[Fic] Sin with a Grin - Chapter 11/18+Epilogue
Title: Sin with a Grin
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all associated characters belong to Kripke and Co. I make absolutely no claims on any of them.
Special Thanks to dapperscript for the wonderful beta! Thank you!
Please see Master Post for Notes, Cover Art and Further Information
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Castiel was fretting and he hated it. Castiel didn’t fret, he left fretting to those who were weak-minded and weak-willed. Castiel planned and plotted and observed and did, he did not fret and stress and worry.
“Dude, would you relax? It’s a school. I’ve been in them my entire life. I have no idea what you think could possibly go wrong.”
“Don’t say that,” Castiel hissed, then looked around as if Dean had called down the very wrath of Heaven itself.
“Man, what’s with you? You okay, Cas? This really isn’t like you.” Dean was all sympathy instantly as he moved up into Castiel’s personal space and cupped his stubbled jaw in a callused hand.
Castiel leaned into the warmth and let out a shaky breath through his nose. “I’m sorry,” Castel whispered. “I suppose I’m still a little raw from the whole getting blown-up thing. Maybe some weird PTSD or something.”
“Hey, you know as well as I do… okay better than I do, that that’s not something to be taken lightly. You talk to Gabe?” Dean frowned, completely serious.
Castiel huffed, “Dean, I don’t have PTSD… I’m all right, I just-” Castiel cut himself off abruptly, sucked in a breath, firm and sharp, steeled his gaze over and locked blue on green. Dean started a little and blinked before settling into acceptance of Castiel’s familiar stoicism.
“I’m perfectly well,” Castiel said again, more insistently.
“Okay,” Dean said, a little uncertain but willing. After all he was kind of great right now. He was going to be an uncle, and now he had the official word straight from the… well half the horse, he supposed, so he labeled Sammy the horse’s ass immediately. He was fucking engaged, to an amazing man who was way too good for him, which was really, really awesome but utterly terrifying all at once. Not to mention he was going to help people.
Yeah, it sucked that he had to leave his kids, but he’d be back soon enough, he was sure, and in the meantime he’d get to meet a whole other, probably equally fantastic group of kids. It would be a growing experience, or whatever. Yes, Castiel’s weird attitude was unsettling but he was Castiel. So Dean would accept what the older man said. For one, because Castiel was just weird in general, which Dean had been fully aware of from day one and had made no moves to change.
Not to mention, Castiel had been a pinnacle in Dean’s life of strength, virtue, righteousness, and seemingly limitlessness, for the past three years. Dean had never once wavered from his complete faith and trust in Castiel because he was just that good. And sure, maybe Dean still retrained some of that hero-worship of a 29 year old kid who stumbled into a bar with his little brother and met a former soldier and FBI agent. Dean figured he was allowed considering he was marrying the guy. So if Castiel said he was good, Dean would take it at face value and stomp viciously down on the niggling in his gut that something was wrong.
“You guys didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Dean remarked, stepping back.
Castiel huffed and rolled his eyes. “Dean, of course we did. Any other agent going undercover would have backup the first day.”
“No offence, but you two are kind of useless right now. You can’t run and Sammy can’t shoot,” Dean gave his fiancé a critical once over. “You were unconscious and in the hospital not even a week ago.”
“Ellen suspects there will be no problems, but in the event that there are, we have a back-up unit not that far from here.”
“So my backup needs backup? That’s reassuring,” Dean teased.
“Don’t be an ass,” Castiel glared, but a grin quirked his lips.
Sam shouldered open the door of the small faculty apartment that Dean had been given for the duration of his stay at the Academy. Due to the secluded location of the school, they had housing for both staff and students and it was customary for all faculty members to be assigned one. Dean figured he’d only be here once and a while, home was only an hour and a half drive away.
“Breakfast,” Sam managed by way of greeting, holding a white take-out bag in his teeth and a tray of coffees in his one good hand.
“Oh thank God,” Castiel said, hurrying over to relieve Sam of his burden. The blue-eyed man hadn’t seen this hour of the morning since his last stake-out, which was nearly a year ago now.
Sam chuckled and switched the bag to his recently vacated hand. “So we good to go?”
“Once I get caffeinated and fed,” Dean nodded, taking the coffee marked black out of the tray and fishing around the bag he snatched from Sam for his awaiting breakfast sandwich. He scowled at the oatmeal and fruit cup, tossing those to his bizarre little brother.
Castiel edged away from Sam when he caught sight of the pineapple in the plastic bowl and glared. “If any of that leaked onto my food and I suffocate to death, it’s on you,” the blue-eyed man remarked.
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Cas, they’ve double wrapped your muffin. No allergic reactions on my watch. I don’t think my brother would ever forgive me if his boy-toy was killed by tropical fruit.”
“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” Dean nodded. He took Castiel’s muffin out and unwrapped it himself just to be safe, handing it to Castiel.
Castiel sidled around Dean and used him as a shield from the evil fruit, despite Sam’s assurances, and hesitantly inspected his carrot muffin before taking a bite. He chewed hastily, but when no tingling and subsequent swelling began, he relaxed.
They sat around in Dean’s small but well-appointed apartment, sipping coffees and merely content in each other’s presence. Despite his protests, Dean appreciated that they were both here for this. It was nice to know that they were only a building away if Dean needed anything, or his anxiety spiked. He knew they were watching him, and tried to quell the urge to straighten the wrappers on the coffee table or pick up a pillow that had tumbled to the floor. The wrappers he could resist, but the pillow was proving a worthy adversary.
Castiel flicked his gaze over and casually put the pillow back on the chair it tumbled from. Dean’s shoulders relaxed fractionally.
“You’re sure you’re ready?” Sam asked, darting his gaze over his brother’s features, looking for any of the telltale signs he learned to read nearly thirty years ago. Castiel did the same, but his experience didn’t date back nearly as long. Both, however, were satisfied that Dean seemed as relaxed as he was going to be and the partners shared a glance of confirmation between them.
“Too late not to be,” Dean stood, cleaning up the small living room and carrying the breakfast refuse over to the trash bin. He came back with a dishcloth and wiped the coffee table down before neatly draping it over the sink and turning back.
“Either of you seen my tie? I have to meet with the headmaster in fifteen minutes.”
Castiel and Sam both gave the man between them a blank look. Where else would Dean Winchester’s tie be except exactly where it was supposed to be? Dean grinned and walked over to the little closet, pulling the neatly rolled silk from the small shelf and laying it across his shoulders. He made quick work of the full Windsor and paused to glance at himself in the mirror. Well-fitted charcoal grey suit, neatly pressed white dress shirt, and pale green tie. He fluffed his hair once and turned back to his fiancé and brother.
“All right, let’s do this thing. I’ll see you guys later, don’t destroy the place while I’m gone,” Dean grinned. He slipped into his shoes and grabbed his soft leather satchel, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Good luck,” Castiel said gently.
“Knock ‘em dead,” Sam grinned.
With a jaunty wave, Dean scooted out of the apartment and made his way down the hall. He briefly considered the elevator, but was in no mood to ride in small confined metal boxes right now and headed for the stairs instead. The building only had four floors and his apartment was on the third, after all.
He crossed the quad and headed to the building that housed the faculty offices and the Headmaster’s apartment. The Headmaster was going to meet him in the lobby of the building and show him around the school before the classes began in an hour.
For the most part, it was like any other elementary school, where students stayed in one room for the majority of the day, only going out for any specialty classes or their teacher’s prep period. Dean wasn’t so lucky as to score his prep adjacent to lunch hour at this school and had to resign himself to second period when the children were off in music class.
