Haze Chapter 5
Sorry for the delay. I forgot to take into account that I get no sleep before DragonCon or at it, so writing... well, the writing suffered. But I'm kind of back on track now with only one major distraction in my future. So here's Chapter 5! Chapter 6 should be coming in the next few days!
Title: Haze Chapter 5
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: 2368
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 5
Principal Simmonds’ waiting room looked like every principal’s waiting room Dean had ever seen - and he’d seen a lot of them. Not just because he got into trouble - though he did his fare share of that - but because he and Sam averaged two schools a year. New schools meant new registration forms, new lies to tell, and new offices full of cheap furniture, framed certificates, and drab colors.
He sat straight in one of the hard plastic-and-metal chairs - straighter than he’d prefer considering how sore his mid-section was. He’d rather be stretched horizontally with the school nurse’s offered-but-refused ice pack on his bruised stomach
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Sammy asked from the chair next to him, his gaze flicking nervously between Dean, the school security guard scowling down at them, and the closed office door. Behind it Simmonds, Ms. Martin, Mr. Lee, and the three football players huddled, their voices no more than frustrating murmurs.
“Dunno,” he answered, refusing to betray the fact that he was feeling as nervous as his younger brother. “Doubt it’s good.”
Sam shook his head tightly. “It’s not fair. They started it.”
“More than that,” Dean said darkly. “I know an ambush when I see it. That was a freakin’ set-up. I didn’t think she’d do it.”
The younger Winchester nodded, but bit his lip softly. “I don’t think it was Mariah’s fault though. She looked really surprised. And scared.”
Dean arched an eyebrow. “You think?” Blaming Mariah was easy - in fact, it was the first thing he thought after Mr. Lee had pulled him to his feet and he realized she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. But Sammy would have seen more than he did; he’d been too busy with Greg and Joel.
“It had to be someone, though,” he mused. Then it came to him. “The girl at Mariah’s locker. She knew where we’d be, and when. Crap.”
“At least I had your back.” Sam smiled a little.
“Yell or something next time, loser. Don’t go all hero on me; you could’ve gotten a concussion.”
The smile grew. “Yeh, you’re welcome.”
Dean rolled his eyes but his retort was cut off when the office door opened. Greg, Joel and the one who had hurt Sammy - he’d overheard Mr. Lee call him Tom - filed out, all three of them glaring as they sat down in chairs across the room.
“Sam, Dean, come in please.” Ms. Martin stood in Simmonds’ doorway, her expression aggressively neutral.
“Yes ma’am,” they answered simultaneously; together they stood and entered the office.
It was, again, like every principal’s office he’d ever seen: an industrial desk with a nameplate, putty-colored metal file cabinets, and educational certificates on the wall. Mr. Simmonds himself fell easily into one of the classifications Dean had invented over years of meeting principals - the politician. Politicians were identifiable by their relatively young looks, perfect hair (probably dyed), and phoniness that never failed to set his teeth on edge.
But very little fake friendliness was on display right now. “Sit down boys,” the man ordered curtly.
He glanced at Sam, then nodded and claimed a folding chair directly across from the principal. As his brother sat, Dean opened his mouth to speak. Simmonds beat him to it.
“I don’t like what I’m hearing - harassing a female student, starting a fight with other students, and dragging your younger brother into it as well. Add to that missing days of school and lackluster performance in several of your classes; it makes me question your priorities.”
Dean’s eyes widened, but he managed to bite back his annoyance. “Sir, whatever they told you is false. Mariah and I were talking; I wasn’t harassing her. They started the fight. I was just defending myself, and when my brother tried to warn me another was coming at me they attacked him.”
Simmonds listened with expressionless blue eyes, but his mouth curved into a stern frown. “Greg, Tom, and Joel have impeccable records. You two, on the other hand, have been in more schools than I care to count. Neither of you has much credibility.”
Sam’s face reddened even as Dean paled in anger.
“I didn’t-” Sam started.
“He didn’t-” Dean said simultaneously.
“Excuse me.” Ms. Martin’s words sliced through like tempered steel. Everyone’s heads turned her way. “As I said, I saw that part of the fight. Sam did not participate other than to warn his brother of Tom’s approach. Tom is the one who attacked a younger student half his size.”
Dean didn’t betray his surprise, though he couldn’t remember seeing her when Sammy went down. Simmonds didn’t bother hiding his frown, but Ms. Martin’s resolute stare did not change. After a moment he turned his attention to the younger Winchester.
“Is that true?”
