sam. I have to talk to your brother." When Sam takes a concerned step towards his brother, John feels his hope that Sam will be an easier teenager to deal with fade away as reality once again slaps him upside the back of the head. Dean always follows orders; Sam just considers them unfriendly suggestions.

"Sammy, I'm fine. Dad just wants to talk." Unless they're coming from Dean. "Go take your bath, just save me some hot water." Sam takes one last look between his dad and brother before his drops his bag on the couch and walks to the bathroom, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Sit," John orders, pointing to the card table serving as their dining room. He opens the freezer, and pulls out a bag of frozen peas. He breaks the peas up before handing them to Dean, taking the bag of water and dropping it in the sink.

Dean watches as his dad braces his hands on the sink and looks out the window. He keeps quiet; not wanting to rush his dad, because every second that goes by that Dean doesn't see a belt is a second he wants to hold on to.

When the sound of running water and creaking pipes can be heard, John turns to Dean, leaning back against the counter as he folds his arms across his chest. "Tell me what happened."

Dean puts the bag of peas down on the table, and manages to look his dad in the eye. "It's exactly like I told the cop, Dad. Isaac and I had nothing to do with the drugs. I don't even know what kind they were, I swear." Dean waits a moment, looking for any sign that would let him know whether or not his dad believes him. When all John does is continue to stand, waiting, Dean continues.

"Yesterday, I embarrassed Fuc- uh, David, and he wanted payback. So, he got two of his friends and decided to gang up on me. That's it. The fight was totally self-defense. You heard that old woman, David threw the first punch." Dean had never felt the desire to hug a lunch lady before, but when Mrs. Hair Net had stood up and told the principal that she had seen "that Moore boy" start the whole thing by punching "the blonde one" in the nose, he forgave her for being nosey and staring out the window.

"Where does this Isaac guy come in?" John asks, maintaining his stoic expression, not giving Dean any hint as to what he's thinking.

"I honestly have no idea. He just sort of popped up and started helping me out." When John looks at him disbelievingly, Dean quickly holds up his hands, palms out in an attempt to show his dad he has nothing to hide. "I swear, Dad. I've never met him before. I was telling the truth at school."

John rubs his hands over his face, sighing loudly as he pushes his palms against his eyes. "Dean, I want to believe you—"

"Dad, I swear—"

"Don't interrupt me." Dean quickly snaps his jaw shut. "I want to believe you, but you have to look at this from where I'm standing. Just a few weeks ago, I found you stumbling around stoned out of your mind, and now you just so happen to get in a fight with a group of boys who are known for using drugs in a secluded part of school with a bag of whatever. Coincidences aren't really common in our lives, kiddo."

"I know that, but Dad, I swear, I didn't know. I wouldn't do that again." Dean doesn't try to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

"I didn't think you would have done it the first time." John counters. Even though he tries to keep his voice even, Dean still hears the disappointment. "Dean you've got to start picking better friends."

"I don't have any friends. I haven't in a long time," Dean snaps, pulling from the ever-present reserve of built up emotion. John's instinct to yell at his son not to take that tone with him is over ridden by the pang of guilt he feels. Every so often, something happens that reminds John that this isn't a life for kids. It punches him in the gut and screams in his face, but he just pushes it aside. Forces himself to focus on the bigger picture.

Dean half expects his dad to yell at him. He knows better than to backtalk, to show any form of disrespect to his father. But instead of yelling, John pushes himself off the counter and reaches for the flashlight on top of the fridge. He sits in the chair next to Dean and clicks on the light as he places his hand under Dean's chin, tilting his son's head back to look at his busted nose. "Can you breathe okay?" he asks, when he's convinced the bleeding has stopped.

"Yes sir." John uses his thumbs to run over the bridge of Dean's nose, feeling the small bump on the left side. He doesn't give Dean any warning, he just quickly pushes the cartilage back in place, and chooses to forgive the muffled, pain-filled 'fuck' that slips from his thirteen year old's mouth. After all, he only has himself to blame for that one.

The nurse had insisted he take Dean to the doctor, had warned him about the nose and possible broken ribs. John had noticed Dean favoring his right side as he got in and out of the car, but he wasn't moving as though the ribs were actually broken.

"Stand up and take off your shirt." Dean stands and follows his father's orders, relieved but a little confused at the sudden shift in mood. He had kind of forgotten about Reggie kicking him in the side, but as he moves to raise his shirt over his head, the pain forces the memory to the forefront of his mind.

John sees the pain momentarily flash across Dean's face before the familiar mask is back in place. Dean has had that mask since he was four years old. The skin on the right side of Dean's torso has already begun to bruise, easily catching up to the darkened colors decorating both his eyes. John tentatively but thoroughly runs his hand across Dean's ribcage, relieved when he doesn't feel any signs of a break. Both know that Dean will be sore tomorrow.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, his hair wet and styled like a burnt haystack from where he had attempted to towel dry it. He's wearing a pair of ninja turtle pajama bottoms and one of John's old t-shirts. The shirt swallows him up, the neckline hanging off one shoulder to reveal a defined collarbone.

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean assures him, looking to his dad for confirmation.