The only difference, really, between the Academy and a public school, was the budget. The children were not just taught music by some guy who maybe or maybe hadn’t majored in it; they were taught by a world renowned composer. They had the best equipment, the best books, the best materials, and the best rooms. Each was dressed like an odd little Stepford clone, in his or her green, grey, and black uniforms, with shoes that probably cost more than Dean’s entire salary for a year at his old school.
In his initial walk through, Dean had seen a few of the older kids writing with silver pens in leather bound notebooks, and those who weren’t keen on the more traditional methods all had individual iPads out in front of them. Cellphones and music players attached to many ears as well, strange little futuristic things that cost way more than Dean wanted to think about. He, however, could handle this. He was a professional after all.
“Mr. Dean Winchester! Pleasure to see you again!” a clean-shaven elderly man with twinkling eyes and hair grayed to white greeted him pleasantly. He was rail thin, and his skin looked like paper, but he had strength under all the gossamer and Dean had liked him instantly.
“Headmaster Cole, a pleasure,” Dean answered, holding out a hand. Headmaster Eldrich Cole shook it easily, deceptively delicate looking grip firm and almost hard around Dean’s.
“Ready to begin?” the Headmaster asked jovially.
“I’ll admit I’m a little nervous, but very excited for the opportunity,” Dean replied honestly; he found no reason to lie. The older man seemed to appreciate the younger’s candour and nodded with a small smile.
“Excellent! Well, first things first.” Cole reached into the manila envelope he carried and dug around until he pulled out two cards, one plain white plastic on a lanyard, and the other was a badge with Dean’s photograph and name on it, a magnetic strip along the back a clip at the top.
“The plain white one is your key card,” the Headmaster nodded to the various black boxes at almost every doorway with red lights blazing out at Dean. “The other is, of course, your identification and also your access to both your office and the computer network. You already have your apartment key… Hmm… Left in the envelope is your confidentiality agreement and our school rules and regulations, as well as an events calendar.
“We’ve many social events, for staff, students, and families. We believe it is very important to foster a sense of community in our classrooms and encourage strong bonds and friendships amongst our students. One of my favourite events is the Holiday Ball which we hold annually, just before the end of term. It’s always a joy, full sit-down dinner, presents and various activities and games. The children adore it. Do you have any children?”
Dean answered lowly, “No, Sir, I don’t.” The Headmaster spared him a brief puzzled look but Dean was glad the man didn’t press.
“We support many alternate lifestyles here which is part of our draw… So if you have any issues with that I suggest you get over them, or get out,” the Headmaster said, his previously twinkling eyes now flashing stern and serious.
“Won’t be a problem,” Dean smiled, genuine and polite.
“Glad to hear it,” the Headmaster nodded. “You have free reign to decorate your classroom however you see fit, as long as it isn’t dangerous; just be sure you run it by me before proceeding. Generally I won’t say no, and we do offer a certain stipend for teachers who wish to decorate their classrooms to personal taste. We believe it is important for staff and students to feel comfortable and at home in their classes and recognize that personal enhancements can often foster this. Can you think of anything you require as of now?”
Dean thought for a moment before replying, “All I really need is a comfortable carpeted area and lots of natural light.”
“Done and done,” the headmaster nodded. “The rooms all have large windows as it is. Pick out which carpet you would like and I’ll have someone install it for you. All the flooring is hardwood, so for now you can use the mats we have in the gymnasium, or I can have some pillows brought in for you.”
“Pillows would be great for later too,” Dean nodded.
“Very well. Your room is 32A, Mr. Winchester, all of the classrooms are equipped with the latest in SMART Board technology, several computer stations, a personal laptop for you, preloaded with all the software our school uses, which requires your Identification card to access. Whiteboards, projectors, DocCams, and of course curriculum dictated resources and learning materials.
“Again, as I said, if there is anything you may require during your time with us, just let me or your department head know and we’ll do our utmost to get it for you. Once you get settled, we will work out the various scheduled tasks we’ll need you to undertake. Study hall monitoring and yard duty and whatnot. Basic things, really.
“Students arrive in forty-five minutes, Mr. Winchester. I invite you to take your time getting comfortable in your new classroom. Staff room is down the hall to the right, and I must say we have an excellent café if you enjoy a coffee or tea. Any questions?”
Dean wanted to blurt out, ‘You have your own café?’ but kept it inside and merely shook his head. He thanked the Headmaster and silently wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
xx
To say Dean was nervous was kind of an understatement. They were just kids, just fifteen, eight-year-old kids. Hell, that was half the number that he normally taught in a day. It should be a breeze. So what if they all made more in an hour than he did in a day? Dean swallowed deeply and waited for the bell to ring.
A knock on the door had Dean starting and looking away from the SMART Board. He had been admittedly playing on it to pass the time and was hoping he didn’t have a puddle of drool at his feet. When Dean turned, it was to see a tall man, slender, thin-framed glasses perched on an aquiline nose, brown hair and blue eyes.
“Hey,” Dean began.
“Hello Mister Winchester, I felt it prudent to introduce myself before you begin. My name is Alec Kruschev. I’m the Primary Stream Department Head at the Academy, and I apologize for being unable to greet you sooner.” The man smiled widely and held out a hand as he strode confidently forwards. He had a strange accent that held a hint of English undertones, but it seemed to flicker in and out depending on word choice.
“Oh! Hello!” Dean greeted his new boss. “Please, Mr. Kruschev, call me Dean.”
“I must insist you call me Alec, if that is the case. If you need anything, Dean, please feel free to come see me at any time.” The man flashed another smile, white teeth and sparking eyes and Dean couldn’t help but notice he was good looking, in that young professor, nerdy kind of way. He felt a little guilty the moment he thought it, but he always had a bit of a weakness for sexy nerds.
When the bell did ring, it startled Dean again. It was an old school copper thing that reverberated right down to Dean’s bones and he looked up with surprise at the ceiling.
“Ah ha! To the day, then. I look forward to speaking to you more, Dean. Good luck today.”
“Ah, yeah, thanks, Alec,” Dean nodded.
Alec smiled and turned back to the door and Dean was about to go back to his SMART Board when the man paused and chuckled low and kind of husky, half turning over his shoulder, “Oh, and do enjoy the SMART Board.”
Dean found himself blushing and staring a little blankly at the vacated doorway. A few minutes later, he heard the hushed, excited whispers and tramping feet of just over a dozen mini-millionaires.
The first set of eyes he felt on him were prying and hazel with heavy brows and a stern, suspicious glare. Dean quirked a brow right back at the kid, who hurriedly looked away and skittered to his seat, putting down his leather knapsack beside his desk and staring resolutely at the whirls of the mahogany wood.
Children trickled in, one after another, many open and curious, a few suspicious, and a remarkable amount shy.
“Well, I see fifteen heads, which means you’re all here and accounted for. I’ll let you know right now, no fooling me with names, all right? I’m pretty good with putting faces to who they belong to, and the Headmaster gave me a cheat sheet,” Dean opened, brandishing a piece of paper with neatly gridded school photos and names typed beneath. “So good morning everyone. My name is Mr. Winchester and I’m excited to work with you for my time here. Let’s all come up to the front and grab a cushion. Desks are too formal for introductions.”
The children seemed to hesitate as they stood, staring at Dean as if he was trying to trick them into misbehaving. Gradually, however, they each began to trickle over, taking various cushions at points around the room and Dean waited patiently from his chair at the front.
“All right, so let’s see… first things first. Amdeept Bahadar, Cynthia Blaine, Arwin Chatham, Eva Hinden, Tanner Lynn, Joey Marks, Peter Noel, Jayden Oudette, Jesse Turner…” Here Dean paused for just a moment and met the stern gaze of the first boy who had entered his classroom. The child’s eyes were just as suspicious, and he merely nodded at Dean to acknowledge his name being called. Dean nodded back. Target acquired. Dean finished his roll call and smiled down at his students.
