Homeschooling (Flight Club, Chapter 1 of 8)
Title: Homeschooling (Flight Club, Chapter 1 of 8)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 38,000 total
Summary: John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.
Notes: This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.)
“Do we have to go another new school?” sighed Sammy, slumping forward against the front bench seat, hugging it desperately.
“Sam, you need to go to school, and no backtalk,” his father, John Winchester, who was in the driver’s seat, told him sternly.
“Why can't you just homeschool us? Then we could go along with you on your hunts!”
“Sam, we've been over this. I want no lip from you.”
“But Daaad-”
“Homeschooling is for hippie tree-huggers and religious whack-a-dos. Neither of which we are,” said John.
“Ha. Sammy's been touched by an angel,” laughed Dean, who was riding along in the passenger seat.
“Shut up, dick face,” gumbled Sam.
“Aw, c'mon, Sammy,” urged Dean. “Keep a positive attitude. Maybe you'll meet some cool new friends.”
“Ewwwww, you mean like those skanky girls you go with?”
Dean laughed. “Hey, they're nice girls! Quit being … chauvinistic!”
“Oh, you're now a big feminist?” asked Sam.
“I'm the biggest!” laughed Dean.
“Sam Winchester! No more of this!” warned John. “Now, we came to Sioux Falls for a reason. We've got you in almost at the beginning of the school year, so you won't miss anything this time. We'll have a real place here, not a motel room, and your Uncle Bobby can come over and check in on you every once in a while.”
“Because you won't,” Sam muttered into the seat. It was a secret, between him and the Impala.
“What was that?” barked John.
“Nothing, sir,” said Sam, who sank back in defeat. He knew that tone in John's voice, and knew he had better not push it any further. The car stopped: they had arrived at Sam's new junior high. Same as the old junior high, thought Sam. And the one before that. And the one before that….
John turned off the engine, and the three got out, John stalking out and slamming the door behind him, Dean emerging to stretch lazily in the early fall sunshine, Sam slinking out like a small shadow.
“I need to get things squared away with Sam. You can take care of everything at the high school?” John asked Dean.
“Yeah, I know the drill,” said Dean, leaning back against the Impala. “I'll be cool.”
“You have Bobby's number. Call him if you need anything. Anything.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Sam grimaced. Call Bobby, not Dad. The message was pretty loud and clear to both of them.
John flipped the car keys to Dean. “And take good care of her,” he said, indicating the Impala.
“I'll guard Baby with my life!” agreed Dean, grinning and opening the driver’s side door. And with a wink at Sam, he gunned the motor and was off.
Going to find some skanks, Sam thought bitterly as the Impala’s familiar chug faded in the distance. He turned and trudged onward like a condemned man, following his father into the school building, dark cloud over his head.
The high school was like any high school ever in the history of everything.
Or so thought Dean Winchester.
It was getting hard to take it seriously any more. Who were the jocks? Who were the geeks? Who were the popular kids?
Who gave a flying ass fuck? Seriously!
Just a couple more years, and he'd be free of all this weak bullshit. Sammy could continue on: the little egghead would probably go to a university and then marry his college sweetheart and have two and a half kids and a house in the suburbs with a little white picket fence and a pink flamingo in the yard to show he was still cool. That was fine, Dean didn't begrudge him. It was nice to think that somewhere on god's green earth there existed a Winchester with a normal fucking life.
It just wasn't for him. No, Dean was going to go follow the family tradition, and make life hell for some monsters.
But right now, Dean was going to make life a little more bearable for Dean Winchester. That's why he was escorting Denise Hesselbacher down the hall to her next class. Sam would have called her one of his skanks, but that wasn't quite true. Not quite. But she was cute enough, and seemed to like it when Dean winked at her, so that was enough. And a redhead! His very first day, and he’s scored a redhead. Well, almost scored.
Now he just needed to get a phone number. You know, in case he wanted to text her some time. Like tonight, he thought, maybe after he got Sammy settled. No reason to wait around. Rental house or not, who knew how long they were gonna be in this shithole town? South Fucking Dakota? What was it about fucking Dakotas that they needed two of them?
They turned a corner in the fluorescent-lit corridor, and Dean held in a laugh. Standing near the lockers were two of the biggest douche bags he had ever seen. The taller guy was in a polo shirt - a polo shirt! He was standing next to a similarly clean-cut, dark skinned guy who looked every single molecule as uptight and douchey. And both of them were glaring down at the odd man out: a smaller kid. Dean just got an impression of an overcoat that was at least one size too big topped by an unruly tangle of dark hair. Dean mused what the hell the odd trio had to talk about: grooming tips?
