Haze 4
Chapter 4 of Haze. Reviews keep me inspired! :)
DragonCon looms even closer, and I am almost completely buried in sewing and stuff. My writing schedule is, therefore, suffering. Sorry! I should at least get some writing done on the plane, right? This was a difficult chapter to write, btw -- I hope it doesn't show.
Title: Haze Chapter 4
Rating: PG-13 (violence, mild language -- I'm sticking to the curses you'd hear on TV)
Category: Gen
Characters: Teen Dean and Sam (ages 17 and 13)
Word Count: 3730
Spoilers: None
Summary: High school is a difficult place, especially when you're at the bottom of the social ladder. But there are worse things out there than jocks, pop quizzes and Dostoevsky. When students start dying, can Dean keep Sam safe?
Disclaimer: Dean owns me. I don't own Dean, Sam, or anything else involving Supernatural. The original characters, however, are mine.
Chapter 4
“Come on Sammy, we’re gonna be late!” Dean bellowed as he triumphantly grabbed the prize he’d been hunting for from one of John’s bureau drawers.
“Who’s fault is that?” his brother called from the other side of the house.
Ignoring the sarcasm, he trotted to the front door and found a frowning and impatient Sammy.
“Dude, what were you doing? Why didn’t you call Pastor Jim again?”
“I told you, he’ll call when he finds something. There’s no point bugging him for intel he doesn’t have. Here, put that in your pocket.” Dean shoved one of the items he’d collected into Sam’s hand, then opened the door. “Go, move.”
“What - Dean, is this salt?” Sam looked at the old tin in disbelief as he hustled out of the house. The small box’s dark blue finish was scratched, but the little girl with the umbrella was clearly imprinted on the lid.
“Yeh. Second thought, put it in your bag to get through security. Then put it in your pocket.” he instructed as he locked the door.
“Are you insane? I’ve already got salt packets in my backpack; I’m not carrying this antique around.”
Dean turned and gave him his older brother is always right glare. “That’s an order, Sammy. Until Dad gets home and deals with this thing, you keep it with you. Got that?”
The rebellious look faltered and then disappeared from Sam’s face, and he shoved the tin (only slightly grudgingly) into his pack. “What if they think it’s drugs?” he asked, opening the Impala’s passenger door.
“That’s why I dug out the camping equipment,” he explained, slipping into the front seat and glancing in the back to make sure that iron rod was still there. The trunk was empty of all but the most innocuous of weapons - a concession to strict school security rules - so knowing it was there made him feel better.
Sam shot him a quizzical look as he started the car and backed out onto the street. “Rock salt in an old salt tin, Sam. If someone asks, say you brought it to show that pretty history teacher.”
Curiosity morphed quickly into alarm. “Dean! Don’t you dare! She’s my teacher; you better not hit on her!”
He leered playfully. “I dunno; I think she’s into me.”
Sam wacked him on the arm. “Gross.”
“Hey, don’t criticize. Older women are hot. You know, like the Van Halen song? Got it made, got it made, got it made, I’m hot for teacher.” He sang the verse cheerfully and loudly, drowning out his brother’s protests, then laughed when Sam hit him again.
“Okay, okay, chill. Still, salt in the pocket. And here, wear this.” He slipped his other acquisition out of his pocket and extended it to Sam.
“What? Come on, I’m not wearing a necklace.”
“It’s an amulet, and why not? I’ve got one.”
Sam looked at the dark, heavy amulet as it dangled on a leather cord from Dean’s fingers. “That’s an Yr. It’s not going to help against a ghost, and I’m pretty sure it’s against the dress code.”
He couldn’t help but be impressed that Sammy recognized the rune - not that he showed it. “It’s also pure iron, so you’re wearing it. If that ghost pops up you can whip it around and throw it through him. Kind of like David versus Goliath.”
Sam paused, then smirked. “Did you just make an allusion?”
“A what?”
“An allu- oh, never mind.” He snatched the amulet and put it on, though he tucked it under his shirt. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam took out a notebook and started reading it in a very obvious manner. Dean didn’t mind the brush-off. Sam’s mind was off dad for a little while, and he was as protected from the ghost as possible. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.