“All right, so as you know, I’m Mister Winchester and now I almost know all of you. Anyone have something fun to share from last night?”
Hands shot up eagerly and Dean settled back to get to know his students. As usual on the first day of school, it flew by as if no time had passed at all, and Dean took each moment he could to observe the mysterious Jesse Turner.
He was a quiet boy and remarkably stern. Dean had seen similar behaviour in children who had relatively little time spent with their parents. When away from school, Dean imagined young Jesse was surrounded by maids and nannies. He had the imperious commanding air that only an overly privileged and wildly under-loved child could possess. Dean made a mental note to get a class set of The Secret Garden for novel study. He imagined these children could use the exposure.
xx
When Dean got home that evening, after greeting Castiel and Sam, he immediately called Andrea and spent an hour waxing poetic about his new classroom. Andrea spent the next after that coveting his SMART Board and DocCam, before they finally bid goodnight and Dean found himself on the receiving end of an angry glare from Castiel.
“Sorry, Babe,” Dean gave an abashed little smile. “I just figured you two wouldn’t want me to go on and on about stupid teacher stuff… And I just had to share, I mean, this classroom is like… like the Bently of classrooms or something. It’s a fucking dream come true is what it is. You know how much I’ve been pestering Missouri to get a SMART Board? I even offered to pay for half the damn thing. It’s an incredible teaching tool, you have no idea, I mean-Um… I’m gonna stop,” Dean sat abruptly down on the couch and stared at his toes, anxiously twisting his fingers on his lap.
Castiel sighed before coming across the room and sitting next to his fiancé. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Dean, truly I am, but we really should discuss the case.”
“Right, you’re right. Jesse, smart kid…” Dean sat and nibbled his lip for a minute before flicking his gaze back up to Castiel. “He’s… troubled, I guess you could say. God, it feels so wrong talking about the kids like this…”
“Dean, please, this is for the best. I promise,” Castiel urged gently. “I know teachers do not make a habit of sharing personal information about their students outside their profession, but you’re here to do precisely that.”
“I know, Cas!” Dean’s green eyes flashed. “Just with so many years of the practice behind me, it’ll be hard to break. You don’t understand. We don’t just do it because we choose not to. We don’t do it because it’s against the code of fucking ethics… Just… just give me a minute.” Dean got up and stormed off to the bedroom.
Sam watched him go, cookie paused halfway to his lips before he quirked a brow at Cas. “This might be tricky,” Sam remarked unnecessarily.
“Really, Sam, is that so?” Cas glared. “I hadn’t the faintest indication that this would be ‘tricky’. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Chill on the sarcasm, Dude, I got as much riding on this as you do,” Sam pouted, morosely munching his cookie, crumbs tumbled down and onto the beige carpet at his feet.
“You better clean that up before he gets back,” Castiel said tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his good hand before pushing himself off of the couch and wandering over to the bookshelf. He just stood there, drumming at the wood with his fingers but not making a move to choose anything.
“Yeah, I know,” Sam grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes.
xx
Dean was staring at the ceiling. He should have been asleep two hours ago, but it was proving remarkably elusive. He sighed and rubbed both hands quickly over his tired face before pushing the sheets and blankets away, shivering slightly in the cool room and snatching a hastily discarded hoodie to pull on over his t-shirt.
He padded out of the room, and saw Castiel staring at his laptop, elbow resting on the armrest of the couch, one finger curled over his bottom lip as he skimmed down whatever it was that was fascinating him. The floor below Dean’s bare feet squeaked.
Castiel turned a slow gaze towards him, his surprise showing in blue eyes. “Dean, why are you awake?”
Dean shrugged and shuffled over, slumping down on the couch next to Castiel, hands still buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
“Yes, that’s terribly enlightening,” Castiel drawled, closing the laptop lid with a soft click and setting it on the coffee table. He winced as the move jarred his collarbone before he settled back with a shaky breath.
“You all right?” Dean asked, looking over at Castiel through the corner of his eye.
“I’ll live,” Castiel shrugged out of habit, then immediately regretted it.
“Jesus, Cas, you take your meds?” Dean asked.
“They make me tired, Dean.”
Dean rolled his eyes and got up, retrieving the pill bottle from the counter and shaking the correct dose out. He wandered back over and handed the pill to Castiel. The older man sighed, but took it and swallowed it down dry.
“Sam and I are heading back home tomorrow afternoon, will you be all right?” Castiel asked after a few moments of quiet.
“’Course,” Dean proclaimed easily.
“I’m going to require daily updates, Dean, you are aware of that.”
“Yes, Cas, I’m aware.”
“Will you manage it? I don’t relish telling Ellen that we made-”
“For Christ’s sake, Castiel! Give me some fucking credit here,” Dean snarled, pushing away from the couch and rounding on the somewhat startled man.
Cas winced again, this time not for the physical pain, but rather the use of his given name. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. Look, I thought it over, all right? I know that’s why I’m here. Whatever I tell you will end up helping Jesse in the long run, I get it, okay? I’ve been mulling it over for the last two fucking hours. I dunno… I just feel like you two jumped right in on me and didn’t give me a chance to think. He’s a little boy, Cas. Not just another target.”
“I know, Dean, you’re right. He is an innocent in all this, caught in a bad situation. I’m sorry if you feel as if we were hasty,” Castiel acknowledged, but left out the part where they sat twiddling their thumbs for two hours while Dean talked on and on with Andrea. Mentioning that wouldn’t win him any points.
Dean nodded, stood for a moment longer, then sat back down. “What were you looking at?”
“Old files we have on Crowley and Lilith. Seeing if anything would be helpful - It wasn’t.”
“Oh.” Dean stared down at his hands before sliding his gaze over. “Jesse’s not happy.”
“Dean?” Cas asked carefully.
“Jesse, their son, he’s not happy. He’s so… cold. I guess. He doesn’t act like a normal eight-year-old at all. I mean, he’s really quiet and he’s ridiculously stern. He doesn’t spend any time with the other kids, not really. I assigned group work today and he just sat there staring down at the desk, like he’s used to being on his own.” Dean sighed, “No kid should be used to being on their own, Cas. It just isn’t right.”
“Yes, I know,” Castiel said quietly.
Dean felt like an ass. “Sorry, Babe. I know you-”
“Dean, I really don’t want to talk about it again, if you don’t mind,” Castiel said coolly.
“Right. Sorry.” Dean bit his lip. “Jesse’s smart, like gifted smart. He’s never been tested, though, I checked. He just has such an… unerring understanding of what the world’s like, too, yanno? I asked about their parents, just a thing to do, and Jesse only said he had a father and a mother and didn’t elaborate. He just seemed so… sad.”
“So you don’t think he knows that much about his parents’ work, then?” Castiel asked, disappointed.
“Never said that,” Dean offered, “I think he knows a hell of a lot more than they’d like him to.”
“Good, then. That’s-” Castiel yawned, “good.”
“Yeah… sure,” Dean remarked despondently. “Anyway, bedtime, I think. Let’s go.”
Castiel nodded tiredly. “I told you those pills made me tired.”
“Yeah, well maybe that means you’ll actually sleep decent hours for a change,” Dean teased.
“I do,” Castiel tried for forceful but it came out kind of pathetic with his droopy eyes and staggering gait.
Dean chuckled, “No, you sleep like a cat.”
“…I like cats.”
“I know you do, Babe. Let’s go to sleep now.”
“We should get a cat…”
Dean snorted, and tucked Castiel into bed.
xx
Dean was staring down at Jesse like a particularly fascinating science experiment. The child had remained stock still for the last fifteen minutes, arms crossed over his chest, lips turned into a firm pout and test paper blank and untouched before him.