“Hey, who are those douche bags?” he whispered to Denise Hesselbacher.
Surprisingly, instead of giggling in a charming manner, which was the only appropriate response, Denise shushed him - she actually shushed him! She was darned lucky she was a redhead. “That's Michael. And Raphael,” she whispered, voice so low Dean had to lean down to take this in. Not that he minded, she was wearing a sort of nice perfume. It smelled like vanilla or something. “They're Malakhim brothers.”
“They're-” Dean started to ask, and then stopped himself. Eh, whatever, blended families. They sure as hell dressed like brothers.
“Michael doesn't go to this school any more,” she whispered, and Dean caught another whiff of vanilla. He decided it was his new favorite scent. “He's in college.”
“Oh? Then why is he hanging around a high school?” Perv, thought Dean with a grin. Maybe he was macking on the littler kid? Might need an ass kicking, that one.
“I dunno. I gotta go,” said Denise, who was already walking off. Running off, rather. Vanilla and all.
Weird chick, thought Dean, who was puzzled at having a girl depart before he'd even had half a chance to insult her. Since there were no phone numbers presently on the horizon, he stopped to give the douche bags another once over. To his surprise, the short guy they were talking to spared him a glance, two striking blue eyes. Dean smiled at him. No reason to be a jerk. The eyes registered surprise, and the mouth might just have flicked into a slight smile.
“And who might you be?”
Dean looked up. It was the tallest douche bag, addressing him.
“Well, I might be James Hetfield. But I'm not,” grinned Dean, who just couldn't leave such an opening alone. “You might be either Raphael or Michael,” he added.
“Smart ass, huh?” asked the dark one. He had the most piercing eyes Dean had ever seen.
“Mouth, Raphael,” scolded the taller one, who must therefore be Michael. Dean frowned. Now that he'd had a better look, Michael seemed familiar, with dark hair and the kind of chiseled good looks like he belonged on a Cheerios box. But Dean couldn't quite place him.
“What, are you the head of the college Young Republicans come to recruit?” laughed Dean.
“As a matter of fact,” said Michael.
“Wow,” said Dean. He looked around and noticed the small, dark-haired kid had disappeared somewhere. He's smart, thought Dean.
“I think we've wasted enough time with this one,” sighed Raphael, slamming his locker and starting to go.
“And I think I'll be the judge of that,” Michael told him. Raphael bristled, but didn't reply. “You,” Michael told Dean. “You're obviously new here. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He leaned back, posing for his cereal box.
“That's awfully generous of you,” said Dean.
“You don't know how things usually go. They go … my way.”
Normally, a statement that blatantly idiotic would have gotten a belly laugh from Dean Winchester. But there was something about the way Michael said it that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had been around supernatural entities since he was a tiny kid, and something about Michael struck him as not quite right.
Not quite human.
“Well, I guess I'll see ya around, Mikey,” said Dean, who made to retreat.
“I guess you will,” said Michael.
As Dean turned and walked away, he could have sworn he could feel Michael's eyes boring into his back.
Some time later, Dean guided the Impala up to the entrance of Sam's new junior high.
His little brother sighed deeply, tossed his book bag in the front and slumped into the bench seat beside Dean.
“Belt,” Dean reminded him. “How did it go?”
“Curtis Westfall and his buddies are gonna beat me up after school,” moped Sam as he fastened his seatbelt.
“Oh, already making friends! What did you do.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“What did you do.”
Sam sighed. “I kept him off the kid he was picking on.”
“Who up and disappeared on you as soon as the bullies found a new friend?” Sam didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. “You’ll never learn, kid.”
“What about you? Where's the new girlfriend?”
“No new girlfriends. Yet!” smiled Dean. “But I met some guys at my high school. Something funny about them.”
“Everyone in Sioux Falls is a jerkwad,” grumbled Sam.
“Aw, give 'em a chance. Hey, you wanna stop and get pizza on the way home?”
Somewhere, up in a house on the hill, a boy sitting on his bed sampled his slice of pepperoni.
The boy was both young and very, very old.
And the book he was poring over was very old as well. It was one of the very first books, in fact.
It was going to help him to help others. Which was, after all, his mission in life.
This life.
He had waited a long time for this moment. Well, long relative to his short mortal existence. Plotting and planning. It was sweet to see it all about to come to fruition, he thought, licking grease from his fingers.
A dagger. He needed a dagger now. He got up to go look, but the pages started to turn. Holding a finger in his place, he leaned over and brushed his hand back over his bedside table. He grabbed something blindly - something flat and smooth and square - and stuck it in his place. He smiled as he glanced what it was, just before the pages flipped back. His little joke.
