And here's another one for jennytork...
So jennytork has been working on an AU called Different Roads, in which Sam and Dean end up on their own in a small town in East Texas, and I happened to wonder what their first experience with Homecoming at a Texas high school would be like. She didn't know, so I offered to write it... and here we are. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even my AU. :D Though the town and the backstory are fictional, I have based the details loosely on my own experiences and what few stats I could find on Hamshire-Fannett High School’s 1995 football season. And I’ll further disclaim that my experience is chiefly with schools west of I-35, so I have no idea whether East Texas does things differently (but I doubt it differs too much). Nor have I seen the series Friday Night Lights or the movie of the same title or read the book that inspired the movie, though I can confirm that in RL, Odessa Permian is (or was fifteen years ago) to 5A football what the New York Yankees are to Major League Baseball. I just had to write something about this scenario, since Texas high school football is a thing of beauty and a joy forever and utterly baffling to out-of-staters. Also: I don’t have access to a 1995 marching band catalog, so the arrangements I’ve linked to for the halftime show might not have been available-but surely there was something similar available then.
Coming Home
By San Antonio Rose
For Enola Jones’ Different Roads AU
Talk of two-a-days and summer band was nothing new to Sam and Dean, though the start date seemed... a little early, given the heat. East Texas was sweltering during the first week of August, and two-a-days were held outside all day for the entire week. Dean had given Sam permission to try out for the junior high football team if he wanted to, but Sam took one look at the practice schedule and opted for the UIL math and science teams instead. Staying in shape for hunting was one thing, but he was not about to let himself get heat stroke again. Not even if Dean teased him for being a nerd.
After that, between the business of hunting and the business of living on their own, the brothers Winchester didn’t give football season much thought until the end of July, when they could hear the band practicing a mile away when the wind was right. And even then, they had too much to juggle between getting ready for school as students and Dean’s preparations to teach the ASL class that the football chatter at the garage and the grocery store and so on did little more than register. Even when the boys went into Beaumont to do last-minute school shopping, the sudden appearance of maroon-and-gold Johnson Eagles shirts in the stores didn’t mean much.
No, they didn’t really think about football at all until the first Friday of school, when Daphne Vaughn asked whether Dean was going to the game that night and the rest of the class looked at him expectantly.
Dean’s mind raced. It was an away game in a town practically on the Louisiana border. He had quizzes to grade, lessons to plan, and English homework to finish, plus a couple of tricky repairs waiting for him at the garage; Sam had a ton of reading to do for English and World History, and he’d said his math homework for the weekend promised to be a bear; and Caleb had asked them to research some local legends to help him out with a potential hunt up in the Big Thicket. And as much as Dean wanted to go shoot a hide-behind just for the stress relief, he couldn’t even justify taking an afternoon to meet Caleb in Beaumont to go over their findings (he was meeting them at the library), never mind driving two hours each way to get to a football game.
No, he replied in ASL. Maybe next week.
By the time Dean had his feet under him and he and Sam had settled into a more regular routine, the football team was 3-0 and people were starting to pester the boys about going to a game. Most of the parents weren’t too hard on them-certainly better than the descriptions of parents at Odessa Permian that Sam was reading in Friday Night Lights-but there seemed to be a general expectation that since Dean was part-time faculty, he ought to attend at least the home games. The same was true of their peers, especially Sam’s friends at the junior high; though Dean was more insulated from other high schoolers because of his unique status, the ones who did know him argued that he could at least try to be sociable by turning up for the first half.
“Homecoming’s at the end of the six weeks,” Sam observed one morning at breakfast. “Maybe we can make that and the last home game.”
“Maybe,” Dean agreed into his coffee.
“C’mon, Dean. You need a break, and so do I. Mrs. Rose and Mr. Cooper aren’t gonna nail you for going to the first half of the Homecoming game, are they?”
Dean ran a hand over his face. “I guess not. I’ve kept my grades up so far. But Caleb called while you were at calculator practice yesterday-either he didn’t actually get the hide-behind, or there’s a chupacabra that’s taken its place.”
“Dean.”
Dean sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. Caleb can handle it without us.”
Sam smirked. “Good, ’cause I think Amber Petersen wants you to take her to the game, if not the dance.”
Dean choked on his coffee.
Small towns had definite advantages and definite disadvantages, and the rumor mill was a two-edged sword. Dean already knew, for example, that Amber Petersen was a blonde, nice-looking, none-too-studious junior and that her demure appearance on Sunday mornings was a sham that fooled only her parents and people over 65, that she’d been busted three times for Minor in Possession, and that popular opinion held that she’d already had at least one abortion. What Amber knew or guessed about Dean was difficult to say, but if Sammy knew that she wanted him to take her to Homecoming, to the point of turning down the senior who would probably be homecoming king, odds were that the story was all over town; his desire to go to even part of the game would get back to her fast, she would probably approach him about a date-and everybody would be watching to see how he handled the situation.
Now, Dean was hardly averse to showing a girl a good time, especially if there were no expectations and if the Winchesters were moving on again within a few weeks. The fact that the boys intended to stick around for a few years wouldn’t normally be enough to make Dean hesitate to see just how far he could get with Amber. But the fact that Dean was teaching... that made a difference. Yes, most parents realized that he was only 16 and that he was teaching only the two sections of the one course, and Amber had already squeaked through two years of Spanish and wasn’t likely to want to take ASL as another elective the next year. He was still considered faculty enough to get grief for not supporting the football team, and faculty members weren’t supposed to “fraternize” with the students.
Damn, this could get awkward.
He was still puzzling over what to do about it when he inadvertently walked past his classroom into the choir room and almost collided with Mrs. Ramirez, the choir director.
“Student problem?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Dean confessed. “Amber Petersen.”
Mrs. Ramirez shook her head. “She’s no good, Dean. And I don’t just mean that she’s wild. She’s a liar, she’s manipulative, and she’s emotionally abusive. Last fall she set her sights on one of my best tenors-sweet boy, shy, had an unrequited crush on one of the altos. When Tim refused Amber’s advances, she told everyone that she’d caught him on the ag farm having sex with a goat. It was absurd, but enough people believed it that he nearly committed suicide before his mother sent him to live with his grandparents in Menard.”
Dean cursed quietly and signed in spite of himself, Monster I get. People crazy.
She chuckled. “Not sure I want to know what that meant.”