They got one of the last spots in the parking lot and ran for the doors, only to have to stand idle in the security line. Dean passed through, wishing in vain for the silver folding knife hidden securely under the driver’s seat - or even better, that nice piece of ghost-repelling fence. Instead he had to take comfort in the fact that Sam managed to get through the detectors with his new protections unconfiscated.
“Be safe, ’kay Sammy?” Dean said before he could dart away.
Sam hesitated, then nodded. “Tell me if he calls.”
He smiled tightly, then watched his brother turn away. Dean wanted to follow, to make sure it was safe for his brother to even be in this school, but that wasn’t possible. Still, he waited until Sam turned a corner before he managed to go his own way. Knowing he was late, he hustled as fast as he could without technically running and slipped into his homeroom with seconds to spare.
Dean started to unzip his backpack, then realized no one else had books out. Brow furrowing, he looked at his unusually solemn teacher and saw the words written neatly on the chalkboard.
School-wide assembly, 8:40, gym.
He frowned and checked his watch. It was 8:32. Only minutes later he was back on his feet and part of the mass trek to the gym.
He spotted Sammy sitting in the freshman section, chatting with some Asian kid. The seniors were on the opposite side of the basketball court, so he chose a seat on the metal risers that gave him an unobstructed view of his brother. As the rest of the seniors filed in they separated immediately into cliques; Dean ended up next to some drama geeks. Could be worse, he decided as he watched Greg and other members of the football team claim seats at the top of the riser.
Principal Simmonds walked to the microphone and called for quiet. As the man began to drone Dean looked around, already bored. He spotted Mariah sitting in the midst of some other girls further down the bench behind him. Other than looking a little subdued, she didn’t seem to be any worse for wear from yesterday’s attack. Dean smiled, relieved, and for just a moment their eyes met. She looked hastily away.
“... dead and another in the hospital...”
Dean’s attention snapped suddenly to Principal Simmonds.
“...some of you may be upset or confused, or perhaps you’ve even contemplated suicide yourself...”
He nudged the drama geek next to him, a lanky but slouching redhead. “Who’s dead?”
The boy gave him a clear where have you been? look. “Wayne Crofton. Football player.”
An eyebrow arched up. “Oh. How ’bout the other one?”
“Another football player. Randy something.”
The other eyebrow joined the first. “Really? Wow.”
“...counselors will be available to any student who...”
“When did this happen?”
Drama geek glared at him but whispered, “Two or three days ago. Randy tried to kill himself and Wayne managed to drown himself.”
Dean whistled softly.
“...school can be stressful, but there are options...”
He settled back on the bench, paying attention to Simmonds for a few minutes before realizing that all he was going to hear was blather about suicide being bad and bright futures and talking about your feelings. He had more important things to think about.
An attempted suicide and a suicide. Maybe he wouldn’t have given it a second thought - if not for a certain ghostly attempt on his life from a spirit that had it in for a cheerleader. Dean blinked and looked speculatively over at Mariah. Two football players and a cheerleader. John said there was no such thing as coincidence, and he usually believed in his father’s wisdom.
He needed to talk to Mariah.
Two class periods later he had his chance. Dean lingered near the senior lockers, watching for his quarry to appear. Soon enough she rounded the corner, one of a group of seven girls - that was more than he wanted to deal with, so he waited. As he watched they split off to different lockers, some by themselves and others in pairs. He kept his eyes on his target, hoping to catch her alone.
No such luck. One of the other girls, a cheerleader he remembered from Wednesday, stayed at Mariah’s side. Well, at least it’s not queen bitch Brandi. Realizing this was likely the best chance he was going to get, he slipped through the crowd and leaned on the lockers next to her.
“I need to talk to you.”
She started and turned surprised blue eyes on him. Her friend glanced at him, puzzled, then looked at him like she smelled something bad.
“Whatever,” Mariah replied, putting a book into her locker
“Yeh, I’m serious.” He leaned forward, not accepting her dismissal. “You know why.”