“I was just waiting for Dean to finish talking when they jumped him,” Sam explained, his voice uncertain and upset. “I tried to warn him and that guy Tom chased me and pulled me down. I didn’t do anything to anyone, and it hurt.”
By the time he was finished, Sam’s scared voice had transformed into full-blown fear and his brown eyes widened pitiably. Dean knew they’d be laughing about his performance later.
Simmonds’ expression was unreadable, but before he could respond Mr. Lee spoke up. “I didn’t see the start of the fight, but Dean’s one of my sharpest students. I doubt he’d put his brother in danger, and frankly I don’t think he’s stupid enough to pick a fight with three bigger guys.”
“But neither of you actually saw who started the fight?” Simmonds asked coolly. Both teachers shook their heads. “Then you’re only guessing. Based on-”
A loud knock on the already opening door interrupted him. A greying but athletic man in a green and gold windbreaker entered, ‘Coach Daniels’ embroidered on his jacket’s front and emblazoned across its back. Dean dared a glance at Sam, who could only shrug.
“Mr. Simmonds, we have a game to prepare for. Are you really planning on holding our best players here because of a little dustup?”
The principal looked surprised at the intrusion. “You know the rules governing student altercations, Coach Daniels.”
“There’s not a mark on any of those boys they wouldn’t have gotten on the field,” Daniels growled. He glanced over at the brothers. “Not on them either. We’ve got one of our biggest home games of the season in an hour. I need my boys on the field. Or do you want us to lose to Newton?”
Simmonds looked like he’d just swallowed vinegar. Dean had to give the coach credit - the man knew exactly what tactics to use and pressed his attack as soon as he saw a hint of vulnerability. “Now you know those boys have had a hard week. The whole team has. I’ll make sure they understand what they’ve done is wrong, make sure they get disciplined. But I need them.”
“Fine, take them,” Simmonds said curtly. “But you are not going to let them off the hook, understood?”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Daniels promised. Turning, he walked out and shut the door behind him.
“I guess it’s pretty clear how they got such perfect records,” Dean said insolently into the sudden silence. Simmonds’ gaze latched onto his, but this time he met it with a hint of challenge. He had a bargaining chip now, and he was going to use it. “I know the rules - both sides in a fight get equal punishment, no matter who started it. You just let them walk.”
He could all but feel the man’s irritation radiating out in waves. “Daniels will punish them. That doesn’t put you in the clear. They’re suffering emotional distress; you are not.”
“Sir, Coach Daniels will give them a lecture and some extra laps,” Mr. Lee interjected, his voice as low and lazy as ever. “Give Dean detention hours with me; it’ll be more punishment than they’ll get. And at least he’ll get something useful out of it.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Ms. Martin added quickly.
Dean stared at his teachers in surprise, but it was Sam’s stomp on his foot that kept him from protesting the unfairness of being punished at all.
There was a long stretch of silence; then Simmonds nodded stiffly. “Very well, it’s settled. I’ll need the details once you determine them, Mr. Lee. Escort these gentlemen off school property. I don’t want to see them at tonight’s game.”
Furious, Dean didn’t move until Sam elbowed his arm gently. “C’mon Dean, let’s go.”
Shoving his mutinous instincts deep inside, he rose to his feet, clenching his teeth against his stomach’s painful protest. The look he shot Principal Simmonds wouldn’t do him any favors and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. Detention took him away from important things like training, weapon maintenance, and hunting - not to mention that his dad would be pissed. It also forced Sam into detention by proxy, since he couldn’t leave school until Dean did. But Simmonds was looking for a fight, for just one excuse to throw the book at him, so he swallowed his anger and pride and turned away.
“Why didn’t you show him you were hurt?” Mr. Lee asked once they were out in the hallway. “He wouldn’t have been able to dismiss the others so easily.”
Dean just shrugged. He hadn’t let the nurse examine him for the simple reason that she’d see his scars and call child services.
The chemistry teacher watched him for a moment with deceptively lazy brown eyes, then frowned when he realized silence was the only answer he would get. “See me after school Tuesday. We’ll work out the details.”
“Yes sir,” he replied, trying not to sound too sullen. When Sam nudged him once more he added, “thanks. For the help.”
The man just nodded, then looked at Ms. Martin. “You’ve got this?” At her nod he walked away, waving over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” she said, her words clipped as she led them out. Both recognized the palpable aura of restrained anger surrounding her, and neither wanted to see it loosed - so they followed her, silent and moody, through the empty school.
They got all the way to the parking lot; Dean managed to keep a normal pace even though his body was protesting. It wasn’t the worst he’d suffered, not by a longshot, but he knew tomorrow he’d be black and blue from his ribs to his hipbones. He fished the keys out of his backpack, ignoring the pain until he could get some privacy.