He grinned, then sighed. “Here I was worried about fraternization. Sounds like I’m really in a Catch-22.” At her frown, he explained what Sam had told him.
She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think anyone’s going to look sideways at your dating a girl your own age, as long as she isn’t in your class. But Amber wouldn’t be my first choice for a test case.” Suddenly her eyes took on a devious sparkle. “Then again, Amber isn’t the only one who wants to go to the game with you, right?”
It took Dean a moment, but he smirked when he caught on. Girls like Amber hated little brothers. “Thanks, Mrs. R.”
Mrs. Ramirez chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I look forward to hearing all about it.”
School let out at four. Shortly after five, while there were several customers in the garage, Dean glanced out from beneath the car he was working on to see a shapely pair of legs approaching his position. He quickly ran through the speech he’d prepared before:
“Oh, De-ean....”
Dean chose not to emerge from his not-quite-hiding spot; not only was it tactically wiser to have something between him and Amber, he also genuinely needed to get the repair done as quickly as possible because the car’s owner was waiting. “Hey, Amber.”
“I hear you’re going to Homecoming.”
“First half of the game, anyway.”
“Do you have a date yet?”
“Not unless you count Sammy.”
She laughed dismissively. “Neither do I.”
“Nobody’s asked you yet, seriously? Would have thought you could take your choice.”
“Oh, I can. I just....”
Make her say it. “What?”
“I’d rather go with you.”
“Really? I dunno, Amber... I think teachers dating students is kind of frowned upon.”
“You teach, like, one class!” Good, that was loud enough that people who couldn’t hear his side of the conversation could still figure out what he’d said.
“And like I said, I’m not planning to go to the dance, and Sammy and I may not stay for the whole game.”
She huffed quietly before saying brightly, “That’s okay. I was planning to meet some friends of mine at the game anyway.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes!” That sounded a little impatient.
“Okay, then.”
“Great! What time do you want to pick me up?”
Dean did get out from under the car-on the opposite side from where Amber was standing-at that point. “Let’s see... we’re closing at 6, pre-game starts at 7, and I promised Sammy we’d go out for pizza ’cause it’ll be the end of the six weeks....”
Amber briefly looked like she’d swallowed a whole lemon, but she quickly schooled her features and said, “Oh, uh-huh.”
“I guess if you wanted to meet us at Pizza Inn, say, 6:15?”
She rolled her eyes. “I am not leaving my car at Pizza Inn. And anyway, I’m on a diet.”
“I think they have salads.”
Her jaw twitched. “Look, why don’t you pick me up at my house at 6:50?”
“Doesn’t seem like much of a date....”
“Do you always bring your brother with you on dates?”
He shrugged. “Guess you’ve got a point there. I’m sorry, Amber, but I did promise, and that Saturday already looks pretty busy. Friend of the family may be coming in from out of town.”
“No, no, that’s... no, I understand. Let’s... just say 6:50, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
She smiled flirtatiously and walked away, swaying in a way calculated to show off all her curves. And Dean had to admit to himself that she was nice-looking. But Mr. Ramirez, who was standing at the counter, shot him a thumbs-up, so Dean hoped that meant he’d played his hand correctly.
“Oh! Dean!”
Dean looked up and saw that she’d stopped at the door. “Yeah?”
“When do you want me to bring you your garter?”
“... Garter?”
The next morning Mrs. Ramirez explained about homecoming garters and mums and told Dean that yes, since he was technically Amber’s date, he did need to give her a mum. That night he and Sam figured out how much money they could spare for such a thing, and that Saturday they went to the Michaels in Beaumont to buy one. There were several sample mums hung up above the racks of ribbons, and Sam shot him a skeptical look. Dean understood... those things were just... gaudy.
“Hi,” said the lady in the silk flower department. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure hope so,” Dean replied, having trouble looking away from the streamers and bangles and baubles and bears. “We just moved in from out of state this spring....”
Her eyes twinkled as she got out a notepad. “Say no more, honey. What high school?”
“Johnson.”
“What’s the girl’s name?”
“Amber.”
“Senior?”
“Uh, no, ma’am. She’s a junior.”
“And what’s your price range?”
“Can I get something decent for $30?”
“You sure can, honey. It’ll be ready tomorrow. Anything special you want?”
Dean thought for a moment. “Can you leave the pin off the backing? I want to write something on it, and it’d be easier if I could put the pin on later.”
“Sure thing.”
“What are you gonna write on it?” Sam asked as they walked back to the car.
Dean smirked. “Not write, draw. Somethin’ I saw in Dad’s journal a few times. I think it’s called a devil’s trap.”
Sam frowned. “But what-ohhh. She will freak!”
Dean’s smirk grew into a grin. “That’s the idea.”
Sam laughed and laughed.
The mum, when they picked it up on Sunday, wasn’t as spectacularly awful as Dean had dreaded, but it was still a minor monstrosity, considering that the flower was 8" across and the ribbons were two feet long. The boys laid it out on the back seat of the Impala, and when they got it home, Sam held the center steady while Dean drew the devil’s trap on the back and glued on the pin with hot glue. Sam had suggested using a silver pin, but Dean was worried that Amber might end up throwing the mum away if she got mad enough at him, which would be a waste of good silver. So they went with a sturdy iron pin instead.
Then, of course, he had to deliver it.
“Is this the best you could do?” Amber asked, looking at the mum like it was an indictment of his masculinity.
Dean shrugged. “I told the lady I’m from out of state and on a tight budget. Is it not what you wanted?”
With a sigh, she snatched it away from him and held it up to her chest to examine the effect. The fact that it covered half her chest seemed to mollify her, and she said, “No, it’s fine. Guess it won’t get caught on anything while I’m at school. Thanks.” Then she caught a glimpse of the back and frowned. “What’s this?”
Dean wasn’t sure how a real demon was supposed to react to a devil’s trap, but he was reasonably sure her reaction was normal for a human. “Ah, well, if you’ve read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight-”
She slammed the door in his face.
Yet Tuesday morning, about ten minutes before his first class, he heard a rustling in the hall and looked up to see Amber bringing in a hanger that held a slightly smaller monstrosity attached to a maroon-and-gold garter. “Sorry about Sunday, Dean,” she said without preamble. “I was just... y’know. Bad day.”
