Chapter Text
Dean was in seventh grade when his parents promised him they were staying; this time for good.
Dean was still in seventh grade when they inevitably broke that promise and bid the town of Limestone, Illinois farewell.
Just like he knew they would.
Before Limestone it had been Cold Oak, South Dakota.
And before that it was Red Lodge, Montana, Bodega Bay, California, Hibbing Minnesota and Easter, Pennsylvania--just to name a few.
Mom calls themselves nomads and says each new town is an "exotic place to be discovered." He knows how incredibly full of BS that is, but she's just trying to make the best of an entirely sucky situation, so he doesn't question it.
"I'm sorry, honey," She sighs, the morning of Dean's first day at his new school. She rushes around their new kitchen, cell phone in hand, too frazzled to find the time to so much as glance in his direction. "Well, find the damn file, then," she snaps into her cell phone. "Dean, can you pack lunches for you and Sam?"
"Already did."
"Good," she turns to him and flashes a quick but gracious smile until her phone call ultimately steals back her attention.
Dean turns to his little brother who's staring at his new Batman backpack petulantly.
The constant moving around has been hard on Dean, he can only imagine what the never ending change must be like for eight year old Sam. The poor kid's never had enough time to so much as make a real friend.
"How ya doing Sammy?" Dean asks, plunking down into the hard kitchen chair next to Sam's. He snatches a few dry Cheerio's from Sam's untouched bowl and stuffs them in his mouth. A few miss and scatter to the floor.
"Dean,"
It's at that very moment that his dad chooses to stride into the kitchen, his eyes zeroing in on the cereal scattered across the shiny new tile.
"Clean it up."
Dean falls to the floor and does his best to quietly pick up his mess. When Sam joins him to help without hesitation, it's the best Dean's felt all morning.
"I don't want to go to a new school," Sam groans as the two brothers wait for their parents on the huge new staircase of their huge new house. Mom had said they'd only be a few minutes and then they'd take them to school, but Dean already knows they're going to be late.
But he's not concerned. He's learned by now that first impressions don't really matter. They'll just be moving away in another few months again.
But the routine-ness of a new school doesn't make it any more appealing. So Dean nods in agreement and shoots Sam a sad I Understand type of smile. He's no more excited to be the New Kid two months into the school year than Sam is.
"And I hate this stupid backpack," Sam sighs, giving the cartoon Batman a hard poke. "I don't even like Batman. And I'm too old for kid backpacks, anyways. Why did dad buy this one?"
Because he doesn't know you hate Batman.
"Because Batman's awesome," Dean argues as he looks over his plain blue Jansport faux-contemplatively. "Trade me."
He's going to get torn apart for showing up with this kiddy monstrosity on his back.
But the instantaneous joy and relief that floods Sam's face as he and Dean swap packs is worth it.
They drop Sam off at his respective school and arrive at Dean's just twenty minutes after the first bell has rung.
"Alright, be good. No trouble," his dad tells him as Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and stares at the brick building looming in front of him.
"You're not coming in with me?"
His dad sighs heavily and he immediately wishes he hadn't asked.
"Dean, you're old enough to do this by yourself. And I'm late."
"Right, okay," he concedes hastily brushing off his dad's words. He opens the car door and swings his backpack onto his shoulder. "Bye--"
The impala peels away from the curb and Dean watches it speed down the road and out of sight.
He turns to face his new school with a heavy heart and heads towards the front doors, alone.
The inside of the school looks just like every other middle school he's been to; lockers, linoleum tiles, bad paint jobs and trophy cases that boast mediocre accomplishments. He finds his way to the main office fairly easily.
"Can I help you?"
A secretary at the big front desk eyes Dean with raised eyebrows as he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot.
"Uh yeah. I'm new. Is this where I get my schedule?"
"Clearly," The secretary, Mrs. Harvelle, according to the small placard on her desk, deadpans. Dean swallows nervously. "What's your name?"
"Dean Winchester," he shuffles closer, leaning against the desk lightly. "Seventh grade?"
"Yeah...here you are, Mr. Winchester," Mrs. Harvelle staples some papers together before handing them to Dean. "That's your schedule, school map and Code of Conduct. If you have any questions my daughter Jo is in your grade. Ask her or swing by,"
Her advice is nice but the way she says it is brash and leaves Dean wondering if he likes or dislikes this secretary. "Uh, okay. Thanks."
He stares at the schedule in his hands as he reaches for the offices door when it flies open and sends him reeling.
"--He's a homophobic asshole-!"
"--She was on top of me!"
"--self defense and you know it-"
"--Bloody nose for God's sake-!"
"Would the lot of you shut up?"
Dean is still picking himself up from the floor and brushing himself off, unnoticed by the small but chaotic group, when Mrs. Harvelle's exclamation quiets the room.
"Now what's going on here?"
Dean watches curiously as a pretty brunette steps forward, her face set in a hard frown.
"Raph here is the instigator of a hate crime--"
"Or maybe I just suck at volleyball!" The furious dark-skinned boy protests.
"Guys--" Dean's gaze snaps a lean dark haired boy who's caught in between the two arguing.
And the first thought that jumps to his mind is terrifying:
He's cute.
What the fuck.
Before he can listen to the argument anymore he brushes past the group and hurries out of the office, too frazzled by the fact he just thought a boy was cute.
He already can't wait to leave this school.