“Get lost,” the friend advised, shooting him a glare of pure irritation, but as Mariah looked hesitantly back at him he could see fear in her eyes.
“Later?” she asked in a small voice. When he didn’t respond she shifted uncomfortably, glanced at the floor, then inhaled. “After school, hall outside the library?”
It made sense - on a Friday afternoon no one, not even Sam, would be there. Dean nodded once and walked away; he could feel too many eyes on him, staring at the reject talking to the cheerleader. But there hadn’t been much of a choice.
As he walked toward the chemistry lab he surreptitiously pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it for messages. Nothing. His fingers itched to send a call to his dad, to Pastor Jim - hell, even to Caleb, though the munitions dealer wouldn’t know any more than he had when Dean called him last night. No, he knew the drill. He had to wait for Jim’s call, no matter how hard it was.
Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, he ducked into the lab. Maybe they’d get to blow something up today - that would take his mind off things. Hell, it’d even be fun.
“Have you heard from Pastor Jim yet?” Sammy asked as soon as he saw Dean waiting near the main exit.
“Nothing.” Seeing worry darken those big brown eyes, Dean hastily added, “if he learned something bad he would have called. He’s probably just waiting for us to get out of school so he won’t interrupt a test or something. I mean, this is Jim we’re talking about.”
Sam didn’t look convinced. “Call him now, then.”
“I will, but we’ve gotta do something first. Come on.” He turned and walked back down the hall.
After they’d gotten about 20 feet in, when it was obvious they were heading even deeper into the school, Dean heard his brother mumble “Christo.”
“Sammy?” he asked incredulously.
“Dean, you’re making me walk back into school, on Friday afternoon, and you’re not checking on dad. Something’s obviously wrong with you.”
He punched his brother’s shoulder, pulling the blow so it wouldn’t do more than sting. “I’ve gotta do something before we go, something important, so you’re coming with.”
Sam hit him back, harder. “What’re we doing?”
“I’m talking to Mariah. You’re staying out of sight.”
“What?” Sam exclaimed. “This is lame. Why do I have to go on your date with you?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not a date. Casper, remember? Under the bleachers? Tried to kill me?”
The scowl on Sam’s face melted away and was replaced by uncertainty. “You really think she knows something?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, but I need to find out. Dad’s going to need all the info he can get once he’s back, and he can’t exactly ask her, can he? And you heard them this morning - two football players trying to off themselves? That doesn’t jive.”
“And since she’s a cheerleader you think its connected?” Sam asked solemnly.
“Yeh.” He nodded. “Look, I’m meeting her outside the library. Wait around the corner, okay? She’s not gonna talk to me with you hanging around. But keep a sharp ear out; I wanna know what you think about what she says.”
Sam gave him a goofy smile at being included in the plot and nodded. “Okay.”
Dean winked at him, then put a hand on his shoulder as they reached an intersection. He glanced quickly around the corner and saw Mariah waiting in her green and gold uniform. Smiling, he handed his backpack to his brother and gave him a quick nod, then went to meet her.
“Hey,” he said quietly as he approached. She turned quickly; he’d seen deer less nervous than Mariah.
“Look, I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said, words quick and urgent. “You need to leave me alone.”
He watched her silently, then shook his head. “We both got attacked, but I think it was after you. Which means you’re in danger. I need to know what it was.”
She paled a little and shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t. Let’s just forget it, okay?”
“I can’t do that. Now-”
“Punk-ass bitch, get away from my girl!”
He looked up, startled, as the bellow filled the hall, followed immediately by the appearance of two familiar figures: Greg the quarterback and one of his back-up goons. It was the goon - all six-foot-three inches and 200+ pounds of him - who had yelled.
“You must the wide receiver,” Dean guessed, taking a few steps away from Mariah as the guy bore down on him.
“Joel, stop, it’s nothing, really,” she stammered, shrinking further out of the way. Joel didn’t even look at her, though Greg glanced her way as he followed his teammate.