“Thanks for sticking up for us,” he managed in what he thought was a suitably grateful manner.
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. She wheeled to face him, dark eyes ablaze. “What were you thinking, Dean? Getting your brother hurt over a girl like Mariah Stover?”
Sam started to protest, but he barely got a ‘wait’ in as Dean’s patience finally snapped. “There wasn’t supposed to be a fight. They weren’t supposed to be there! How many times do I have to say it?”
“You’re messing with another guy’s girlfriend, just like you did Wednesday. How did you expect them to react?”
“Not by attacking Sammy. I didn’t even know what’s-her-name was Greg’s girl until he got so angry!” Frustrated (and feeling just a little guilty), Dean threw up his hands and began to turn away. He couldn’t get into a yelling match with this teacher. She was already too interested in their family.
“It’s not Dean’s fault,” Sam said firmly, stepping in between them. “He wasn’t trying to pick her up; there was something he needed to ask her. Dean’s not the one who got me hurt. Tom did that.”
Ms. Martin’s lips straightened into a line. “It was irresponsible.”
“But it’s not his fault,” Sam repeated.
Dean felt ridiculous, letting his younger brother fight this battle for him, even though it was the right strategy. Ms. Martin obviously cared for and trusted Sammy but didn’t know him from Ted Nugent. He was also about to lose it, teacher or not, woman or not - better to let Sam handle her.
Thankfully it seemed like Sam had gotten through; Dean saw her shoulders lower just a fraction before she looked at him again. “Look, I don’t think it was right for them to get off. But Simmonds is right about one thing - even if Randy recovers like we hope, they’ve still lost three teammates in a year. I’m not saying it’s fair, or that it excuses what they did, but you need to walk softly around them.”
Sam glanced back at him; Dean could tell they were both thinking the same thing. “Three?”
She blinked. It obviously wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. “Jason Johnson. He disappeared around this time last year.”
“Oh,” Dean said, his brain already contemplating the possibilities.
“Look, Dean, just stay away from them, okay?” she asked, her tired tone reminiscent of their father’s when he got frustrated.
“I’ll tr- I’ll do that,” he replied, lowering his eyes in a show - but only a show - of compliance.
“Fine, get going then. And tell your father that I need to talk to him soon.” Ms. Martin watched as they got into the car and remained outside, one hand resting on her hip, until they pulled away.
(end chapter 5)
Title: Haze Chapter 5
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: 2368
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 5
Principal Simmonds’ waiting room looked like every principal’s waiting room Dean had ever seen - and he’d seen a lot of them. Not just because he got into trouble - though he did his fare share of that - but because he and Sam averaged two schools a year. New schools meant new registration forms, new lies to tell, and new offices full of cheap furniture, framed certificates, and drab colors.
He sat straight in one of the hard plastic-and-metal chairs - straighter than he’d prefer considering how sore his mid-section was. He’d rather be stretched horizontally with the school nurse’s offered-but-refused ice pack on his bruised stomach
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Sammy asked from the chair next to him, his gaze flicking nervously between Dean, the school security guard scowling down at them, and the closed office door. Behind it Simmonds, Ms. Martin, Mr. Lee, and the three football players huddled, their voices no more than frustrating murmurs.
“Dunno,” he answered, refusing to betray the fact that he was feeling as nervous as his younger brother. “Doubt it’s good.”
Sam shook his head tightly. “It’s not fair. They started it.”
“More than that,” Dean said darkly. “I know an ambush when I see it. That was a freakin’ set-up. I didn’t think she’d do it.”
The younger Winchester nodded, but bit his lip softly. “I don’t think it was Mariah’s fault though. She looked really surprised. And scared.”
Dean arched an eyebrow. “You think?” Blaming Mariah was easy - in fact, it was the first thing he thought after Mr. Lee had pulled him to his feet and he realized she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. But Sammy would have seen more than he did; he’d been too busy with Greg and Joel.
“It had to be someone, though,” he mused. Then it came to him. “The girl at Mariah’s locker. She knew where we’d be, and when. Crap.”
“At least I had your back.” Sam smiled a little.
“Yell or something next time, loser. Don’t go all hero on me; you could’ve gotten a concussion.”
The smile grew. “Yeh, you’re welcome.”
Dean rolled his eyes but his retort was cut off when the office door opened. Greg, Joel and the one who had hurt Sammy - he’d overheard Mr. Lee call him Tom - filed out, all three of them glaring as they sat down in chairs across the room.
“Sam, Dean, come in please.” Ms. Martin stood in Simmonds’ doorway, her expression aggressively neutral.