Dean doubted that, but he signed, Sorry I catch you bad time. She blinked at him, and he repeated himself aloud.
“Oh. That’s okay. There someplace where I can hang this?”
There was, in fact, a coat hook in the storage closet, and she hung the garter behind his jacket while he held the door open. Then she smiled slyly and looked meaningfully at the interior of the closet.
Bad idea. Very bad idea. And so very tempting in spite of everything.
But Dean had barely managed to say “Um...” when Daphne and Tricia walked in with a cheerful chorus of “Morning, Mr. Winchester!”
Amber scowled at the other girls, who were busy practicing for the day’s quiz and took no notice. Then she gave Dean another smile and a flirty “See you later, Dean” before flouncing off to her own first class.
Dean blew out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and shut the closet door.
Tricia looked up at him then. “Oh... did we interrupt something?”
Yes, Dean signed. A beat later he added, Thank you.
The girls blushed and giggled and went back to their studying, and Dean sat down at his desk to pull himself together before the rest of the class arrived.
Sammy laughed for a solid minute when he saw the garter that afternoon. Dean vowed not to wear it anywhere but to the game.
Daphne and Tricia showed up early for the rest of the week, and Dean was absurdly grateful. He hated the fact that his head and his hormones were at odds when it came to Amber, but at least this way she couldn’t ambush him before class again.
The day of Homecoming was crazy busy from the jump because Dean had to get his grades turned in before he left for the garage; he’d given his first test on Thursday and skipped the bonfire Thursday night to get all the grading done, but there was still one quiz grade to add to the average after class. So he managed to dodge Amber and her mum the few times he saw her at the high school purely because he didn’t have time to talk to anyone who wasn’t one of his own students. And then it seemed like everybody in town needed oil changed or brakes tuned or something, so the afternoon was a blur of motion punctuated by a few snatches of music from the pep rally on the square. Sam had to talk Dean out of bailing on both the pizza dinner and the football game by suggesting that they have frozen pizza at home, which could bake while Dean napped.
Okay, Dean signed wearily. Sorry. We go Pizza Inn tomorrow, maybe.
“It’s okay, Dean. You’re exhausted for a good reason. Tomorrow’s okay.”
I not forget.
“I know you won’t.”
They went home, and Dean crashed hard for thirty minutes. Sam ate half the pizza without him. But the nap helped, and at 6:50 sharp, both brothers were standing on the Petersens’ front porch, scrubbed and bright-faced and ready for some football, even with the garter garishly adorning Dean’s left arm.
And of course Amber wasn’t ready to go yet.
They got to the stadium about halfway through the introduction of the homecoming court nominees, with the band playing some stupid ballad from Phantom of the Opera, and Amber almost immediately spotted friends high up in the stands and dragged Dean and Sam along to be introduced to girls who’d graduated two and three years earlier. Dean might not have minded being ogled so much if the college girls weren’t also cooing over Sammy like he was two rather than twelve, but as it was, he hit the limit of his patience after about a minute and made up an excuse to take Sam down to one of the front rows to watch the homecoming schtick. None of the girls seemed to mind, but he thought he heard one of them comment on his physical structure.
“He thinks he’s a teacher,” Amber said quietly, but not quietly enough to escape a hunter’s ears, and her girlfriends giggled.
Suddenly, he understood the meaning of the term boy toy. And he didn’t like being treated like one.
Sitting toward the front, though, made it much easier for Mr. Sorenson to find them and introduce Dean to various alumni and dignitaries who somehow hadn’t met “our new ASL teacher and his brother” yet. And just about the time Dean got tired of shaking hands, along came the Lopezes and the Ramirezes, who invited the boys to sit with their (large) families. Their chatter took up all of the time before the benediction and the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and the boys’ signing of the National Anthem prompted a long discussion about the possibility of having Dean teach the choir a few songs and/or go out on the field to sign the anthem for the last home game. So by the time someone got around to mentioning Dean’s garter, it was the middle of the second quarter. And by then Dean had no clue where Amber was.
Mr. Ramirez laughed and thumped Dean on the back. “It’s about time she had a worthy opponent. I hope she regrets it and you don’t.”
Dean didn’t know what to say to that, so he just took a drink of iced tea.
The game itself wasn’t all that spectacular. Anahuac’s defense was tolerable, but not impenetrable with the strong passing game Johnson seemed to have, and their offense was no match for Johnson’s defense. Anahuac’s band didn’t seem all that inspiring, either, playing mostly the same kinds of songs he’d heard at football games all over the country. Johnson’s, on the other hand, caught Dean’s attention by playing “Immigrant Song” for a quarterback sack, and whenever he listened more to the band than to the conversation, it seemed like they were mostly playing classic rock standards. One point that made the whole group laugh was when, just after the Anahuac band played some Latin-sounding mush while their team had the ball, there was a turnover and the Johnson band answered with the unmistakable notes of “Oye Como Va.” So Dean was slightly disappointed to see the band leaving the stands partway through the second quarter.
“They have to line up for halftime,” Mrs. Ramirez told him.
Oh, of course. “Right,” Dean returned. “I knew that.”
Sam looked over at the commotion and suddenly started waving to eighth-graders he knew who were running around in uniform polo shirts. “They’re band aides,” he explained to Dean.
“Band-aids?!” Dean couldn’t help laughing at that one.
“Shut up, jerk. I might want to do that next year.”
“Sammy the band-aid.” Dean laughed even harder.
The score was 14-0 Johnson at the half, and Mrs. Ramirez suggested that the boys hit the concession stand during the Anahuac band’s performance and head up near the press box to be able to see the Johnson band’s marching show. “It’s not a state year,” she said, “but the band’s always been one of the best in the state, and they’re going to Region tomorrow, so it might not hurt for you to at least see what the fuss is about.”
Dean wasn’t too keen on marching bands, but Sam thought it sounded like fun, so Dean agreed as long as they could keep clear of Amber. So as they went to the concession stand, Sam kept an eye on the crowd and spotted Amber with the same friends she’d been with before. Once they got their nachos and Cokes, Dean led Sam around the back of the stands to a set of stairs that would let them get up to the press box without Amber seeing them.
They’d just gotten settled when the Johnson band was announced and started their pre-performance warm-up. But this one wasn’t scales, Dean quickly realized. It was the opening chorale of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
“Is that...” Sam frowned.
“Yeah.”