“Have to help me out here, Jesse. I know you know this stuff, so why refuse to do it?”
“Dad says I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” Jesse retorted.
“All right… I can understand that on an intellectual level, but why bother coming to school at all if that’s the case?” So yeah, Dean shouldn’t be encouraging truancy, but sometimes you had to play with the system to get the desired results.
Jesse suddenly became stony silent and turned his face away entirely, and Dean quirked a brow at that one. He reached forward to scoop up the untouched paper (that unfortunately he would have to grade anyway,) saying as he did so, “All right, well you can go to recess then, I gue-“
“No! Wait, I’ll do it, I’ll do it. I’ll stay behind if I have to,” Jesse slapped his hands down on the sheet, immediately halting the slide across the desk and Dean held his own up in surrender.
“If that’s what you want. You have the rest of recess and then I’ll need you to stay after class. Can’t take away class time.”
“Okay,” Jesse said quietly and picked up his pencil.
Dean frowned a little and wandered back to his desk, picking up a pencil and rapidly rocking it between his index and middle finger as he observed the enigma that was Jesse Turner. The boy didn’t seem to be hesitating at all as he went through the test. Not in the way that a child who just wanted to get it done, even if he didn’t know the material did, but in the way that indicated to Dean’s trained eye that Jesse knew exactly what he was doing, and should have had no problem finishing the test in the allotted time. So why not do that? Why refuse and pout and seemingly demand to get out of the testing, and then flip immediately the minute Dean suggested Jesse could go?
What was he afraid of?
xx
“He’s afraid, Cas,” Dean said abruptly as soon as the ringer clicked off and Castiel’s crisp voice answered.
“Dean?”
“Jesse. He’s afraid, he knows something, I think, or he thinks something is going to happen. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, he doesn’t play with the other kids, and he hates group work. It’s like he’s afraid to get close to anyone. The kids like him well enough, that really isn’t an issue at all. It’s him, Jesse. He’s holding back and keeping everyone at arm’s length.”
“All right,” Castiel began slowly and evenly, “have you asked him about this?”
“I can’t yet, that’s the thing. I’ve only been teaching for like two weeks, the kids are still getting to know me. I’ve tried really hard, I just… Jesse’s not buying what I’m selling, I guess. He’s such a bright kid. He knows exactly what’s going on around him. He just seems to choose to be separate from it… I’m going to keep trying, though, that’s all I can do and that’s what I want to do.”
“Good, Dean, that’s good. That’s all we can ask of you.”
“And you know how stubborn I can be, not giving up on this nut until it cracks,” Dean grinned into the phone, even though he knew Castiel couldn’t see it. The younger man hoped his partner could hear it at least.
“Yes, I do indeed,” Castiel’s reply was wry and amused.
Dean deflated into a sigh as he sat heavily on the couch. “God, I miss you, Cas.”
“Me too. Home this weekend?”
“I think so. Not gonna set it in stone because I don’t want you to get your hopes up in case something comes up, but I’m going to try.”
xx
This was one of Dean’s favourite times of the day and it was so much easier now with the smaller classroom. The room was filled with that particular hush of focused students. There was a contented buzz in the room. This was the one time of the day when he really got to work one-on-one with his kids.
His newly installed carpet was plush underneath him and the pillows at his back were soft and comfortable. Maggie beamed up at him as she bounced up and took her book from where Dean was offering it to her.
“Excellent work, Maggie,” Dean smiled, making a small comment in his chicken scratch along the bottom of the girl’s Running Records sheet. “You’re catching your errors a lot more without me helping. I’m very proud. I think you’re going to get your blue star today.”
A blue star was for an accomplishment in Language. A red star was for Math. A green for Science, so on and so on. Dean colour-coded each subject and kept all the students’ stickers on a private little chart in their files at his desk. The achievements were for Dean and the students they belonged to.
Dean did not believe in posting the charts publicly. The kids knew when they did well, and it was no one’s business but their own. At the end of the day, Dean would give gold stars for overall achievement. He always let the students know privately when they received one and they would beam at him like he just offered to buy them a puppy or something. Dean loved it.
“Thank you, Mr. Winchester! You’re like the best teacher ever,” Maggie giggled and bounded away.
Dean flipped open his attendance page underneath his papers on the clipboard. He was going reverse alphabetical today and Maggie Wallace was just before Jesse Turner. Dean took a steadying breath and pushed himself to his feet. Jesse was at his desk, hunched over a massive novel about a dragon. Dean knew the book gave the eight-year-old boy no trouble and still shook his head a little in awe.
“You’re up, Jesse,” Dean said.
The boy jumped in surprise and looked up, blinking the text from his gaze.
“Sorry, Jesse. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Dean said, chagrined. Jesse shrugged in response. He moved to tuck his novel away and pull out a slimmer book he had in his desk.
“Hey, don’t worry about that. You can keep with what you’re reading. Looks interesting,” Dean grinned.
Jesse looked utterly sceptical, but shrugged again and shuffled over to the reading corner and slumped down.
Once Dean had settled on the floor, clipboard and pencil on his up drawn knee, he turned to see Jesse’s expectant face. It was eerie how quiet and still the kid could be sometimes, and Dean’s smile was a little strained when he said, “All right, why don’t you tell me a little about what you’re reading so I can get the gist before we begin?”
Dean knew the book, he’d read it once or twice, but like any good teacher, Dean knew sometimes the best way to get your students to communicate was to trick them into showing you what they had learned or how accomplished they were.
Jesse looked resigned as he filled Dean in with key plot points, summarizing recent events in the novel to the point he had reached, and filling Dean in on a few important character details. Dean was impressed, and he scratched a few notes out on Jesse’s paper.
Unlike some children his age, Jesse didn’t just make a show of reading large novels to impress. He actually paid attention and absorbed what was going on. Curiouser and curiouser, Dean thought in the immortal words of young Alice.
“Thanks, Jesse, I’m all caught up now. You did a great job filling me in. Now you go ahead and begin from where you stopped when I came and got you.”
Jesse opened his mouth but did not look as if he was about to start reading. The look he was giving Dean was clearly one that betrayed thoughts of protest, but Jesse snapped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, and began.
Dean listened as Jesse smoothly read through the text, hardly faltering on words a little beyond his grade level, and pausing in all the rights spots. Dean regrettably noted a complete lack of inflection, but not all young children had a flare for the dramatic and would read blandly. Reading aloud wasn’t really natural for a lot of these kids. Dean made his dutiful notes as Jesse read, and paused in his pencil scratches when Jesse’s voice quivered a little. Dean blinked, rewound what he had been listening to, and frowned a little. The dragon was worried about his friend getting hurt.
“Jesse?” Dean prompted when the boy stopped reading all together.
“What if you knew something bad was going to happen, and you knew some people were probably going to get really hurt… But what if you knew telling someone else would only make that person get hurt too? What would you do?”
Dean sucked in a sharp breath that he tried to disguise as a cough. “’Scuse me… Well, Jesse, if someone was going to get hurt, I would think really hard about whom I could tell that would be best able to protect them. Now, sometimes that can be a parent-”
Jesse tensed at that one, and Dean got what he was fishing for. Damnit.
“But not always… Sometimes we should tell our teacher, or sometimes even, if it’s something really, really bad, we should find a way to tell the police. Why, Jesse, is there something you need to tell someone?”
Jesse slowly shook his head. “No, Mr. Winchester… I was just wondering because of… of what’s going on in the story.”
Dean could smell a lie a mile off, but he knew better than to call the boy on it. “Okay then. Do you want to keep reading?”
“I think maybe I’d like to go back to my seat now, Mr. Winchester, if that’s okay.”
“Sure thing, Jesse, you did great today.”
Jesse nodded and hurried off with his book tight against his chest.