“Yes ma’am,” they answered simultaneously; together they stood and entered the office.
It was, again, like every principal’s office he’d ever seen: an industrial desk with a nameplate, putty-colored metal file cabinets, and educational certificates on the wall. Mr. Simmonds himself fell easily into one of the classifications Dean had invented over years of meeting principals - the politician. Politicians were identifiable by their relatively young looks, perfect hair (probably dyed), and phoniness that never failed to set his teeth on edge.
But very little fake friendliness was on display right now. “Sit down boys,” the man ordered curtly.
He glanced at Sam, then nodded and claimed a folding chair directly across from the principal. As his brother sat, Dean opened his mouth to speak. Simmonds beat him to it.
“I don’t like what I’m hearing - harassing a female student, starting a fight with other students, and dragging your younger brother into it as well. Add to that missing days of school and lackluster performance in several of your classes; it makes me question your priorities.”
Dean’s eyes widened, but he managed to bite back his annoyance. “Sir, whatever they told you is false. Mariah and I were talking; I wasn’t harassing her. They started the fight. I was just defending myself, and when my brother tried to warn me another was coming at me they attacked him.”
Simmonds listened with expressionless blue eyes, but his mouth curved into a stern frown. “Greg, Tom, and Joel have impeccable records. You two, on the other hand, have been in more schools than I care to count. Neither of you has much credibility.”
Sam’s face reddened even as Dean paled in anger.
“I didn’t-” Sam started.
“He didn’t-” Dean said simultaneously.
“Excuse me.” Ms. Martin’s words sliced through like tempered steel. Everyone’s heads turned her way. “As I said, I saw that part of the fight. Sam did not participate other than to warn his brother of Tom’s approach. Tom is the one who attacked a younger student half his size.”
Dean didn’t betray his surprise, though he couldn’t remember seeing her when Sammy went down. Simmonds didn’t bother hiding his frown, but Ms. Martin’s resolute stare did not change. After a moment he turned his attention to the younger Winchester.
“Is that true?”
“I was just waiting for Dean to finish talking when they jumped him,” Sam explained, his voice uncertain and upset. “I tried to warn him and that guy Tom chased me and pulled me down. I didn’t do anything to anyone, and it hurt.”
By the time he was finished, Sam’s scared voice had transformed into full-blown fear and his brown eyes widened pitiably. Dean knew they’d be laughing about his performance later.
Simmonds’ expression was unreadable, but before he could respond Mr. Lee spoke up. “I didn’t see the start of the fight, but Dean’s one of my sharpest students. I doubt he’d put his brother in danger, and frankly I don’t think he’s stupid enough to pick a fight with three bigger guys.”
“But neither of you actually saw who started the fight?” Simmonds asked coolly. Both teachers shook their heads. “Then you’re only guessing. Based on-”
A loud knock on the already opening door interrupted him. A greying but athletic man in a green and gold windbreaker entered, ‘Coach Daniels’ embroidered on his jacket’s front and emblazoned across its back. Dean dared a glance at Sam, who could only shrug.
“Mr. Simmonds, we have a game to prepare for. Are you really planning on holding our best players here because of a little dustup?”
The principal looked surprised at the intrusion. “You know the rules governing student altercations, Coach Daniels.”
“There’s not a mark on any of those boys they wouldn’t have gotten on the field,” Daniels growled. He glanced over at the brothers. “Not on them either. We’ve got one of our biggest home games of the season in an hour. I need my boys on the field. Or do you want us to lose to Newton?”
Simmonds looked like he’d just swallowed vinegar. Dean had to give the coach credit - the man knew exactly what tactics to use and pressed his attack as soon as he saw a hint of vulnerability. “Now you know those boys have had a hard week. The whole team has. I’ll make sure they understand what they’ve done is wrong, make sure they get disciplined. But I need them.”
“Fine, take them,” Simmonds said curtly. “But you are not going to let them off the hook, understood?”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Daniels promised. Turning, he walked out and shut the door behind him.
“I guess it’s pretty clear how they got such perfect records,” Dean said insolently into the sudden silence. Simmonds’ gaze latched onto his, but this time he met it with a hint of challenge. He had a bargaining chip now, and he was going to use it. “I know the rules - both sides in a fight get equal punishment, no matter who started it. You just let them walk.”
He could all but feel the man’s irritation radiating out in waves. “Daniels will punish them. That doesn’t put you in the clear. They’re suffering emotional distress; you are not.”