And then the drum majors did their thing and clapped off the first song, and the brass quartet that was standing in front of them started to play:
Carry on, my wayward son,
There’ll be peace when you are done....
Dean could barely breathe, watching the band’s lines swirl and weave in perfect time to that song, the one that seemed to be the theme song of his and Sammy’s life, not a sour note in brass or woodwinds, the flags spinning color on the edges of the formations and the twirlers and rifles adding just exactly the right extra flair at the sideline. And at the end of it, he was on his feet and screaming just like the rest of the home crowd.
Then they played Chicago’s “25 or 6 to 4.” And ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” And Grand Funk Railroad’s “We’re An American Band,” to which both Dean and Sam sang along at the top of their lungs.
It was a sign. It had to be.
The Winchester brothers had finally come home.
The boys had just made their way back to where the Lopezes and Ramirezes were sitting when Dean heard a man call his name and turned to see one of his regular customers at the garage, a deputy, hurrying toward them.
“Dean, do you know someone by the name of Caleb Hamilton?”
Oh, no. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s just been life-flighted to St. Elizabeth’s in Beaumont, and he had your phone number in his wallet.”
“Life-flighted? From where? What happened?”
“Up in the Big Thicket. Looks like a bear attack.”
“Go, Dean,” said Mrs. Ramirez. “We’ll explain when Amber comes looking for you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. R,” Dean nodded. “Let’s go, Sam.”
The deputy gave Dean the hospital details as the brothers rushed toward the Impala, and as the band played “Spinning Wheel,” Dean spun his wheels in the direction of the highway.
The boys made record time getting to the hospital, not talking or signing in their worry over Caleb. Then they lied their way past the desk and into Caleb’s room once the ER was finished with him, only to be brought up short by Caleb’s first words to them:
“What the hell is that thing on your arm, Dean?”
Sam and Dean looked at each other, then at Dean’s arms... and laughed. He’d forgotten to take off his garter.
“It’s Homecoming, dude,” Dean explained, pulling chairs up to the bedside for himself and Sam. “And you just got me out of what could have been the worst date ever-although you didn’t have to get torn up just on my account!”
Caleb snorted and winced. “Aw, man, don’t make me laugh. Hurts.”
“So what happened?”
Caleb glanced at the door, so Sam ran to check that the hall was empty and closed the door behind him when he came back. “All clear.”
“Civilian,” Caleb began. “I’ve just taken care of the chupacabra, no problems, and I’m on my way back out when I run into this idiot tourist who got lost lookin’ for the Ghost Road. So I gotta get him back to civilization, and he won’t listen when I tell him he’s in the wrong part of the forest, and suddenly there’s this noise and Einstein figures it’s a ghost and goes toward it. Light’s just bad enough that he can’t see it’s a bear, but I can-and of course all I’ve got in the shotgun is a couple of your daddy’s salt rounds. Einstein finally has the sense to run when he hears the noise Yogi makes when I shoot ’im, so he gets away, but I didn’t quite. Lucky for me, there was a couple rangers within earshot, came runnin’ when they heard the shot, took care of me.”
Dean shook his head. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again.”
And Sam joined him in signing, Monster I get. People crazy.
“How bad are you hurt?” Dean continued.
“Bad enough,” Caleb sighed. “He swatted me pretty good, hit a tree. Sliced up my back, broke a few ribs, mild concussion. Lost a lot of blood. But I can probably check out AMA day after tomorrow if I’m goin’ someplace close and someone else is driving.”
“Come stay with us,” said Sam. “Dean’s a really good cook, and I don’t mind sleeping on the couch....”
“Nah, Squirt, I’ll take the couch,” Dean interrupted. “You need your space to study.”
Caleb rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your daddy’s off in Alaska somewhere... guess it’s safe enough for me to stay for a week or two. But only if you boys promise you won’t let me interfere with your schoolwork.”
“We’ll manage,” Dean nodded.
“Fair enough.” Caleb eyed Dean’s garter again. “What was her name?”
“Amber.”
“Pretty?”
“Isn’t there a saying, ‘pretty is as pretty does’?”
“Amber’s only pretty on the outside,” Sam stated.
Dean stretched his legs out and settled lower in his chair. “Y’know, I think for once I’m actually glad it didn’t work out.”
“You ditched me!” Amber screeched at Dean before school Monday morning. “I can’t believe you ditched me!”
“It was an emergency, Amber,” Dean said evenly but loudly. “Our friend was in the hospital.”
“I don’t care! You should have taken me home first!”
“You knew we were planning to leave early anyway. You said you’d ride home with your friends.”
Amber’s hand came up as if to backhand Dean. “YOU-”
A polite cough announced the arrival of Daphne and Tricia, though they were only hovering in the doorway this time.
Amber drew a deep breath and lowered her hand. “It’s over, Dean.”
It never started, he signed at the same time he said, “Fine. Nice knowin’ you.”
Amber spun on her heel and walked away.
“Oh, and Amber.”
“What?”
“I don’t think I’m a teacher. I am a teacher. And I’ve got twelve students with grades in the school’s computers to prove it.”
Amber froze. “How did you....”
He not deaf, Tricia signed. I not deaf, too. I hear you say this.
Dean thought back-sure enough, Tricia and a couple of other girls he recognized had been sitting behind Amber and her crowd. He’d been a little too preoccupied with getting away to really notice them.
“What did she say?” Amber asked Dean.
But it was Daphne who answered. “She said, ‘Amber Petersen, you’ve got a big mouth.’”
Mrs. Ramirez casually walked past before Amber could explode. “Problems, Dean?”
“No problems, Mrs. R,” Dean replied. “Amber was just leaving.”
And she did, but not before shooting Dean a look that was just short of murder. Mrs. Ramirez winked at Dean and went on her own way.
“Daphne.”
“Well, she does!” Daphne returned. “And that was sort of what Trish said, right?”
“Ah, close enough,” Tricia shrugged.
Dean shook his head. “Girls, you don’t have to defend me.” He paused and smiled slowly. “But thanks for the help anyway.”
And then the bell rang, and it was time to get back to the business of everyday life.
Links:
Homecoming mums (I think the actual flower in the picture is hiding behind the teddy bear--it's supposed to be a silk chrysanthemum.)