And then he slipped off his bed to find a sharp blade.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/117357.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death
Warnings: Cursing.
Word Count: 38,000 total
Summary: John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.
Notes: This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.)
“Do we have to go another new school?” sighed Sammy, slumping forward against the front bench seat, hugging it desperately.
“Sam, you need to go to school, and no backtalk,” his father, John Winchester, who was in the driver’s seat, told him sternly.
“Why can't you just homeschool us? Then we could go along with you on your hunts!”
“Sam, we've been over this. I want no lip from you.”
“But Daaad-”
“Homeschooling is for hippie tree-huggers and religious whack-a-dos. Neither of which we are,” said John.
“Ha. Sammy's been touched by an angel,” laughed Dean, who was riding along in the passenger seat.
“Shut up, dick face,” gumbled Sam.
“Aw, c'mon, Sammy,” urged Dean. “Keep a positive attitude. Maybe you'll meet some cool new friends.”
“Ewwwww, you mean like those skanky girls you go with?”
Dean laughed. “Hey, they're nice girls! Quit being … chauvinistic!”
“Oh, you're now a big feminist?” asked Sam.
“I'm the biggest!” laughed Dean.
“Sam Winchester! No more of this!” warned John. “Now, we came to Sioux Falls for a reason. We've got you in almost at the beginning of the school year, so you won't miss anything this time. We'll have a real place here, not a motel room, and your Uncle Bobby can come over and check in on you every once in a while.”
“Because you won't,” Sam muttered into the seat. It was a secret, between him and the Impala.
“What was that?” barked John.
“Nothing, sir,” said Sam, who sank back in defeat. He knew that tone in John's voice, and knew he had better not push it any further. The car stopped: they had arrived at Sam's new junior high. Same as the old junior high, thought Sam. And the one before that. And the one before that….
John turned off the engine, and the three got out, John stalking out and slamming the door behind him, Dean emerging to stretch lazily in the early fall sunshine, Sam slinking out like a small shadow.
“I need to get things squared away with Sam. You can take care of everything at the high school?” John asked Dean.
“Yeah, I know the drill,” said Dean, leaning back against the Impala. “I'll be cool.”
“You have Bobby's number. Call him if you need anything. Anything.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Sam grimaced. Call Bobby, not Dad. The message was pretty loud and clear to both of them.
John flipped the car keys to Dean. “And take good care of her,” he said, indicating the Impala.
“I'll guard Baby with my life!” agreed Dean, grinning and opening the driver’s side door. And with a wink at Sam, he gunned the motor and was off.
Going to find some skanks, Sam thought bitterly as the Impala’s familiar chug faded in the distance. He turned and trudged onward like a condemned man, following his father into the school building, dark cloud over his head.
The high school was like any high school ever in the history of everything.
Or so thought Dean Winchester.
It was getting hard to take it seriously any more. Who were the jocks? Who were the geeks? Who were the popular kids?
Who gave a flying ass fuck? Seriously!
Just a couple more years, and he'd be free of all this weak bullshit. Sammy could continue on: the little egghead would probably go to a university and then marry his college sweetheart and have two and a half kids and a house in the suburbs with a little white picket fence and a pink flamingo in the yard to show he was still cool. That was fine, Dean didn't begrudge him. It was nice to think that somewhere on god's green earth there existed a Winchester with a normal fucking life.
It just wasn't for him. No, Dean was going to go follow the family tradition, and make life hell for some monsters.
But right now, Dean was going to make life a little more bearable for Dean Winchester. That's why he was escorting Denise Hesselbacher down the hall to her next class. Sam would have called her one of his skanks, but that wasn't quite true. Not quite. But she was cute enough, and seemed to like it when Dean winked at her, so that was enough. And a redhead! His very first day, and he’s scored a redhead. Well, almost scored.
Now he just needed to get a phone number. You know, in case he wanted to text her some time. Like tonight, he thought, maybe after he got Sammy settled. No reason to wait around. Rental house or not, who knew how long they were gonna be in this shithole town? South Fucking Dakota? What was it about fucking Dakotas that they needed two of them?
They turned a corner in the fluorescent-lit corridor, and Dean held in a laugh. Standing near the lockers were two of the biggest douche bags he had ever seen. The taller guy was in a polo shirt - a polo shirt! He was standing next to a similarly clean-cut, dark skinned guy who looked every single molecule as uptight and douchey. And both of them were glaring down at the odd man out: a smaller kid. Dean just got an impression of an overcoat that was at least one size too big topped by an unruly tangle of dark hair. Dean mused what the hell the odd trio had to talk about: grooming tips?
“Hey, who are those douche bags?” he whispered to Denise Hesselbacher.