Dean squared his shoulders and his stance, angry that they’d been interrupted and uncertain if there was anything he could do to avoid the fight that was coming. John would be furious at him for fighting inside the school, but all that mattered right now was that there were only two of them. Two he could take. Letting these two jokers beat him down was unacceptable, especially not when he was Sammy’s only protector until their dad got back.
“You should listen to your girlfriend,” he said steadily. “Anyway, don’t y’all have a game tonight? Don’t want you to have to sit it out.”
Joel reached out to shove him; Dean sidestepped it neatly, praying that his little brother would stay out of this. “She’s just helping me with that stupid Crime and Punishment assignment. No need for you to go all Hulk Smash.”
Another punch, another dodge. He smiled sharply, adrenalin honing his instincts. “Not very good at this, are you?” When the next punch came, he caught Joel’s arm and twisted it behind his tall foe, earning a satisfying grunt.
“Greg, don’t!” Mariah pleaded. It was enough warning for Dean to spin and shove Joel toward the quarterback, making them both stagger with the impact.
“You know, you owe me an apology, Greg” he taunted, knowing that the angrier they were the more inept they’d be. One of the first things John had taught him about fighting (humans, anyway) was the value of goading a foe into recklessness. “You insulted my car. I mean, that’s just unforgivable.”
“It’s a piece of crap,” the quarterback growled, executing a tackle that would have been great on the field - if Dean hadn’t anticipated it and once again danced away. This time, though, he threw a hard punch to Greg’s side and stuck a foot in front of those still-moving feet.
The quarterback went down hard, but Dean didn’t have time to savor the sight. Greg wouldn’t be down long, and Joel was charging him again. And he heard someone running down the hall toward them.
“Dammit, Sam, stay back!” he yelled as he barely dodged Joel’s next punch.
“Dean!”
Something in his brother’s voice made him look back. He was just in time to see a third jock - another of the goons from the parking lot - grab his running brother by the shoulder and yank him back, clean off his feet. Sammy hit the floor, crying out as his skull cracked against the tiles.
“Sam!”
All of John’s lessons - don’t fight angry, don’t get distracted, don’t get scared - flew out the window. Dean whirled and rushed to his brother, seeing only Sam and the guy who’d just taken him out. He saw eyes widening in shock and then saw the guy fall after just one clean hit to the jaw. Dean didn’t care; he hit him again on the way down.
“Sammy, you ok?” he asked urgently as his little brother blinked up at him. “Get up and get out!”
A sudden widening of those disoriented eyes was all the warning he had before he was grabbed and hauled backward. His arms were pinned behind him - it had to be by Joel, since Greg surged up to punch him in the stomach. All the air left him in a rush as pain burned through him; the last thing that hit him that hard was a poltergeist, and this time his dad wasn’t here to back him up.
“Stop!”
He didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t have time to care. Using Joel’s hold on his arms, Dean swept both feet up off the floor and kicked the quarterback in the chest. Greg hit the floor ass-first and Joel went staggering backward. Dean felt them going down - the problem was, Joel twisted mid-fall and crushed him into the floor. If it didn’t hurt so badly he’d be impressed.
“Stop right now!”
He could hardly breathe as pain lanced through bruised ribs, and the edges of his vision went white as punches ground into his stomach once, twice, three times. Dean struggled, shoving at his attacker, but he had no leverage, no room to throw a punch, and dammit he couldn’t breathe...
And then the weight crushing him down disappeared. Dean sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the pain and nausea, and began to shove himself up even as that whiteness obscured more of his vision. Hands shoved him back down to the floor and he raised a fist, cursing.
“Dean, stop, it’s all right!” Sammy’s voice penetrated the haze, checking him before he hit. “It’s a teacher, don’t, it’s all right!”
He blinked, trying to focus, and the sight of his very burly chemistry teacher swam into view.
“Ah, crap,” he muttered and dropped his hand. “Mr. Lee... okay, okay.”
“Stay down,” was the stern command.
“Yeh,” he gasped, closing his eyes and resting against the nice, cool floor. He felt Sam take his hand. “You okay Sammy? You hit your head.”
“I’m good. Stop talking.”
That was all the reassurance Dean needed; he relaxed as best he could, tried not to throw up, and squeezed his brother’s hand.