Bohemian Rhapsody (a warm-up version would stop around 0:25)
Carry On, Wayward Son (a director could easily write a brass quartet arrangement of the original opening)
25 or 6 to 4
Dancing Queen
We're An American Band
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even my AU. :D Though the town and the backstory are fictional, I have based the details loosely on my own experiences and what few stats I could find on Hamshire-Fannett High School’s 1995 football season. And I’ll further disclaim that my experience is chiefly with schools west of I-35, so I have no idea whether East Texas does things differently (but I doubt it differs too much). Nor have I seen the series Friday Night Lights or the movie of the same title or read the book that inspired the movie, though I can confirm that in RL, Odessa Permian is (or was fifteen years ago) to 5A football what the New York Yankees are to Major League Baseball. I just had to write something about this scenario, since Texas high school football is a thing of beauty and a joy forever and utterly baffling to out-of-staters. Also: I don’t have access to a 1995 marching band catalog, so the arrangements I’ve linked to for the halftime show might not have been available-but surely there was something similar available then.
Coming Home
By San Antonio Rose
For Enola Jones’ Different Roads AU
Talk of two-a-days and summer band was nothing new to Sam and Dean, though the start date seemed... a little early, given the heat. East Texas was sweltering during the first week of August, and two-a-days were held outside all day for the entire week. Dean had given Sam permission to try out for the junior high football team if he wanted to, but Sam took one look at the practice schedule and opted for the UIL math and science teams instead. Staying in shape for hunting was one thing, but he was not about to let himself get heat stroke again. Not even if Dean teased him for being a nerd.
After that, between the business of hunting and the business of living on their own, the brothers Winchester didn’t give football season much thought until the end of July, when they could hear the band practicing a mile away when the wind was right. And even then, they had too much to juggle between getting ready for school as students and Dean’s preparations to teach the ASL class that the football chatter at the garage and the grocery store and so on did little more than register. Even when the boys went into Beaumont to do last-minute school shopping, the sudden appearance of maroon-and-gold Johnson Eagles shirts in the stores didn’t mean much.
No, they didn’t really think about football at all until the first Friday of school, when Daphne Vaughn asked whether Dean was going to the game that night and the rest of the class looked at him expectantly.
Dean’s mind raced. It was an away game in a town practically on the Louisiana border. He had quizzes to grade, lessons to plan, and English homework to finish, plus a couple of tricky repairs waiting for him at the garage; Sam had a ton of reading to do for English and World History, and he’d said his math homework for the weekend promised to be a bear; and Caleb had asked them to research some local legends to help him out with a potential hunt up in the Big Thicket. And as much as Dean wanted to go shoot a hide-behind just for the stress relief, he couldn’t even justify taking an afternoon to meet Caleb in Beaumont to go over their findings (he was meeting them at the library), never mind driving two hours each way to get to a football game.
No, he replied in ASL. Maybe next week.
By the time Dean had his feet under him and he and Sam had settled into a more regular routine, the football team was 3-0 and people were starting to pester the boys about going to a game. Most of the parents weren’t too hard on them-certainly better than the descriptions of parents at Odessa Permian that Sam was reading in Friday Night Lights-but there seemed to be a general expectation that since Dean was part-time faculty, he ought to attend at least the home games. The same was true of their peers, especially Sam’s friends at the junior high; though Dean was more insulated from other high schoolers because of his unique status, the ones who did know him argued that he could at least try to be sociable by turning up for the first half.
“Homecoming’s at the end of the six weeks,” Sam observed one morning at breakfast. “Maybe we can make that and the last home game.”
“Maybe,” Dean agreed into his coffee.
“C’mon, Dean. You need a break, and so do I. Mrs. Rose and Mr. Cooper aren’t gonna nail you for going to the first half of the Homecoming game, are they?”
Dean ran a hand over his face. “I guess not. I’ve kept my grades up so far. But Caleb called while you were at calculator practice yesterday-either he didn’t actually get the hide-behind, or there’s a chupacabra that’s taken its place.”
“Dean.”
Dean sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. Caleb can handle it without us.”
Sam smirked. “Good, ’cause I think Amber Petersen wants you to take her to the game, if not the dance.”
Dean choked on his coffee.
Small towns had definite advantages and definite disadvantages, and the rumor mill was a two-edged sword. Dean already knew, for example, that Amber Petersen was a blonde, nice-looking, none-too-studious junior and that her demure appearance on Sunday mornings was a sham that fooled only her parents and people over 65, that she’d been busted three times for Minor in Possession, and that popular opinion held that she’d already had at least one abortion. What Amber knew or guessed about Dean was difficult to say, but if Sammy knew that she wanted him to take her to Homecoming, to the point of turning down the senior who would probably be homecoming king, odds were that the story was all over town; his desire to go to even part of the game would get back to her fast, she would probably approach him about a date-and everybody would be watching to see how he handled the situation.
Now, Dean was hardly averse to showing a girl a good time, especially if there were no expectations and if the Winchesters were moving on again within a few weeks. The fact that the boys intended to stick around for a few years wouldn’t normally be enough to make Dean hesitate to see just how far he could get with Amber. But the fact that Dean was teaching... that made a difference. Yes, most parents realized that he was only 16 and that he was teaching only the two sections of the one course, and Amber had already squeaked through two years of Spanish and wasn’t likely to want to take ASL as another elective the next year. He was still considered faculty enough to get grief for not supporting the football team, and faculty members weren’t supposed to “fraternize” with the students.
Damn, this could get awkward.
He was still puzzling over what to do about it when he inadvertently walked past his classroom into the choir room and almost collided with Mrs. Ramirez, the choir director.
“Student problem?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Dean confessed. “Amber Petersen.”
Mrs. Ramirez shook her head. “She’s no good, Dean. And I don’t just mean that she’s wild. She’s a liar, she’s manipulative, and she’s emotionally abusive. Last fall she set her sights on one of my best tenors-sweet boy, shy, had an unrequited crush on one of the altos. When Tim refused Amber’s advances, she told everyone that she’d caught him on the ag farm having sex with a goat. It was absurd, but enough people believed it that he nearly committed suicide before his mother sent him to live with his grandparents in Menard.”
Dean cursed quietly and signed in spite of himself, Monster I get. People crazy.
She chuckled. “Not sure I want to know what that meant.”
He grinned, then sighed. “Here I was worried about fraternization. Sounds like I’m really in a Catch-22.” At her frown, he explained what Sam had told him.