Dean sighed and went to go get Jayden.
End Chapter
Previous | Master Post | Next
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all associated characters belong to Kripke and Co. I make absolutely no claims on any of them.
Special Thanks to dapperscript for the wonderful beta! Thank you!
Please see Master Post for Notes, Cover Art and Further Information
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Castiel was fretting and he hated it. Castiel didn’t fret, he left fretting to those who were weak-minded and weak-willed. Castiel planned and plotted and observed and did, he did not fret and stress and worry.
“Dude, would you relax? It’s a school. I’ve been in them my entire life. I have no idea what you think could possibly go wrong.”
“Don’t say that,” Castiel hissed, then looked around as if Dean had called down the very wrath of Heaven itself.
“Man, what’s with you? You okay, Cas? This really isn’t like you.” Dean was all sympathy instantly as he moved up into Castiel’s personal space and cupped his stubbled jaw in a callused hand.
Castiel leaned into the warmth and let out a shaky breath through his nose. “I’m sorry,” Castel whispered. “I suppose I’m still a little raw from the whole getting blown-up thing. Maybe some weird PTSD or something.”
“Hey, you know as well as I do… okay better than I do, that that’s not something to be taken lightly. You talk to Gabe?” Dean frowned, completely serious.
Castiel huffed, “Dean, I don’t have PTSD… I’m all right, I just-” Castiel cut himself off abruptly, sucked in a breath, firm and sharp, steeled his gaze over and locked blue on green. Dean started a little and blinked before settling into acceptance of Castiel’s familiar stoicism.
“I’m perfectly well,” Castiel said again, more insistently.
“Okay,” Dean said, a little uncertain but willing. After all he was kind of great right now. He was going to be an uncle, and now he had the official word straight from the… well half the horse, he supposed, so he labeled Sammy the horse’s ass immediately. He was fucking engaged, to an amazing man who was way too good for him, which was really, really awesome but utterly terrifying all at once. Not to mention he was going to help people.
Yeah, it sucked that he had to leave his kids, but he’d be back soon enough, he was sure, and in the meantime he’d get to meet a whole other, probably equally fantastic group of kids. It would be a growing experience, or whatever. Yes, Castiel’s weird attitude was unsettling but he was Castiel. So Dean would accept what the older man said. For one, because Castiel was just weird in general, which Dean had been fully aware of from day one and had made no moves to change.
Not to mention, Castiel had been a pinnacle in Dean’s life of strength, virtue, righteousness, and seemingly limitlessness, for the past three years. Dean had never once wavered from his complete faith and trust in Castiel because he was just that good. And sure, maybe Dean still retrained some of that hero-worship of a 29 year old kid who stumbled into a bar with his little brother and met a former soldier and FBI agent. Dean figured he was allowed considering he was marrying the guy. So if Castiel said he was good, Dean would take it at face value and stomp viciously down on the niggling in his gut that something was wrong.
“You guys didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Dean remarked, stepping back.
Castiel huffed and rolled his eyes. “Dean, of course we did. Any other agent going undercover would have backup the first day.”
“No offence, but you two are kind of useless right now. You can’t run and Sammy can’t shoot,” Dean gave his fiancé a critical once over. “You were unconscious and in the hospital not even a week ago.”
“Ellen suspects there will be no problems, but in the event that there are, we have a back-up unit not that far from here.”
“So my backup needs backup? That’s reassuring,” Dean teased.
“Don’t be an ass,” Castiel glared, but a grin quirked his lips.
Sam shouldered open the door of the small faculty apartment that Dean had been given for the duration of his stay at the Academy. Due to the secluded location of the school, they had housing for both staff and students and it was customary for all faculty members to be assigned one. Dean figured he’d only be here once and a while, home was only an hour and a half drive away.
“Breakfast,” Sam managed by way of greeting, holding a white take-out bag in his teeth and a tray of coffees in his one good hand.
“Oh thank God,” Castiel said, hurrying over to relieve Sam of his burden. The blue-eyed man hadn’t seen this hour of the morning since his last stake-out, which was nearly a year ago now.
Sam chuckled and switched the bag to his recently vacated hand. “So we good to go?”
“Once I get caffeinated and fed,” Dean nodded, taking the coffee marked black out of the tray and fishing around the bag he snatched from Sam for his awaiting breakfast sandwich. He scowled at the oatmeal and fruit cup, tossing those to his bizarre little brother.
Castiel edged away from Sam when he caught sight of the pineapple in the plastic bowl and glared. “If any of that leaked onto my food and I suffocate to death, it’s on you,” the blue-eyed man remarked.
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Cas, they’ve double wrapped your muffin. No allergic reactions on my watch. I don’t think my brother would ever forgive me if his boy-toy was killed by tropical fruit.”
“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” Dean nodded. He took Castiel’s muffin out and unwrapped it himself just to be safe, handing it to Castiel.
Castiel sidled around Dean and used him as a shield from the evil fruit, despite Sam’s assurances, and hesitantly inspected his carrot muffin before taking a bite. He chewed hastily, but when no tingling and subsequent swelling began, he relaxed.
They sat around in Dean’s small but well-appointed apartment, sipping coffees and merely content in each other’s presence. Despite his protests, Dean appreciated that they were both here for this. It was nice to know that they were only a building away if Dean needed anything, or his anxiety spiked. He knew they were watching him, and tried to quell the urge to straighten the wrappers on the coffee table or pick up a pillow that had tumbled to the floor. The wrappers he could resist, but the pillow was proving a worthy adversary.
Castiel flicked his gaze over and casually put the pillow back on the chair it tumbled from. Dean’s shoulders relaxed fractionally.
“You’re sure you’re ready?” Sam asked, darting his gaze over his brother’s features, looking for any of the telltale signs he learned to read nearly thirty years ago. Castiel did the same, but his experience didn’t date back nearly as long. Both, however, were satisfied that Dean seemed as relaxed as he was going to be and the partners shared a glance of confirmation between them.
“Too late not to be,” Dean stood, cleaning up the small living room and carrying the breakfast refuse over to the trash bin. He came back with a dishcloth and wiped the coffee table down before neatly draping it over the sink and turning back.
“Either of you seen my tie? I have to meet with the headmaster in fifteen minutes.”
Castiel and Sam both gave the man between them a blank look. Where else would Dean Winchester’s tie be except exactly where it was supposed to be? Dean grinned and walked over to the little closet, pulling the neatly rolled silk from the small shelf and laying it across his shoulders. He made quick work of the full Windsor and paused to glance at himself in the mirror. Well-fitted charcoal grey suit, neatly pressed white dress shirt, and pale green tie. He fluffed his hair once and turned back to his fiancé and brother.
“All right, let’s do this thing. I’ll see you guys later, don’t destroy the place while I’m gone,” Dean grinned. He slipped into his shoes and grabbed his soft leather satchel, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Good luck,” Castiel said gently.
“Knock ‘em dead,” Sam grinned.
With a jaunty wave, Dean scooted out of the apartment and made his way down the hall. He briefly considered the elevator, but was in no mood to ride in small confined metal boxes right now and headed for the stairs instead. The building only had four floors and his apartment was on the third, after all.
He crossed the quad and headed to the building that housed the faculty offices and the Headmaster’s apartment. The Headmaster was going to meet him in the lobby of the building and show him around the school before the classes began in an hour.
For the most part, it was like any other elementary school, where students stayed in one room for the majority of the day, only going out for any specialty classes or their teacher’s prep period. Dean wasn’t so lucky as to score his prep adjacent to lunch hour at this school and had to resign himself to second period when the children were off in music class.