(end chapter four)
DragonCon looms even closer, and I am almost completely buried in sewing and stuff. My writing schedule is, therefore, suffering. Sorry! I should at least get some writing done on the plane, right? This was a difficult chapter to write, btw -- I hope it doesn't show.
Title: Haze Chapter 4
Rating: PG-13 (violence, mild language -- I'm sticking to the curses you'd hear on TV)
Category: Gen
Characters: Teen Dean and Sam (ages 17 and 13)
Word Count: 3730
Spoilers: None
Summary: High school is a difficult place, especially when you're at the bottom of the social ladder. But there are worse things out there than jocks, pop quizzes and Dostoevsky. When students start dying, can Dean keep Sam safe?
Disclaimer: Dean owns me. I don't own Dean, Sam, or anything else involving Supernatural. The original characters, however, are mine.
Chapter 4
“Come on Sammy, we’re gonna be late!” Dean bellowed as he triumphantly grabbed the prize he’d been hunting for from one of John’s bureau drawers.
“Who’s fault is that?” his brother called from the other side of the house.
Ignoring the sarcasm, he trotted to the front door and found a frowning and impatient Sammy.
“Dude, what were you doing? Why didn’t you call Pastor Jim again?”
“I told you, he’ll call when he finds something. There’s no point bugging him for intel he doesn’t have. Here, put that in your pocket.” Dean shoved one of the items he’d collected into Sam’s hand, then opened the door. “Go, move.”
“What - Dean, is this salt?” Sam looked at the old tin in disbelief as he hustled out of the house. The small box’s dark blue finish was scratched, but the little girl with the umbrella was clearly imprinted on the lid.
“Yeh. Second thought, put it in your bag to get through security. Then put it in your pocket.” he instructed as he locked the door.
“Are you insane? I’ve already got salt packets in my backpack; I’m not carrying this antique around.”
Dean turned and gave him his older brother is always right glare. “That’s an order, Sammy. Until Dad gets home and deals with this thing, you keep it with you. Got that?”
The rebellious look faltered and then disappeared from Sam’s face, and he shoved the tin (only slightly grudgingly) into his pack. “What if they think it’s drugs?” he asked, opening the Impala’s passenger door.
“That’s why I dug out the camping equipment,” he explained, slipping into the front seat and glancing in the back to make sure that iron rod was still there. The trunk was empty of all but the most innocuous of weapons - a concession to strict school security rules - so knowing it was there made him feel better.
Sam shot him a quizzical look as he started the car and backed out onto the street. “Rock salt in an old salt tin, Sam. If someone asks, say you brought it to show that pretty history teacher.”
Curiosity morphed quickly into alarm. “Dean! Don’t you dare! She’s my teacher; you better not hit on her!”
He leered playfully. “I dunno; I think she’s into me.”
Sam wacked him on the arm. “Gross.”
“Hey, don’t criticize. Older women are hot. You know, like the Van Halen song? Got it made, got it made, got it made, I’m hot for teacher.” He sang the verse cheerfully and loudly, drowning out his brother’s protests, then laughed when Sam hit him again.
“Okay, okay, chill. Still, salt in the pocket. And here, wear this.” He slipped his other acquisition out of his pocket and extended it to Sam.
“What? Come on, I’m not wearing a necklace.”
“It’s an amulet, and why not? I’ve got one.”
Sam looked at the dark, heavy amulet as it dangled on a leather cord from Dean’s fingers. “That’s an Yr. It’s not going to help against a ghost, and I’m pretty sure it’s against the dress code.”
He couldn’t help but be impressed that Sammy recognized the rune - not that he showed it. “It’s also pure iron, so you’re wearing it. If that ghost pops up you can whip it around and throw it through him. Kind of like David versus Goliath.”
Sam paused, then smirked. “Did you just make an allusion?”
“A what?”
“An allu- oh, never mind.” He snatched the amulet and put it on, though he tucked it under his shirt. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam took out a notebook and started reading it in a very obvious manner. Dean didn’t mind the brush-off. Sam’s mind was off dad for a little while, and he was as protected from the ghost as possible. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.