She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think anyone’s going to look sideways at your dating a girl your own age, as long as she isn’t in your class. But Amber wouldn’t be my first choice for a test case.” Suddenly her eyes took on a devious sparkle. “Then again, Amber isn’t the only one who wants to go to the game with you, right?”
It took Dean a moment, but he smirked when he caught on. Girls like Amber hated little brothers. “Thanks, Mrs. R.”
Mrs. Ramirez chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I look forward to hearing all about it.”
School let out at four. Shortly after five, while there were several customers in the garage, Dean glanced out from beneath the car he was working on to see a shapely pair of legs approaching his position. He quickly ran through the speech he’d prepared before:
“Oh, De-ean....”
Dean chose not to emerge from his not-quite-hiding spot; not only was it tactically wiser to have something between him and Amber, he also genuinely needed to get the repair done as quickly as possible because the car’s owner was waiting. “Hey, Amber.”
“I hear you’re going to Homecoming.”
“First half of the game, anyway.”
“Do you have a date yet?”
“Not unless you count Sammy.”
She laughed dismissively. “Neither do I.”
“Nobody’s asked you yet, seriously? Would have thought you could take your choice.”
“Oh, I can. I just....”
Make her say it. “What?”
“I’d rather go with you.”
“Really? I dunno, Amber... I think teachers dating students is kind of frowned upon.”
“You teach, like, one class!” Good, that was loud enough that people who couldn’t hear his side of the conversation could still figure out what he’d said.
“And like I said, I’m not planning to go to the dance, and Sammy and I may not stay for the whole game.”
She huffed quietly before saying brightly, “That’s okay. I was planning to meet some friends of mine at the game anyway.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes!” That sounded a little impatient.
“Okay, then.”
“Great! What time do you want to pick me up?”
Dean did get out from under the car-on the opposite side from where Amber was standing-at that point. “Let’s see... we’re closing at 6, pre-game starts at 7, and I promised Sammy we’d go out for pizza ’cause it’ll be the end of the six weeks....”
Amber briefly looked like she’d swallowed a whole lemon, but she quickly schooled her features and said, “Oh, uh-huh.”
“I guess if you wanted to meet us at Pizza Inn, say, 6:15?”
She rolled her eyes. “I am not leaving my car at Pizza Inn. And anyway, I’m on a diet.”
“I think they have salads.”
Her jaw twitched. “Look, why don’t you pick me up at my house at 6:50?”
“Doesn’t seem like much of a date....”
“Do you always bring your brother with you on dates?”
He shrugged. “Guess you’ve got a point there. I’m sorry, Amber, but I did promise, and that Saturday already looks pretty busy. Friend of the family may be coming in from out of town.”
“No, no, that’s... no, I understand. Let’s... just say 6:50, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
She smiled flirtatiously and walked away, swaying in a way calculated to show off all her curves. And Dean had to admit to himself that she was nice-looking. But Mr. Ramirez, who was standing at the counter, shot him a thumbs-up, so Dean hoped that meant he’d played his hand correctly.
“Oh! Dean!”
Dean looked up and saw that she’d stopped at the door. “Yeah?”
“When do you want me to bring you your garter?”
“... Garter?”
The next morning Mrs. Ramirez explained about homecoming garters and mums and told Dean that yes, since he was technically Amber’s date, he did need to give her a mum. That night he and Sam figured out how much money they could spare for such a thing, and that Saturday they went to the Michaels in Beaumont to buy one. There were several sample mums hung up above the racks of ribbons, and Sam shot him a skeptical look. Dean understood... those things were just... gaudy.
“Hi,” said the lady in the silk flower department. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure hope so,” Dean replied, having trouble looking away from the streamers and bangles and baubles and bears. “We just moved in from out of state this spring....”
Her eyes twinkled as she got out a notepad. “Say no more, honey. What high school?”
“Johnson.”
“What’s the girl’s name?”
“Amber.”
“Senior?”
“Uh, no, ma’am. She’s a junior.”
“And what’s your price range?”
“Can I get something decent for $30?”
“You sure can, honey. It’ll be ready tomorrow. Anything special you want?”
Dean thought for a moment. “Can you leave the pin off the backing? I want to write something on it, and it’d be easier if I could put the pin on later.”
“Sure thing.”
“What are you gonna write on it?” Sam asked as they walked back to the car.
Dean smirked. “Not write, draw. Somethin’ I saw in Dad’s journal a few times. I think it’s called a devil’s trap.”
Sam frowned. “But what-ohhh. She will freak!”
Dean’s smirk grew into a grin. “That’s the idea.”
Sam laughed and laughed.
The mum, when they picked it up on Sunday, wasn’t as spectacularly awful as Dean had dreaded, but it was still a minor monstrosity, considering that the flower was 8" across and the ribbons were two feet long. The boys laid it out on the back seat of the Impala, and when they got it home, Sam held the center steady while Dean drew the devil’s trap on the back and glued on the pin with hot glue. Sam had suggested using a silver pin, but Dean was worried that Amber might end up throwing the mum away if she got mad enough at him, which would be a waste of good silver. So they went with a sturdy iron pin instead.
Then, of course, he had to deliver it.
“Is this the best you could do?” Amber asked, looking at the mum like it was an indictment of his masculinity.
Dean shrugged. “I told the lady I’m from out of state and on a tight budget. Is it not what you wanted?”
With a sigh, she snatched it away from him and held it up to her chest to examine the effect. The fact that it covered half her chest seemed to mollify her, and she said, “No, it’s fine. Guess it won’t get caught on anything while I’m at school. Thanks.” Then she caught a glimpse of the back and frowned. “What’s this?”
Dean wasn’t sure how a real demon was supposed to react to a devil’s trap, but he was reasonably sure her reaction was normal for a human. “Ah, well, if you’ve read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight-”
She slammed the door in his face.
Yet Tuesday morning, about ten minutes before his first class, he heard a rustling in the hall and looked up to see Amber bringing in a hanger that held a slightly smaller monstrosity attached to a maroon-and-gold garter. “Sorry about Sunday, Dean,” she said without preamble. “I was just... y’know. Bad day.”
Dean doubted that, but he signed, Sorry I catch you bad time. She blinked at him, and he repeated himself aloud.
“Oh. That’s okay. There someplace where I can hang this?”