John hands Dean his shirt and tells him to go get cleaned up. As soon as the bathroom door closes, Sam walks up and rests his elbows on the table. "Is Dean in trouble?" he asks, and John wonders at the combination of fear and defiance present in his youngest's eyes.

"No, he's not, but he's still grounded." John answers.

"From before?" Again, John is taken back by how much his kids pay attention, by how experienced and mature they seem when it comes to understanding certain things. Yes, they still act like little boys, occasionally rough-housing and getting a little too loud, but when compared to how he was at their ages, they are world's more mature. He doesn't know if he's proud or saddened by that revelation.

"Yeah, from before." Sam nods his head, biting his lower lip as he thinks over the information. "Sammy?"

"Sir?"

"What do you know about last time?" John knows his son hadn't been completely clueless. Sam had cried when he found out they were moving so soon after settling down in Goodsprings, he had made friends and really liked his teacher. The only thing that kept Sam from begging his father to reconsider was the whooping Dean had gotten the morning they left.

Dean had dropped Sam off at a friend's. Sam had thought Dean would have gone straight home, but when John called his friend's house, asking whether or not Dean was there with him, Sam realized that hadn't been the case.

A few hours later, John had shown up at the front door, apologizing for the inconvenience but insisting that Sam had to come home. Sam had been surprised to see Dean sitting in the back seat of the car, his attention completely focused on the dog across the street.

Sam had moved to climb in beside Dean, but John stopped him, opening the front door instead and gesturing for Sam to get in. Before his dad could even shut the door, Sam had turned around to face his brother, a little confused when Dean didn't turn to look at him. Dean's clothes had looked wrinkled and dirty, almost as though he had fallen asleep on the ground.

"Dean?" He had asked, trying to get his brother's attention. Dean hadn't answered, but did turn his head slowly towards Sam in a way similar to when Dean had gotten a concussion; his eyes were dark and looked heavy and wet. "What's wrong with you?"

"Leave your brother alone, Sam." Dad had snapped, causing Sam to turn around in the seat. John had slammed the door shut and sped off towards the extended-stay motel serving as their temporary home.

When they had reached the parking lot, Sam had grabbed his bag and headed straight for the door, trying to fight off the concern for his brother in favor of the anger at not getting to spend the night with his friend.

When he had reached the door, he expected his dad to be right behind him with the key, but when he had turned around, he saw his dad open the door to the back seat, and grab Dean by the arm, hauling him to his feet. His dad had grasped Dean's shoulders, making sure he was steady, before directing him towards Sam and their motel room.

When Dean tripped over the doorframe, Sam had turned to his father and asked, "Did he hit his head?"

"No, watch TV." John grabbed Dean by the arm again and moved him towards the bathroom. Sam had jumped up on the bed farthest from the door. Grabbing the remote, he had turned on the TV, but kept the volume low as he strained his ears to listen to the voices coming from the small bathroom.

"Dean, I need you to look at me. What did you take?" Sam hadn't heard an answer, but he assumed his brother had given one along the lines of 'I don't know,' because the next thing he had heard was John asking Dean, "What did it look like?"

Sam had heard something that sounded like the word 'pink', but then nothing else from his brother. When the door flew open, Sam had quickly turned towards the TV, trying his best to look as though he had been watching the Thundercats the entire time.

His dad hadn't even looked at him, just went to the dresser, and began sorting through Dean's drawer, pulling out a clean shirt and pair of shorts. When John turned around, Dean had made it out of the bathroom, not making an effort to do anything more than to stand next to the doorframe.

Sam had watched in silence as Dean clumsily changed into the clean clothes. His confusion had doubled when John made Dean lie down before taking one of his wrists.

Sam had stared at his father's face as he timed his brother's pulse, concern steadily building when John's frown had continued to deepen. Dean had continued to lie there as though nothing unusual were happening.

Eventually, their dad had stood up and pulled the covers up over Dean who had lazily blinked a few times before closing his eyes for good, allowing sleep to take over.

John had then stood and grabbed one of the duffle bags from beneath the other bed. He had taken out one of the rolls of quarters reserved for laundry and reached for the room key. "Sammy, I'm going to the payphone near the front office. Watch your brother, and if his breathing gets funny, you run and you find me. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Sam had answer, knowing better than to ask why his father didn't just use the room's phone. Dad was always making private phone calls. Dean had said it was a need to know kind of thing, and they didn't need to know. Sam hated it.

As soon as John had closed the door, Sam had scooted close to his brother, placing one hand on his chest so he could feel the rise and fall. He had forced himself to match his brother's breathing so it would be easier to tell if something were off. He had seen Dean do the same thing to their father a few nights before when John had come back with a cracked collarbone and a gash on his back. Dean had stitched him up, and helped him turn the ace bandage and an old shirt into a sling before disappearing with a few bills from the emergency cash and promising to be back.

Dean hadn't been gone long; less than an hour. He had handed John a couple of white pills and put a few more on the nightstand. John hadn't asked where Dean had gotten the pills, and Dean hadn't offered to tell. When their dad fell asleep a short time later, Dean had crawled in bed with him, placing his hand on John's chest as he told Sam to finish his homework.