“Sir, Coach Daniels will give them a lecture and some extra laps,” Mr. Lee interjected, his voice as low and lazy as ever. “Give Dean detention hours with me; it’ll be more punishment than they’ll get. And at least he’ll get something useful out of it.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Ms. Martin added quickly.
Dean stared at his teachers in surprise, but it was Sam’s stomp on his foot that kept him from protesting the unfairness of being punished at all.
There was a long stretch of silence; then Simmonds nodded stiffly. “Very well, it’s settled. I’ll need the details once you determine them, Mr. Lee. Escort these gentlemen off school property. I don’t want to see them at tonight’s game.”
Furious, Dean didn’t move until Sam elbowed his arm gently. “C’mon Dean, let’s go.”
Shoving his mutinous instincts deep inside, he rose to his feet, clenching his teeth against his stomach’s painful protest. The look he shot Principal Simmonds wouldn’t do him any favors and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. Detention took him away from important things like training, weapon maintenance, and hunting - not to mention that his dad would be pissed. It also forced Sam into detention by proxy, since he couldn’t leave school until Dean did. But Simmonds was looking for a fight, for just one excuse to throw the book at him, so he swallowed his anger and pride and turned away.
“Why didn’t you show him you were hurt?” Mr. Lee asked once they were out in the hallway. “He wouldn’t have been able to dismiss the others so easily.”
Dean just shrugged. He hadn’t let the nurse examine him for the simple reason that she’d see his scars and call child services.
The chemistry teacher watched him for a moment with deceptively lazy brown eyes, then frowned when he realized silence was the only answer he would get. “See me after school Tuesday. We’ll work out the details.”
“Yes sir,” he replied, trying not to sound too sullen. When Sam nudged him once more he added, “thanks. For the help.”
The man just nodded, then looked at Ms. Martin. “You’ve got this?” At her nod he walked away, waving over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” she said, her words clipped as she led them out. Both recognized the palpable aura of restrained anger surrounding her, and neither wanted to see it loosed - so they followed her, silent and moody, through the empty school.
They got all the way to the parking lot; Dean managed to keep a normal pace even though his body was protesting. It wasn’t the worst he’d suffered, not by a longshot, but he knew tomorrow he’d be black and blue from his ribs to his hipbones. He fished the keys out of his backpack, ignoring the pain until he could get some privacy.
“Thanks for sticking up for us,” he managed in what he thought was a suitably grateful manner.
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. She wheeled to face him, dark eyes ablaze. “What were you thinking, Dean? Getting your brother hurt over a girl like Mariah Stover?”
Sam started to protest, but he barely got a ‘wait’ in as Dean’s patience finally snapped. “There wasn’t supposed to be a fight. They weren’t supposed to be there! How many times do I have to say it?”
“You’re messing with another guy’s girlfriend, just like you did Wednesday. How did you expect them to react?”
“Not by attacking Sammy. I didn’t even know what’s-her-name was Greg’s girl until he got so angry!” Frustrated (and feeling just a little guilty), Dean threw up his hands and began to turn away. He couldn’t get into a yelling match with this teacher. She was already too interested in their family.
“It’s not Dean’s fault,” Sam said firmly, stepping in between them. “He wasn’t trying to pick her up; there was something he needed to ask her. Dean’s not the one who got me hurt. Tom did that.”
Ms. Martin’s lips straightened into a line. “It was irresponsible.”
“But it’s not his fault,” Sam repeated.
Dean felt ridiculous, letting his younger brother fight this battle for him, even though it was the right strategy. Ms. Martin obviously cared for and trusted Sammy but didn’t know him from Ted Nugent. He was also about to lose it, teacher or not, woman or not - better to let Sam handle her.
Thankfully it seemed like Sam had gotten through; Dean saw her shoulders lower just a fraction before she looked at him again. “Look, I don’t think it was right for them to get off. But Simmonds is right about one thing - even if Randy recovers like we hope, they’ve still lost three teammates in a year. I’m not saying it’s fair, or that it excuses what they did, but you need to walk softly around them.”
Sam glanced back at him; Dean could tell they were both thinking the same thing. “Three?”
She blinked. It obviously wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. “Jason Johnson. He disappeared around this time last year.”
“Oh,” Dean said, his brain already contemplating the possibilities.
“Look, Dean, just stay away from them, okay?” she asked, her tired tone reminiscent of their father’s when he got frustrated.
“I’ll tr- I’ll do that,” he replied, lowering his eyes in a show - but only a show - of compliance.
“Fine, get going then. And tell your father that I need to talk to him soon.” Ms. Martin watched as they got into the car and remained outside, one hand resting on her hip, until they pulled away.
(end chapter 5)