They got one of the last spots in the parking lot and ran for the doors, only to have to stand idle in the security line. Dean passed through, wishing in vain for the silver folding knife hidden securely under the driver’s seat - or even better, that nice piece of ghost-repelling fence. Instead he had to take comfort in the fact that Sam managed to get through the detectors with his new protections unconfiscated.
“Be safe, ’kay Sammy?” Dean said before he could dart away.
Sam hesitated, then nodded. “Tell me if he calls.”
He smiled tightly, then watched his brother turn away. Dean wanted to follow, to make sure it was safe for his brother to even be in this school, but that wasn’t possible. Still, he waited until Sam turned a corner before he managed to go his own way. Knowing he was late, he hustled as fast as he could without technically running and slipped into his homeroom with seconds to spare.
Dean started to unzip his backpack, then realized no one else had books out. Brow furrowing, he looked at his unusually solemn teacher and saw the words written neatly on the chalkboard.
School-wide assembly, 8:40, gym.
He frowned and checked his watch. It was 8:32. Only minutes later he was back on his feet and part of the mass trek to the gym.
He spotted Sammy sitting in the freshman section, chatting with some Asian kid. The seniors were on the opposite side of the basketball court, so he chose a seat on the metal risers that gave him an unobstructed view of his brother. As the rest of the seniors filed in they separated immediately into cliques; Dean ended up next to some drama geeks. Could be worse, he decided as he watched Greg and other members of the football team claim seats at the top of the riser.
Principal Simmonds walked to the microphone and called for quiet. As the man began to drone Dean looked around, already bored. He spotted Mariah sitting in the midst of some other girls further down the bench behind him. Other than looking a little subdued, she didn’t seem to be any worse for wear from yesterday’s attack. Dean smiled, relieved, and for just a moment their eyes met. She looked hastily away.
“... dead and another in the hospital...”
Dean’s attention snapped suddenly to Principal Simmonds.
“...some of you may be upset or confused, or perhaps you’ve even contemplated suicide yourself...”
He nudged the drama geek next to him, a lanky but slouching redhead. “Who’s dead?”
The boy gave him a clear where have you been? look. “Wayne Crofton. Football player.”
An eyebrow arched up. “Oh. How ’bout the other one?”
“Another football player. Randy something.”
The other eyebrow joined the first. “Really? Wow.”
“...counselors will be available to any student who...”
“When did this happen?”
Drama geek glared at him but whispered, “Two or three days ago. Randy tried to kill himself and Wayne managed to drown himself.”
Dean whistled softly.
“...school can be stressful, but there are options...”
He settled back on the bench, paying attention to Simmonds for a few minutes before realizing that all he was going to hear was blather about suicide being bad and bright futures and talking about your feelings. He had more important things to think about.
An attempted suicide and a suicide. Maybe he wouldn’t have given it a second thought - if not for a certain ghostly attempt on his life from a spirit that had it in for a cheerleader. Dean blinked and looked speculatively over at Mariah. Two football players and a cheerleader. John said there was no such thing as coincidence, and he usually believed in his father’s wisdom.
He needed to talk to Mariah.
Two class periods later he had his chance. Dean lingered near the senior lockers, watching for his quarry to appear. Soon enough she rounded the corner, one of a group of seven girls - that was more than he wanted to deal with, so he waited. As he watched they split off to different lockers, some by themselves and others in pairs. He kept his eyes on his target, hoping to catch her alone.
No such luck. One of the other girls, a cheerleader he remembered from Wednesday, stayed at Mariah’s side. Well, at least it’s not queen bitch Brandi. Realizing this was likely the best chance he was going to get, he slipped through the crowd and leaned on the lockers next to her.
“I need to talk to you.”
She started and turned surprised blue eyes on him. Her friend glanced at him, puzzled, then looked at him like she smelled something bad.
“Whatever,” Mariah replied, putting a book into her locker
“Yeh, I’m serious.” He leaned forward, not accepting her dismissal. “You know why.”