The only difference, really, between the Academy and a public school, was the budget. The children were not just taught music by some guy who maybe or maybe hadn’t majored in it; they were taught by a world renowned composer. They had the best equipment, the best books, the best materials, and the best rooms. Each was dressed like an odd little Stepford clone, in his or her green, grey, and black uniforms, with shoes that probably cost more than Dean’s entire salary for a year at his old school.
In his initial walk through, Dean had seen a few of the older kids writing with silver pens in leather bound notebooks, and those who weren’t keen on the more traditional methods all had individual iPads out in front of them. Cellphones and music players attached to many ears as well, strange little futuristic things that cost way more than Dean wanted to think about. He, however, could handle this. He was a professional after all.
“Mr. Dean Winchester! Pleasure to see you again!” a clean-shaven elderly man with twinkling eyes and hair grayed to white greeted him pleasantly. He was rail thin, and his skin looked like paper, but he had strength under all the gossamer and Dean had liked him instantly.
“Headmaster Cole, a pleasure,” Dean answered, holding out a hand. Headmaster Eldrich Cole shook it easily, deceptively delicate looking grip firm and almost hard around Dean’s.
“Ready to begin?” the Headmaster asked jovially.
“I’ll admit I’m a little nervous, but very excited for the opportunity,” Dean replied honestly; he found no reason to lie. The older man seemed to appreciate the younger’s candour and nodded with a small smile.
“Excellent! Well, first things first.” Cole reached into the manila envelope he carried and dug around until he pulled out two cards, one plain white plastic on a lanyard, and the other was a badge with Dean’s photograph and name on it, a magnetic strip along the back a clip at the top.
“The plain white one is your key card,” the Headmaster nodded to the various black boxes at almost every doorway with red lights blazing out at Dean. “The other is, of course, your identification and also your access to both your office and the computer network. You already have your apartment key… Hmm… Left in the envelope is your confidentiality agreement and our school rules and regulations, as well as an events calendar.
“We’ve many social events, for staff, students, and families. We believe it is very important to foster a sense of community in our classrooms and encourage strong bonds and friendships amongst our students. One of my favourite events is the Holiday Ball which we hold annually, just before the end of term. It’s always a joy, full sit-down dinner, presents and various activities and games. The children adore it. Do you have any children?”
Dean answered lowly, “No, Sir, I don’t.” The Headmaster spared him a brief puzzled look but Dean was glad the man didn’t press.
“We support many alternate lifestyles here which is part of our draw… So if you have any issues with that I suggest you get over them, or get out,” the Headmaster said, his previously twinkling eyes now flashing stern and serious.
“Won’t be a problem,” Dean smiled, genuine and polite.
“Glad to hear it,” the Headmaster nodded. “You have free reign to decorate your classroom however you see fit, as long as it isn’t dangerous; just be sure you run it by me before proceeding. Generally I won’t say no, and we do offer a certain stipend for teachers who wish to decorate their classrooms to personal taste. We believe it is important for staff and students to feel comfortable and at home in their classes and recognize that personal enhancements can often foster this. Can you think of anything you require as of now?”
Dean thought for a moment before replying, “All I really need is a comfortable carpeted area and lots of natural light.”
“Done and done,” the headmaster nodded. “The rooms all have large windows as it is. Pick out which carpet you would like and I’ll have someone install it for you. All the flooring is hardwood, so for now you can use the mats we have in the gymnasium, or I can have some pillows brought in for you.”
“Pillows would be great for later too,” Dean nodded.
“Very well. Your room is 32A, Mr. Winchester, all of the classrooms are equipped with the latest in SMART Board technology, several computer stations, a personal laptop for you, preloaded with all the software our school uses, which requires your Identification card to access. Whiteboards, projectors, DocCams, and of course curriculum dictated resources and learning materials.
“Again, as I said, if there is anything you may require during your time with us, just let me or your department head know and we’ll do our utmost to get it for you. Once you get settled, we will work out the various scheduled tasks we’ll need you to undertake. Study hall monitoring and yard duty and whatnot. Basic things, really.
“Students arrive in forty-five minutes, Mr. Winchester. I invite you to take your time getting comfortable in your new classroom. Staff room is down the hall to the right, and I must say we have an excellent café if you enjoy a coffee or tea. Any questions?”
Dean wanted to blurt out, ‘You have your own café?’ but kept it inside and merely shook his head. He thanked the Headmaster and silently wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
xx
To say Dean was nervous was kind of an understatement. They were just kids, just fifteen, eight-year-old kids. Hell, that was half the number that he normally taught in a day. It should be a breeze. So what if they all made more in an hour than he did in a day? Dean swallowed deeply and waited for the bell to ring.
A knock on the door had Dean starting and looking away from the SMART Board. He had been admittedly playing on it to pass the time and was hoping he didn’t have a puddle of drool at his feet. When Dean turned, it was to see a tall man, slender, thin-framed glasses perched on an aquiline nose, brown hair and blue eyes.
“Hey,” Dean began.
“Hello Mister Winchester, I felt it prudent to introduce myself before you begin. My name is Alec Kruschev. I’m the Primary Stream Department Head at the Academy, and I apologize for being unable to greet you sooner.” The man smiled widely and held out a hand as he strode confidently forwards. He had a strange accent that held a hint of English undertones, but it seemed to flicker in and out depending on word choice.
“Oh! Hello!” Dean greeted his new boss. “Please, Mr. Kruschev, call me Dean.”
“I must insist you call me Alec, if that is the case. If you need anything, Dean, please feel free to come see me at any time.” The man flashed another smile, white teeth and sparking eyes and Dean couldn’t help but notice he was good looking, in that young professor, nerdy kind of way. He felt a little guilty the moment he thought it, but he always had a bit of a weakness for sexy nerds.
When the bell did ring, it startled Dean again. It was an old school copper thing that reverberated right down to Dean’s bones and he looked up with surprise at the ceiling.
“Ah ha! To the day, then. I look forward to speaking to you more, Dean. Good luck today.”
“Ah, yeah, thanks, Alec,” Dean nodded.
Alec smiled and turned back to the door and Dean was about to go back to his SMART Board when the man paused and chuckled low and kind of husky, half turning over his shoulder, “Oh, and do enjoy the SMART Board.”
Dean found himself blushing and staring a little blankly at the vacated doorway. A few minutes later, he heard the hushed, excited whispers and tramping feet of just over a dozen mini-millionaires.
The first set of eyes he felt on him were prying and hazel with heavy brows and a stern, suspicious glare. Dean quirked a brow right back at the kid, who hurriedly looked away and skittered to his seat, putting down his leather knapsack beside his desk and staring resolutely at the whirls of the mahogany wood.
Children trickled in, one after another, many open and curious, a few suspicious, and a remarkable amount shy.
“Well, I see fifteen heads, which means you’re all here and accounted for. I’ll let you know right now, no fooling me with names, all right? I’m pretty good with putting faces to who they belong to, and the Headmaster gave me a cheat sheet,” Dean opened, brandishing a piece of paper with neatly gridded school photos and names typed beneath. “So good morning everyone. My name is Mr. Winchester and I’m excited to work with you for my time here. Let’s all come up to the front and grab a cushion. Desks are too formal for introductions.”
The children seemed to hesitate as they stood, staring at Dean as if he was trying to trick them into misbehaving. Gradually, however, they each began to trickle over, taking various cushions at points around the room and Dean waited patiently from his chair at the front.
“All right, so let’s see… first things first. Amdeept Bahadar, Cynthia Blaine, Arwin Chatham, Eva Hinden, Tanner Lynn, Joey Marks, Peter Noel, Jayden Oudette, Jesse Turner…” Here Dean paused for just a moment and met the stern gaze of the first boy who had entered his classroom. The child’s eyes were just as suspicious, and he merely nodded at Dean to acknowledge his name being called. Dean nodded back. Target acquired. Dean finished his roll call and smiled down at his students.