Less than a week after that incident found Sam doing the same for Dean. Sam had turned up the TV, but had continued to keep a watchful eye on his brother. A few episodes later, John had come back and began to pack, ordering Sam to turn off the TV and go to sleep. John had walked over to the bed and lifted one of Dean's eyelids. He had frowned and then checked Dean's pulse again.

"Is he okay, Dad?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Go to sleep."

The next morning Sam had woken up to find all of their stuff packed and their dad gone. It had taken him a while but he finally managed to convince Dean to wake up, a little unnerved when his brother bolted to the bathroom to throw up.

An hour later, John had shown up and he began to yell at Dean. As soon as everything had been loaded into the trunk, John had ordered Sam to wait in the car while he went back in the motel room for Dean. When they came out, John had been carrying a belt, and Dean's face was red. They left Goodsprings and John enrolled them in New Hope two days later.

"Sammy?" his dad asks in a tone that suggests it isn't the first time he's called his son's name. Sam looks up at his father still sitting at the table.

"I know enough," Sam answers his father's original question honestly. "Not everything, but enough."

John shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair. "He won't do it again, Dad. He learned last time." John just smiles once again at the wisdom and confidence present in his young son.

"I know, kiddo. Aren't you supposed to be doing homework or something?"

"Or something," Sam says as he walks over to his abandoned book bag. John leans back in his chair and for the first time since receiving that dreaded phone call, he feels his muscles start to relax. He believes that Dean's telling the truth, but it still doesn't erase the fact that it could have been true.

As Dean walks out of the bathroom dressed for bed, John stands and grabs the keys for the car. "I'll be back sometime tomorrow morning. You don't leave this house," he says turning and pointing a finger at Dean, before turning to Sam. "And you come straight inside after the bus drops you off."

Receiving a synchronized 'yes, sir', John grabs his jacket and walks out the door.

"What do you want for dinner?" Dean asks, as he grabs the thawing bag of peas and places it against his nose.

"Not ravioli. I'm sick of it. No noodles either." Sam doesn't look up from his workbook as he yells his unhelpful opinion over the couch.

"I didn't ask what you don't want." Dean opens the fridge and frowns. "Cheesy eggs it is," he declares, happy when he doesn't hear a rebuttal from Sam.

Later as they climb into bed, homework done, and stomachs full, Sam watches as Dean eases himself down on the mattress. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Something else," Sam knows his brother won't say no. His knowledge is confirmed when Dean sighs heavily and asks a tired, "What?"

Sam stumbles for a moment, not sure exactly how to ask. "What happened in Goodsprings?"

Dean's quiet at first, not answering, not saying anything. "I thought you already knew."

"I know you took something and Dad got mad, made us move schools."

"That pretty much sums it up." Dean turns on his side, facing away from Sam.

"What did you take?" Sam is nothing if not persistent. Again, Dean takes a moment before he answers.

"I don't know."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Jesus, Sam. What is this? Are you looking to score or something?" Dean doesn't hide his anger.

"I don't even know what that means," Sam counters, a little upset that his brother's yelling. "I'm just tired of everyone keeping things from me."

Dean sits up on his elbows and looks at his brother. "You remember that tall kid that kept hassling me when we first moved in?" Sam nods. "I got it from him."

When Sam doesn't say anything else, Dean lies back down. "It was stupid, Sam." Dean closes his eyes and waits for the same tone of disappointment to come from his brother that had been present in his dad.

"Then why'd you do it?" Sam asks, generally curious and decidedly not disappointed.

"I don't know," Dean tentatively touches his nose again, feeling the fever and swelling. "I was upset. Things just,…I don't know. The guy offered, and I took them. I never even made it back to our room. Hell, I don't even remember getting there."

"Dad found you."

"I know. He informed me." Dean's tone lets Sam know he really isn't up to talking about the details. So instead, Sam changes direction.

"Is that guy the same one you got the pills from?" When Dean looks at him as though he has no idea what he's talking about, Sam adds, "You know. The ones you gave Dad."

Dean's eyes widen in surprise, but only for a moment. "Yeah, that's where I got them."

"Is that where you always get them? I mean, you know, do you always go out and buy them?"

"No, but sometimes we don't have a choice. They're not easy to get, and sometimes Tylenol just ain't gonna cut it."

"Why—"

"Dude! Go to sleep already!"

"Fine, you don't have to be a baby about it," Sam says, burrowing under the covers. He feels Dean turn over a few times, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Dean?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, Sammy." Dean's voice is tired, and Sam thinks a little sad.

"I know."

"Then what?"

"I'm not mad at you," when Dean doesn't say anything, Sam turns so he's facing his brother. "And I don't think Dad's still mad."

"Trust me, Sammy. He's mad."

"Well, I'm not. I just wanted you to know." Sam starts to think that Dean isn't going to say anything at all, that he's just going to go to sleep, but as Sam starts to close his eyes, he hears Dean quietly whisper, "Thanks, Sam."

"Goodnight, Dean."

"'Night."

Part two will be posted tomorrow. If you're willing, reviews are appreciated.