“Get lost,” the friend advised, shooting him a glare of pure irritation, but as Mariah looked hesitantly back at him he could see fear in her eyes.
“Later?” she asked in a small voice. When he didn’t respond she shifted uncomfortably, glanced at the floor, then inhaled. “After school, hall outside the library?”
It made sense - on a Friday afternoon no one, not even Sam, would be there. Dean nodded once and walked away; he could feel too many eyes on him, staring at the reject talking to the cheerleader. But there hadn’t been much of a choice.
As he walked toward the chemistry lab he surreptitiously pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it for messages. Nothing. His fingers itched to send a call to his dad, to Pastor Jim - hell, even to Caleb, though the munitions dealer wouldn’t know any more than he had when Dean called him last night. No, he knew the drill. He had to wait for Jim’s call, no matter how hard it was.
Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, he ducked into the lab. Maybe they’d get to blow something up today - that would take his mind off things. Hell, it’d even be fun.
“Have you heard from Pastor Jim yet?” Sammy asked as soon as he saw Dean waiting near the main exit.
“Nothing.” Seeing worry darken those big brown eyes, Dean hastily added, “if he learned something bad he would have called. He’s probably just waiting for us to get out of school so he won’t interrupt a test or something. I mean, this is Jim we’re talking about.”
Sam didn’t look convinced. “Call him now, then.”
“I will, but we’ve gotta do something first. Come on.” He turned and walked back down the hall.
After they’d gotten about 20 feet in, when it was obvious they were heading even deeper into the school, Dean heard his brother mumble “Christo.”
“Sammy?” he asked incredulously.
“Dean, you’re making me walk back into school, on Friday afternoon, and you’re not checking on dad. Something’s obviously wrong with you.”
He punched his brother’s shoulder, pulling the blow so it wouldn’t do more than sting. “I’ve gotta do something before we go, something important, so you’re coming with.”
Sam hit him back, harder. “What’re we doing?”
“I’m talking to Mariah. You’re staying out of sight.”
“What?” Sam exclaimed. “This is lame. Why do I have to go on your date with you?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not a date. Casper, remember? Under the bleachers? Tried to kill me?”
The scowl on Sam’s face melted away and was replaced by uncertainty. “You really think she knows something?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, but I need to find out. Dad’s going to need all the info he can get once he’s back, and he can’t exactly ask her, can he? And you heard them this morning - two football players trying to off themselves? That doesn’t jive.”
“And since she’s a cheerleader you think its connected?” Sam asked solemnly.
“Yeh.” He nodded. “Look, I’m meeting her outside the library. Wait around the corner, okay? She’s not gonna talk to me with you hanging around. But keep a sharp ear out; I wanna know what you think about what she says.”
Sam gave him a goofy smile at being included in the plot and nodded. “Okay.”
Dean winked at him, then put a hand on his shoulder as they reached an intersection. He glanced quickly around the corner and saw Mariah waiting in her green and gold uniform. Smiling, he handed his backpack to his brother and gave him a quick nod, then went to meet her.
“Hey,” he said quietly as he approached. She turned quickly; he’d seen deer less nervous than Mariah.
“Look, I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said, words quick and urgent. “You need to leave me alone.”
He watched her silently, then shook his head. “We both got attacked, but I think it was after you. Which means you’re in danger. I need to know what it was.”
She paled a little and shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t. Let’s just forget it, okay?”
“I can’t do that. Now-”
“Punk-ass bitch, get away from my girl!”
He looked up, startled, as the bellow filled the hall, followed immediately by the appearance of two familiar figures: Greg the quarterback and one of his back-up goons. It was the goon - all six-foot-three inches and 200+ pounds of him - who had yelled.
“You must the wide receiver,” Dean guessed, taking a few steps away from Mariah as the guy bore down on him.
“Joel, stop, it’s nothing, really,” she stammered, shrinking further out of the way. Joel didn’t even look at her, though Greg glanced her way as he followed his teammate.
Dean squared his shoulders and his stance, angry that they’d been interrupted and uncertain if there was anything he could do to avoid the fight that was coming. John would be furious at him for fighting inside the school, but all that mattered right now was that there were only two of them. Two he could take. Letting these two jokers beat him down was unacceptable, especially not when he was Sammy’s only protector until their dad got back.