“All right, so as you know, I’m Mister Winchester and now I almost know all of you. Anyone have something fun to share from last night?”
Hands shot up eagerly and Dean settled back to get to know his students. As usual on the first day of school, it flew by as if no time had passed at all, and Dean took each moment he could to observe the mysterious Jesse Turner.
He was a quiet boy and remarkably stern. Dean had seen similar behaviour in children who had relatively little time spent with their parents. When away from school, Dean imagined young Jesse was surrounded by maids and nannies. He had the imperious commanding air that only an overly privileged and wildly under-loved child could possess. Dean made a mental note to get a class set of The Secret Garden for novel study. He imagined these children could use the exposure.
xx
When Dean got home that evening, after greeting Castiel and Sam, he immediately called Andrea and spent an hour waxing poetic about his new classroom. Andrea spent the next after that coveting his SMART Board and DocCam, before they finally bid goodnight and Dean found himself on the receiving end of an angry glare from Castiel.
“Sorry, Babe,” Dean gave an abashed little smile. “I just figured you two wouldn’t want me to go on and on about stupid teacher stuff… And I just had to share, I mean, this classroom is like… like the Bently of classrooms or something. It’s a fucking dream come true is what it is. You know how much I’ve been pestering Missouri to get a SMART Board? I even offered to pay for half the damn thing. It’s an incredible teaching tool, you have no idea, I mean-Um… I’m gonna stop,” Dean sat abruptly down on the couch and stared at his toes, anxiously twisting his fingers on his lap.
Castiel sighed before coming across the room and sitting next to his fiancé. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Dean, truly I am, but we really should discuss the case.”
“Right, you’re right. Jesse, smart kid…” Dean sat and nibbled his lip for a minute before flicking his gaze back up to Castiel. “He’s… troubled, I guess you could say. God, it feels so wrong talking about the kids like this…”
“Dean, please, this is for the best. I promise,” Castiel urged gently. “I know teachers do not make a habit of sharing personal information about their students outside their profession, but you’re here to do precisely that.”
“I know, Cas!” Dean’s green eyes flashed. “Just with so many years of the practice behind me, it’ll be hard to break. You don’t understand. We don’t just do it because we choose not to. We don’t do it because it’s against the code of fucking ethics… Just… just give me a minute.” Dean got up and stormed off to the bedroom.
Sam watched him go, cookie paused halfway to his lips before he quirked a brow at Cas. “This might be tricky,” Sam remarked unnecessarily.
“Really, Sam, is that so?” Cas glared. “I hadn’t the faintest indication that this would be ‘tricky’. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Chill on the sarcasm, Dude, I got as much riding on this as you do,” Sam pouted, morosely munching his cookie, crumbs tumbled down and onto the beige carpet at his feet.
“You better clean that up before he gets back,” Castiel said tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his good hand before pushing himself off of the couch and wandering over to the bookshelf. He just stood there, drumming at the wood with his fingers but not making a move to choose anything.
“Yeah, I know,” Sam grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes.
xx
Dean was staring at the ceiling. He should have been asleep two hours ago, but it was proving remarkably elusive. He sighed and rubbed both hands quickly over his tired face before pushing the sheets and blankets away, shivering slightly in the cool room and snatching a hastily discarded hoodie to pull on over his t-shirt.
He padded out of the room, and saw Castiel staring at his laptop, elbow resting on the armrest of the couch, one finger curled over his bottom lip as he skimmed down whatever it was that was fascinating him. The floor below Dean’s bare feet squeaked.
Castiel turned a slow gaze towards him, his surprise showing in blue eyes. “Dean, why are you awake?”
Dean shrugged and shuffled over, slumping down on the couch next to Castiel, hands still buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
“Yes, that’s terribly enlightening,” Castiel drawled, closing the laptop lid with a soft click and setting it on the coffee table. He winced as the move jarred his collarbone before he settled back with a shaky breath.
“You all right?” Dean asked, looking over at Castiel through the corner of his eye.
“I’ll live,” Castiel shrugged out of habit, then immediately regretted it.
“Jesus, Cas, you take your meds?” Dean asked.
“They make me tired, Dean.”
Dean rolled his eyes and got up, retrieving the pill bottle from the counter and shaking the correct dose out. He wandered back over and handed the pill to Castiel. The older man sighed, but took it and swallowed it down dry.
“Sam and I are heading back home tomorrow afternoon, will you be all right?” Castiel asked after a few moments of quiet.
“’Course,” Dean proclaimed easily.
“I’m going to require daily updates, Dean, you are aware of that.”
“Yes, Cas, I’m aware.”
“Will you manage it? I don’t relish telling Ellen that we made-”
“For Christ’s sake, Castiel! Give me some fucking credit here,” Dean snarled, pushing away from the couch and rounding on the somewhat startled man.
Cas winced again, this time not for the physical pain, but rather the use of his given name. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. Look, I thought it over, all right? I know that’s why I’m here. Whatever I tell you will end up helping Jesse in the long run, I get it, okay? I’ve been mulling it over for the last two fucking hours. I dunno… I just feel like you two jumped right in on me and didn’t give me a chance to think. He’s a little boy, Cas. Not just another target.”
“I know, Dean, you’re right. He is an innocent in all this, caught in a bad situation. I’m sorry if you feel as if we were hasty,” Castiel acknowledged, but left out the part where they sat twiddling their thumbs for two hours while Dean talked on and on with Andrea. Mentioning that wouldn’t win him any points.
Dean nodded, stood for a moment longer, then sat back down. “What were you looking at?”
“Old files we have on Crowley and Lilith. Seeing if anything would be helpful - It wasn’t.”
“Oh.” Dean stared down at his hands before sliding his gaze over. “Jesse’s not happy.”
“Dean?” Cas asked carefully.
“Jesse, their son, he’s not happy. He’s so… cold. I guess. He doesn’t act like a normal eight-year-old at all. I mean, he’s really quiet and he’s ridiculously stern. He doesn’t spend any time with the other kids, not really. I assigned group work today and he just sat there staring down at the desk, like he’s used to being on his own.” Dean sighed, “No kid should be used to being on their own, Cas. It just isn’t right.”
“Yes, I know,” Castiel said quietly.
Dean felt like an ass. “Sorry, Babe. I know you-”
“Dean, I really don’t want to talk about it again, if you don’t mind,” Castiel said coolly.
“Right. Sorry.” Dean bit his lip. “Jesse’s smart, like gifted smart. He’s never been tested, though, I checked. He just has such an… unerring understanding of what the world’s like, too, yanno? I asked about their parents, just a thing to do, and Jesse only said he had a father and a mother and didn’t elaborate. He just seemed so… sad.”
“So you don’t think he knows that much about his parents’ work, then?” Castiel asked, disappointed.
“Never said that,” Dean offered, “I think he knows a hell of a lot more than they’d like him to.”
“Good, then. That’s-” Castiel yawned, “good.”
“Yeah… sure,” Dean remarked despondently. “Anyway, bedtime, I think. Let’s go.”
Castiel nodded tiredly. “I told you those pills made me tired.”
“Yeah, well maybe that means you’ll actually sleep decent hours for a change,” Dean teased.
“I do,” Castiel tried for forceful but it came out kind of pathetic with his droopy eyes and staggering gait.
Dean chuckled, “No, you sleep like a cat.”
“…I like cats.”
“I know you do, Babe. Let’s go to sleep now.”
“We should get a cat…”
Dean snorted, and tucked Castiel into bed.
xx
Dean was staring down at Jesse like a particularly fascinating science experiment. The child had remained stock still for the last fifteen minutes, arms crossed over his chest, lips turned into a firm pout and test paper blank and untouched before him.
“Have to help me out here, Jesse. I know you know this stuff, so why refuse to do it?”