Surprisingly, instead of giggling in a charming manner, which was the only appropriate response, Denise shushed him - she actually shushed him! She was darned lucky she was a redhead. “That's Michael. And Raphael,” she whispered, voice so low Dean had to lean down to take this in. Not that he minded, she was wearing a sort of nice perfume. It smelled like vanilla or something. “They're Malakhim brothers.”
“They're-” Dean started to ask, and then stopped himself. Eh, whatever, blended families. They sure as hell dressed like brothers.
“Michael doesn't go to this school any more,” she whispered, and Dean caught another whiff of vanilla. He decided it was his new favorite scent. “He's in college.”
“Oh? Then why is he hanging around a high school?” Perv, thought Dean with a grin. Maybe he was macking on the littler kid? Might need an ass kicking, that one.
“I dunno. I gotta go,” said Denise, who was already walking off. Running off, rather. Vanilla and all.
Weird chick, thought Dean, who was puzzled at having a girl depart before he'd even had half a chance to insult her. Since there were no phone numbers presently on the horizon, he stopped to give the douche bags another once over. To his surprise, the short guy they were talking to spared him a glance, two striking blue eyes. Dean smiled at him. No reason to be a jerk. The eyes registered surprise, and the mouth might just have flicked into a slight smile.
“And who might you be?”
Dean looked up. It was the tallest douche bag, addressing him.
“Well, I might be James Hetfield. But I'm not,” grinned Dean, who just couldn't leave such an opening alone. “You might be either Raphael or Michael,” he added.
“Smart ass, huh?” asked the dark one. He had the most piercing eyes Dean had ever seen.
“Mouth, Raphael,” scolded the taller one, who must therefore be Michael. Dean frowned. Now that he'd had a better look, Michael seemed familiar, with dark hair and the kind of chiseled good looks like he belonged on a Cheerios box. But Dean couldn't quite place him.
“What, are you the head of the college Young Republicans come to recruit?” laughed Dean.
“As a matter of fact,” said Michael.
“Wow,” said Dean. He looked around and noticed the small, dark-haired kid had disappeared somewhere. He's smart, thought Dean.
“I think we've wasted enough time with this one,” sighed Raphael, slamming his locker and starting to go.
“And I think I'll be the judge of that,” Michael told him. Raphael bristled, but didn't reply. “You,” Michael told Dean. “You're obviously new here. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He leaned back, posing for his cereal box.
“That's awfully generous of you,” said Dean.
“You don't know how things usually go. They go … my way.”
Normally, a statement that blatantly idiotic would have gotten a belly laugh from Dean Winchester. But there was something about the way Michael said it that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had been around supernatural entities since he was a tiny kid, and something about Michael struck him as not quite right.
Not quite human.
“Well, I guess I'll see ya around, Mikey,” said Dean, who made to retreat.
“I guess you will,” said Michael.
As Dean turned and walked away, he could have sworn he could feel Michael's eyes boring into his back.
Some time later, Dean guided the Impala up to the entrance of Sam's new junior high.
His little brother sighed deeply, tossed his book bag in the front and slumped into the bench seat beside Dean.
“Belt,” Dean reminded him. “How did it go?”
“Curtis Westfall and his buddies are gonna beat me up after school,” moped Sam as he fastened his seatbelt.
“Oh, already making friends! What did you do.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“What did you do.”
Sam sighed. “I kept him off the kid he was picking on.”
“Who up and disappeared on you as soon as the bullies found a new friend?” Sam didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. “You’ll never learn, kid.”
“What about you? Where's the new girlfriend?”
“No new girlfriends. Yet!” smiled Dean. “But I met some guys at my high school. Something funny about them.”
“Everyone in Sioux Falls is a jerkwad,” grumbled Sam.
“Aw, give 'em a chance. Hey, you wanna stop and get pizza on the way home?”
Somewhere, up in a house on the hill, a boy sitting on his bed sampled his slice of pepperoni.
The boy was both young and very, very old.
And the book he was poring over was very old as well. It was one of the very first books, in fact.
It was going to help him to help others. Which was, after all, his mission in life.
This life.
He had waited a long time for this moment. Well, long relative to his short mortal existence. Plotting and planning. It was sweet to see it all about to come to fruition, he thought, licking grease from his fingers.
A dagger. He needed a dagger now. He got up to go look, but the pages started to turn. Holding a finger in his place, he leaned over and brushed his hand back over his bedside table. He grabbed something blindly - something flat and smooth and square - and stuck it in his place. He smiled as he glanced what it was, just before the pages flipped back. His little joke.
And then he slipped off his bed to find a sharp blade.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/117357.html. Please comment there using OpenID.