“You should listen to your girlfriend,” he said steadily. “Anyway, don’t y’all have a game tonight? Don’t want you to have to sit it out.”
Joel reached out to shove him; Dean sidestepped it neatly, praying that his little brother would stay out of this. “She’s just helping me with that stupid Crime and Punishment assignment. No need for you to go all Hulk Smash.”
Another punch, another dodge. He smiled sharply, adrenalin honing his instincts. “Not very good at this, are you?” When the next punch came, he caught Joel’s arm and twisted it behind his tall foe, earning a satisfying grunt.
“Greg, don’t!” Mariah pleaded. It was enough warning for Dean to spin and shove Joel toward the quarterback, making them both stagger with the impact.
“You know, you owe me an apology, Greg” he taunted, knowing that the angrier they were the more inept they’d be. One of the first things John had taught him about fighting (humans, anyway) was the value of goading a foe into recklessness. “You insulted my car. I mean, that’s just unforgivable.”
“It’s a piece of crap,” the quarterback growled, executing a tackle that would have been great on the field - if Dean hadn’t anticipated it and once again danced away. This time, though, he threw a hard punch to Greg’s side and stuck a foot in front of those still-moving feet.
The quarterback went down hard, but Dean didn’t have time to savor the sight. Greg wouldn’t be down long, and Joel was charging him again. And he heard someone running down the hall toward them.
“Dammit, Sam, stay back!” he yelled as he barely dodged Joel’s next punch.
“Dean!”
Something in his brother’s voice made him look back. He was just in time to see a third jock - another of the goons from the parking lot - grab his running brother by the shoulder and yank him back, clean off his feet. Sammy hit the floor, crying out as his skull cracked against the tiles.
“Sam!”
All of John’s lessons - don’t fight angry, don’t get distracted, don’t get scared - flew out the window. Dean whirled and rushed to his brother, seeing only Sam and the guy who’d just taken him out. He saw eyes widening in shock and then saw the guy fall after just one clean hit to the jaw. Dean didn’t care; he hit him again on the way down.
“Sammy, you ok?” he asked urgently as his little brother blinked up at him. “Get up and get out!”
A sudden widening of those disoriented eyes was all the warning he had before he was grabbed and hauled backward. His arms were pinned behind him - it had to be by Joel, since Greg surged up to punch him in the stomach. All the air left him in a rush as pain burned through him; the last thing that hit him that hard was a poltergeist, and this time his dad wasn’t here to back him up.
“Stop!”
He didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t have time to care. Using Joel’s hold on his arms, Dean swept both feet up off the floor and kicked the quarterback in the chest. Greg hit the floor ass-first and Joel went staggering backward. Dean felt them going down - the problem was, Joel twisted mid-fall and crushed him into the floor. If it didn’t hurt so badly he’d be impressed.
“Stop right now!”
He could hardly breathe as pain lanced through bruised ribs, and the edges of his vision went white as punches ground into his stomach once, twice, three times. Dean struggled, shoving at his attacker, but he had no leverage, no room to throw a punch, and dammit he couldn’t breathe...
And then the weight crushing him down disappeared. Dean sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the pain and nausea, and began to shove himself up even as that whiteness obscured more of his vision. Hands shoved him back down to the floor and he raised a fist, cursing.
“Dean, stop, it’s all right!” Sammy’s voice penetrated the haze, checking him before he hit. “It’s a teacher, don’t, it’s all right!”
He blinked, trying to focus, and the sight of his very burly chemistry teacher swam into view.
“Ah, crap,” he muttered and dropped his hand. “Mr. Lee... okay, okay.”
“Stay down,” was the stern command.
“Yeh,” he gasped, closing his eyes and resting against the nice, cool floor. He felt Sam take his hand. “You okay Sammy? You hit your head.”
“I’m good. Stop talking.”
That was all the reassurance Dean needed; he relaxed as best he could, tried not to throw up, and squeezed his brother’s hand.
(end chapter four)