“Dad says I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” Jesse retorted.
“All right… I can understand that on an intellectual level, but why bother coming to school at all if that’s the case?” So yeah, Dean shouldn’t be encouraging truancy, but sometimes you had to play with the system to get the desired results.
Jesse suddenly became stony silent and turned his face away entirely, and Dean quirked a brow at that one. He reached forward to scoop up the untouched paper (that unfortunately he would have to grade anyway,) saying as he did so, “All right, well you can go to recess then, I gue-“
“No! Wait, I’ll do it, I’ll do it. I’ll stay behind if I have to,” Jesse slapped his hands down on the sheet, immediately halting the slide across the desk and Dean held his own up in surrender.
“If that’s what you want. You have the rest of recess and then I’ll need you to stay after class. Can’t take away class time.”
“Okay,” Jesse said quietly and picked up his pencil.
Dean frowned a little and wandered back to his desk, picking up a pencil and rapidly rocking it between his index and middle finger as he observed the enigma that was Jesse Turner. The boy didn’t seem to be hesitating at all as he went through the test. Not in the way that a child who just wanted to get it done, even if he didn’t know the material did, but in the way that indicated to Dean’s trained eye that Jesse knew exactly what he was doing, and should have had no problem finishing the test in the allotted time. So why not do that? Why refuse and pout and seemingly demand to get out of the testing, and then flip immediately the minute Dean suggested Jesse could go?
What was he afraid of?
xx
“He’s afraid, Cas,” Dean said abruptly as soon as the ringer clicked off and Castiel’s crisp voice answered.
“Dean?”
“Jesse. He’s afraid, he knows something, I think, or he thinks something is going to happen. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, he doesn’t play with the other kids, and he hates group work. It’s like he’s afraid to get close to anyone. The kids like him well enough, that really isn’t an issue at all. It’s him, Jesse. He’s holding back and keeping everyone at arm’s length.”
“All right,” Castiel began slowly and evenly, “have you asked him about this?”
“I can’t yet, that’s the thing. I’ve only been teaching for like two weeks, the kids are still getting to know me. I’ve tried really hard, I just… Jesse’s not buying what I’m selling, I guess. He’s such a bright kid. He knows exactly what’s going on around him. He just seems to choose to be separate from it… I’m going to keep trying, though, that’s all I can do and that’s what I want to do.”
“Good, Dean, that’s good. That’s all we can ask of you.”
“And you know how stubborn I can be, not giving up on this nut until it cracks,” Dean grinned into the phone, even though he knew Castiel couldn’t see it. The younger man hoped his partner could hear it at least.
“Yes, I do indeed,” Castiel’s reply was wry and amused.
Dean deflated into a sigh as he sat heavily on the couch. “God, I miss you, Cas.”
“Me too. Home this weekend?”
“I think so. Not gonna set it in stone because I don’t want you to get your hopes up in case something comes up, but I’m going to try.”
xx
This was one of Dean’s favourite times of the day and it was so much easier now with the smaller classroom. The room was filled with that particular hush of focused students. There was a contented buzz in the room. This was the one time of the day when he really got to work one-on-one with his kids.
His newly installed carpet was plush underneath him and the pillows at his back were soft and comfortable. Maggie beamed up at him as she bounced up and took her book from where Dean was offering it to her.
“Excellent work, Maggie,” Dean smiled, making a small comment in his chicken scratch along the bottom of the girl’s Running Records sheet. “You’re catching your errors a lot more without me helping. I’m very proud. I think you’re going to get your blue star today.”
A blue star was for an accomplishment in Language. A red star was for Math. A green for Science, so on and so on. Dean colour-coded each subject and kept all the students’ stickers on a private little chart in their files at his desk. The achievements were for Dean and the students they belonged to.
Dean did not believe in posting the charts publicly. The kids knew when they did well, and it was no one’s business but their own. At the end of the day, Dean would give gold stars for overall achievement. He always let the students know privately when they received one and they would beam at him like he just offered to buy them a puppy or something. Dean loved it.
“Thank you, Mr. Winchester! You’re like the best teacher ever,” Maggie giggled and bounded away.
Dean flipped open his attendance page underneath his papers on the clipboard. He was going reverse alphabetical today and Maggie Wallace was just before Jesse Turner. Dean took a steadying breath and pushed himself to his feet. Jesse was at his desk, hunched over a massive novel about a dragon. Dean knew the book gave the eight-year-old boy no trouble and still shook his head a little in awe.
“You’re up, Jesse,” Dean said.
The boy jumped in surprise and looked up, blinking the text from his gaze.
“Sorry, Jesse. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Dean said, chagrined. Jesse shrugged in response. He moved to tuck his novel away and pull out a slimmer book he had in his desk.
“Hey, don’t worry about that. You can keep with what you’re reading. Looks interesting,” Dean grinned.
Jesse looked utterly sceptical, but shrugged again and shuffled over to the reading corner and slumped down.
Once Dean had settled on the floor, clipboard and pencil on his up drawn knee, he turned to see Jesse’s expectant face. It was eerie how quiet and still the kid could be sometimes, and Dean’s smile was a little strained when he said, “All right, why don’t you tell me a little about what you’re reading so I can get the gist before we begin?”
Dean knew the book, he’d read it once or twice, but like any good teacher, Dean knew sometimes the best way to get your students to communicate was to trick them into showing you what they had learned or how accomplished they were.
Jesse looked resigned as he filled Dean in with key plot points, summarizing recent events in the novel to the point he had reached, and filling Dean in on a few important character details. Dean was impressed, and he scratched a few notes out on Jesse’s paper.
Unlike some children his age, Jesse didn’t just make a show of reading large novels to impress. He actually paid attention and absorbed what was going on. Curiouser and curiouser, Dean thought in the immortal words of young Alice.
“Thanks, Jesse, I’m all caught up now. You did a great job filling me in. Now you go ahead and begin from where you stopped when I came and got you.”
Jesse opened his mouth but did not look as if he was about to start reading. The look he was giving Dean was clearly one that betrayed thoughts of protest, but Jesse snapped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, and began.
Dean listened as Jesse smoothly read through the text, hardly faltering on words a little beyond his grade level, and pausing in all the rights spots. Dean regrettably noted a complete lack of inflection, but not all young children had a flare for the dramatic and would read blandly. Reading aloud wasn’t really natural for a lot of these kids. Dean made his dutiful notes as Jesse read, and paused in his pencil scratches when Jesse’s voice quivered a little. Dean blinked, rewound what he had been listening to, and frowned a little. The dragon was worried about his friend getting hurt.
“Jesse?” Dean prompted when the boy stopped reading all together.
“What if you knew something bad was going to happen, and you knew some people were probably going to get really hurt… But what if you knew telling someone else would only make that person get hurt too? What would you do?”
Dean sucked in a sharp breath that he tried to disguise as a cough. “’Scuse me… Well, Jesse, if someone was going to get hurt, I would think really hard about whom I could tell that would be best able to protect them. Now, sometimes that can be a parent-”
Jesse tensed at that one, and Dean got what he was fishing for. Damnit.
“But not always… Sometimes we should tell our teacher, or sometimes even, if it’s something really, really bad, we should find a way to tell the police. Why, Jesse, is there something you need to tell someone?”
Jesse slowly shook his head. “No, Mr. Winchester… I was just wondering because of… of what’s going on in the story.”
Dean could smell a lie a mile off, but he knew better than to call the boy on it. “Okay then. Do you want to keep reading?”
“I think maybe I’d like to go back to my seat now, Mr. Winchester, if that’s okay.”
“Sure thing, Jesse, you did great today.”
Jesse nodded and hurried off with his book tight against his chest.
Dean sighed and went to go get Jayden.
End Chapter
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