There was, in fact, a coat hook in the storage closet, and she hung the garter behind his jacket while he held the door open. Then she smiled slyly and looked meaningfully at the interior of the closet.
Bad idea. Very bad idea. And so very tempting in spite of everything.
But Dean had barely managed to say “Um...” when Daphne and Tricia walked in with a cheerful chorus of “Morning, Mr. Winchester!”
Amber scowled at the other girls, who were busy practicing for the day’s quiz and took no notice. Then she gave Dean another smile and a flirty “See you later, Dean” before flouncing off to her own first class.
Dean blew out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and shut the closet door.
Tricia looked up at him then. “Oh... did we interrupt something?”
Yes, Dean signed. A beat later he added, Thank you.
The girls blushed and giggled and went back to their studying, and Dean sat down at his desk to pull himself together before the rest of the class arrived.
Sammy laughed for a solid minute when he saw the garter that afternoon. Dean vowed not to wear it anywhere but to the game.
Daphne and Tricia showed up early for the rest of the week, and Dean was absurdly grateful. He hated the fact that his head and his hormones were at odds when it came to Amber, but at least this way she couldn’t ambush him before class again.
The day of Homecoming was crazy busy from the jump because Dean had to get his grades turned in before he left for the garage; he’d given his first test on Thursday and skipped the bonfire Thursday night to get all the grading done, but there was still one quiz grade to add to the average after class. So he managed to dodge Amber and her mum the few times he saw her at the high school purely because he didn’t have time to talk to anyone who wasn’t one of his own students. And then it seemed like everybody in town needed oil changed or brakes tuned or something, so the afternoon was a blur of motion punctuated by a few snatches of music from the pep rally on the square. Sam had to talk Dean out of bailing on both the pizza dinner and the football game by suggesting that they have frozen pizza at home, which could bake while Dean napped.
Okay, Dean signed wearily. Sorry. We go Pizza Inn tomorrow, maybe.
“It’s okay, Dean. You’re exhausted for a good reason. Tomorrow’s okay.”
I not forget.
“I know you won’t.”
They went home, and Dean crashed hard for thirty minutes. Sam ate half the pizza without him. But the nap helped, and at 6:50 sharp, both brothers were standing on the Petersens’ front porch, scrubbed and bright-faced and ready for some football, even with the garter garishly adorning Dean’s left arm.
And of course Amber wasn’t ready to go yet.
They got to the stadium about halfway through the introduction of the homecoming court nominees, with the band playing some stupid ballad from Phantom of the Opera, and Amber almost immediately spotted friends high up in the stands and dragged Dean and Sam along to be introduced to girls who’d graduated two and three years earlier. Dean might not have minded being ogled so much if the college girls weren’t also cooing over Sammy like he was two rather than twelve, but as it was, he hit the limit of his patience after about a minute and made up an excuse to take Sam down to one of the front rows to watch the homecoming schtick. None of the girls seemed to mind, but he thought he heard one of them comment on his physical structure.
“He thinks he’s a teacher,” Amber said quietly, but not quietly enough to escape a hunter’s ears, and her girlfriends giggled.
Suddenly, he understood the meaning of the term boy toy. And he didn’t like being treated like one.
Sitting toward the front, though, made it much easier for Mr. Sorenson to find them and introduce Dean to various alumni and dignitaries who somehow hadn’t met “our new ASL teacher and his brother” yet. And just about the time Dean got tired of shaking hands, along came the Lopezes and the Ramirezes, who invited the boys to sit with their (large) families. Their chatter took up all of the time before the benediction and the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and the boys’ signing of the National Anthem prompted a long discussion about the possibility of having Dean teach the choir a few songs and/or go out on the field to sign the anthem for the last home game. So by the time someone got around to mentioning Dean’s garter, it was the middle of the second quarter. And by then Dean had no clue where Amber was.
Mr. Ramirez laughed and thumped Dean on the back. “It’s about time she had a worthy opponent. I hope she regrets it and you don’t.”
Dean didn’t know what to say to that, so he just took a drink of iced tea.
The game itself wasn’t all that spectacular. Anahuac’s defense was tolerable, but not impenetrable with the strong passing game Johnson seemed to have, and their offense was no match for Johnson’s defense. Anahuac’s band didn’t seem all that inspiring, either, playing mostly the same kinds of songs he’d heard at football games all over the country. Johnson’s, on the other hand, caught Dean’s attention by playing “Immigrant Song” for a quarterback sack, and whenever he listened more to the band than to the conversation, it seemed like they were mostly playing classic rock standards. One point that made the whole group laugh was when, just after the Anahuac band played some Latin-sounding mush while their team had the ball, there was a turnover and the Johnson band answered with the unmistakable notes of “Oye Como Va.” So Dean was slightly disappointed to see the band leaving the stands partway through the second quarter.
“They have to line up for halftime,” Mrs. Ramirez told him.
Oh, of course. “Right,” Dean returned. “I knew that.”
Sam looked over at the commotion and suddenly started waving to eighth-graders he knew who were running around in uniform polo shirts. “They’re band aides,” he explained to Dean.
“Band-aids?!” Dean couldn’t help laughing at that one.
“Shut up, jerk. I might want to do that next year.”
“Sammy the band-aid.” Dean laughed even harder.
The score was 14-0 Johnson at the half, and Mrs. Ramirez suggested that the boys hit the concession stand during the Anahuac band’s performance and head up near the press box to be able to see the Johnson band’s marching show. “It’s not a state year,” she said, “but the band’s always been one of the best in the state, and they’re going to Region tomorrow, so it might not hurt for you to at least see what the fuss is about.”
Dean wasn’t too keen on marching bands, but Sam thought it sounded like fun, so Dean agreed as long as they could keep clear of Amber. So as they went to the concession stand, Sam kept an eye on the crowd and spotted Amber with the same friends she’d been with before. Once they got their nachos and Cokes, Dean led Sam around the back of the stands to a set of stairs that would let them get up to the press box without Amber seeing them.
They’d just gotten settled when the Johnson band was announced and started their pre-performance warm-up. But this one wasn’t scales, Dean quickly realized. It was the opening chorale of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
“Is that...” Sam frowned.
“Yeah.”
And then the drum majors did their thing and clapped off the first song, and the brass quartet that was standing in front of them started to play:
Carry on, my wayward son,
There’ll be peace when you are done....
