About A Boy--Supernatural (Alternate Ending) #JustWriteIt

Part 3

"I'm still older than you, Sammy, you don't get to make these decisions for me!" Dean scowled, but the effect was lessened notably by the gentles of his young features, and the zit just above his left eyebrow.

"What else are you gonna do, Dean? It's just one day. It won't kill you." Sam fixed the collar of his fed suit and checked for his ID.

"Have you never seen Heathers? Murder, Sammy. Psychopaths ready to blow up entire schools. High school kills, little brother!"

Sam let o ut a slow, measured breath. "We deal with murder most days, Dean. Besides, when has any movie with Winona Ryder in it been remotely plausible?"

"In our line of work? A lot of them! Dracula! Come on, man, if vampires are real then so is JD."

"It's high school, Dean. You survived it once before. You can do it again." Exasperated, he threw a schoolbag at his brother as well as a pile of paperwork. Dean examined the school application.

"My father?!" he exclaimed in dismay. He looked up at Sam. "You put yourself down on these pages as my father."

Rolling his eyes, Sam said, "Yes." His words were short and sharp as he explained, "It's a lot easier to explain than brothers. Then I get loaded down with questions like 'Where are his parents?' 'Why does his brother have custody?' 'Why is he twenty years younger?' It's safer this way. A simpler story. Harder to screw up."

Dean scowled. "I'm not going, Sam."

"Fine. High school chicks, Dean. Heather Chandler. Veronica."

He watched his brother's eyes light up at the thought of the hoards of hot girls itching for a self-proclaimed bad boy. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "Maybe it won't be all bad. But if you get a call saying I—"

"If I get any type of call regarding you, I will be so pissed off, Dean. We're here on a case. You're almost 40."

"Don't remind me."

"You know how to behave."

"Try me."

"Get in the damn car."

Dean adjusted the bag on his back as he walked through the hallways of the school. Walk straight. Keep your head up. You own this place. He kept repeating the miniature mantras he always used to tell himself whenever he was starting at a new school. It had been tough, going to a new place every few weeks at the most, but he had learned to deal with it. He had learned how to make friends and piss off teachers and pick the right fights and get the girls. All he had to do now was do it again.

The stream of people he was fighting against was a tidal wave of elbows and sharp edges just the right height for a fourteen year old kid. After a minute of struggling to get through a doorway he gave up. After he kicked a few people in the shins and other more painful locations, he ducked under the human spears and strode through an almost-empty hall. A goth chick wearing a top hat stood at the far corner, not moving, but scrutinizing him. She was hot, and the outfit that she was wearing defied the dress code in all the ways that he liked. She had on a black leather corset that exposed her skull shaped belly button ring before a black leather miniskirt splattered with red paint and emphasized with chains hanging from a bullet belt.

Somehow Dean got the feeling she wasn't impressed with him staring at her thighs above her knee-high platform boots. Her gaze never lifted from him, and he repositioned his bag again before turning a corner. He could still feel her stare boring into his back.

When he got into the classroom, something immediately felt wrong. There were none of the curious glances that usually accompanied a new student's arrival. Instead it was full of subdued glances and cautious whispers. The occasional nervous giggle pierced the near silence, and the teacher looked up from his computer.

"You must be Dean," he said cordially as he stood up and extended, but the greeting seemed forced.

Dean gave the teacher's hand a wary glance before shaking it half heartedly. The man's palm was cold and sweaty, and Dean showed no regards to manners as he wiped his hand on his jeans. "And you're my teacher," he replied. "Mind telling me what's going on?" Perhaps it had been the goth chick, but his mood had gone south very quickly and he was in no rush to pick it back up.

"You can call me Mr. Duke," the teacher told him, clearly miffed. Dean gavea little snicker at the name. "It's a free period; students are free to do any work that needs to be done."

"Then why's it so quiet?" He prodded.

The teacher shuffled his left foot nervously. "We, er, we've had a stroke of bad luck lately...three students have gone missing from the school in the last week. Nobody knows where they are and everyone's getting a bit nervous. One of the girls was in this class."

"Huh," Dean muttered, thoughts clouding his mind. It couldn't be a coincidence that three students had gone missing from the school he was at in a town that they were working a case in. He would have to talk to Sam about that.

He spent the rest of the class scrolling through local newspaper articles on his phone to try and get as much information on the situation as he could. Lea Tveit, 16. Keith Arabesque, 17. Melody Garrett, 15. Disappeared after leaving a party. Last seen at a band gig. Never came home from music festival.

The case unfolded before his eyes, all of the details that Sam hadn't told him. Seen with a man with a beanie. All students, all from the school. Why all from the. Same school? Was there something special about the place? He sighed. This was what school records were for, he supposed. He didn't have any plans for lunch.