Dean could barely breathe, watching the band’s lines swirl and weave in perfect time to that song, the one that seemed to be the theme song of his and Sammy’s life, not a sour note in brass or woodwinds, the flags spinning color on the edges of the formations and the twirlers and rifles adding just exactly the right extra flair at the sideline. And at the end of it, he was on his feet and screaming just like the rest of the home crowd.
Then they played Chicago’s “25 or 6 to 4.” And ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” And Grand Funk Railroad’s “We’re An American Band,” to which both Dean and Sam sang along at the top of their lungs.
It was a sign. It had to be.
The Winchester brothers had finally come home.
The boys had just made their way back to where the Lopezes and Ramirezes were sitting when Dean heard a man call his name and turned to see one of his regular customers at the garage, a deputy, hurrying toward them.
“Dean, do you know someone by the name of Caleb Hamilton?”
Oh, no. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s just been life-flighted to St. Elizabeth’s in Beaumont, and he had your phone number in his wallet.”
“Life-flighted? From where? What happened?”
“Up in the Big Thicket. Looks like a bear attack.”
“Go, Dean,” said Mrs. Ramirez. “We’ll explain when Amber comes looking for you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. R,” Dean nodded. “Let’s go, Sam.”
The deputy gave Dean the hospital details as the brothers rushed toward the Impala, and as the band played “Spinning Wheel,” Dean spun his wheels in the direction of the highway.
The boys made record time getting to the hospital, not talking or signing in their worry over Caleb. Then they lied their way past the desk and into Caleb’s room once the ER was finished with him, only to be brought up short by Caleb’s first words to them:
“What the hell is that thing on your arm, Dean?”
Sam and Dean looked at each other, then at Dean’s arms... and laughed. He’d forgotten to take off his garter.
“It’s Homecoming, dude,” Dean explained, pulling chairs up to the bedside for himself and Sam. “And you just got me out of what could have been the worst date ever-although you didn’t have to get torn up just on my account!”
Caleb snorted and winced. “Aw, man, don’t make me laugh. Hurts.”
“So what happened?”
Caleb glanced at the door, so Sam ran to check that the hall was empty and closed the door behind him when he came back. “All clear.”
“Civilian,” Caleb began. “I’ve just taken care of the chupacabra, no problems, and I’m on my way back out when I run into this idiot tourist who got lost lookin’ for the Ghost Road. So I gotta get him back to civilization, and he won’t listen when I tell him he’s in the wrong part of the forest, and suddenly there’s this noise and Einstein figures it’s a ghost and goes toward it. Light’s just bad enough that he can’t see it’s a bear, but I can-and of course all I’ve got in the shotgun is a couple of your daddy’s salt rounds. Einstein finally has the sense to run when he hears the noise Yogi makes when I shoot ’im, so he gets away, but I didn’t quite. Lucky for me, there was a couple rangers within earshot, came runnin’ when they heard the shot, took care of me.”
Dean shook his head. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again.”
And Sam joined him in signing, Monster I get. People crazy.
“How bad are you hurt?” Dean continued.
“Bad enough,” Caleb sighed. “He swatted me pretty good, hit a tree. Sliced up my back, broke a few ribs, mild concussion. Lost a lot of blood. But I can probably check out AMA day after tomorrow if I’m goin’ someplace close and someone else is driving.”
“Come stay with us,” said Sam. “Dean’s a really good cook, and I don’t mind sleeping on the couch....”
“Nah, Squirt, I’ll take the couch,” Dean interrupted. “You need your space to study.”
Caleb rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your daddy’s off in Alaska somewhere... guess it’s safe enough for me to stay for a week or two. But only if you boys promise you won’t let me interfere with your schoolwork.”
“We’ll manage,” Dean nodded.
“Fair enough.” Caleb eyed Dean’s garter again. “What was her name?”
“Amber.”
“Pretty?”
“Isn’t there a saying, ‘pretty is as pretty does’?”
“Amber’s only pretty on the outside,” Sam stated.
Dean stretched his legs out and settled lower in his chair. “Y’know, I think for once I’m actually glad it didn’t work out.”
“You ditched me!” Amber screeched at Dean before school Monday morning. “I can’t believe you ditched me!”
“It was an emergency, Amber,” Dean said evenly but loudly. “Our friend was in the hospital.”
“I don’t care! You should have taken me home first!”
“You knew we were planning to leave early anyway. You said you’d ride home with your friends.”
Amber’s hand came up as if to backhand Dean. “YOU-”
A polite cough announced the arrival of Daphne and Tricia, though they were only hovering in the doorway this time.
Amber drew a deep breath and lowered her hand. “It’s over, Dean.”
It never started, he signed at the same time he said, “Fine. Nice knowin’ you.”
Amber spun on her heel and walked away.
“Oh, and Amber.”
“What?”
“I don’t think I’m a teacher. I am a teacher. And I’ve got twelve students with grades in the school’s computers to prove it.”
Amber froze. “How did you....”
He not deaf, Tricia signed. I not deaf, too. I hear you say this.
Dean thought back-sure enough, Tricia and a couple of other girls he recognized had been sitting behind Amber and her crowd. He’d been a little too preoccupied with getting away to really notice them.
“What did she say?” Amber asked Dean.
But it was Daphne who answered. “She said, ‘Amber Petersen, you’ve got a big mouth.’”
Mrs. Ramirez casually walked past before Amber could explode. “Problems, Dean?”
“No problems, Mrs. R,” Dean replied. “Amber was just leaving.”
And she did, but not before shooting Dean a look that was just short of murder. Mrs. Ramirez winked at Dean and went on her own way.
“Daphne.”
“Well, she does!” Daphne returned. “And that was sort of what Trish said, right?”
“Ah, close enough,” Tricia shrugged.
Dean shook his head. “Girls, you don’t have to defend me.” He paused and smiled slowly. “But thanks for the help anyway.”
And then the bell rang, and it was time to get back to the business of everyday life.
Links:
Homecoming mums (I think the actual flower in the picture is hiding behind the teddy bear--it's supposed to be a silk chrysanthemum.)
Bohemian Rhapsody (a warm-up version would stop around 0:25)
Carry On, Wayward Son (a director could easily write a brass quartet arrangement of the original opening)
25 or 6 to 4
Dancing Queen
We're An American Band