Chapter Text
Oh, imagine yourself in a building
Up in flames being told to stand still
The window's wide open
This leap is on faith
You don't know who will catch you
Maybe somebody will
“Sammy! Come on!”
“I know!”
“I know you know, but we’re s’posed to be early because it’s your first day!”
“I know!”
“Let’s go!” Dean glances at the clock again, knowing if they don’t leave within the next few minutes they will be on time for the first bell, which is late.
Sam comes running down the stairs, practically crashing into the wall at the bottom. He barely makes the turn, and then he’s shoving his shoes on his feet. He can’t seem to coordinate his five-year-old fingers into tying his shoes, so Dean kneels down, knocks Sammy’s hands aside, and ties them himself.
“You excited for your first day, Sammy?”
“Yeah! I’m gonna learn so much! I’m gonna be so smart like you, D!”
Dean chuckles and ruffles his brother’s mop of hair. The kid needs a haircut pretty soon or else he’s not going to be able to see past his bangs. “Yeah, you’ll be teaching me in no time, kiddo. Got your backpack?”
Sam beams at him and turns to show off his new (well, new to him) backpack that Dean had picked up at the Goodwill in the shopping center.
“Awesome, let’s head.”
“Dean, where’s Dad?” Sam looks around, expecting him to be there. “I thought he was going to drop me off this morning and meet my teacher? He said he would.”
“Dad had a job come up this morning that he took, Sammy. Look, he gave me all the stuff to give to your teacher,” he shows his brother the envelope with all the papers that his dad gave him, “he’ll meet her another day, dude. But we really have to get going.”
Sam pouts and wrinkles his little forehead. Dean locks the door on their way out, and the pair walk to school together. The walk isn’t far, only about a half a mile. Sam’s talking so much that the walk goes by quickly.
“--do you think we’re going to learn about dinosaurs? Remember that book we read last week? I wonder if Mrs. Jones knows the difference between a herbivore and a carnimore, do you think I should tell her about that--”
The week before, Dean and Sam had gone to the library and picked up a book about dinosaurs, because they were Sam’s current obsession. The Ultimate Dino-pedia was a little difficult for Sam to read at first, but the kid’s a genius. He reads almost as well as Dean does these days, even if he has to stop all the time to ask Dean what the words mean.
“It’s carnivore, Sam. And yeah, I think she’d love to hear about the dinosaur book we read. Maybe you could bring it in and read it to her.” She’d see how smart his baby brother is, Dean thinks she’d be really impressed.
He drops Sam off at his classroom, handing the papers in the envelope to his teacher, who smiles kindly at him. She asks where his mom and dad are, and Dean always hates this part.
“My mom died.” Mrs. Jones’ lips go tight, and she makes a noise in her throat that he interprets as pitying. He hates that and pushes forward. “My dad had to go to work this morning, but he signed all the stuff for Sammy. He said his number’s in there if you want to call him,” he smiles his most charming and innocent smile, the one he uses when he needs to get some noodles or bread when they’re out of money. It makes the store clerks less wary of him.
Sammy’s teacher accepts his explanation, and Dean heads down the hallway to his own classroom. It’s in a different area of the building, for the big kids, and Dean was psyched to finally get to play on the big kids' playground. It had one of those super tall slides; he saw it from the window of the Impala when dad took them to get registered. The little kids’ playground only had a short slide. Suckers.
All day at school, Dean’s mind wanders over to Sammy’s kindergarten classroom. Was Sammy getting picked on? Was his teacher nice to him? Did he eat his lunch? This school had a free lunch program, so they didn’t have to worry about packing lunches, but Sam could be a picky little shit when he wanted. When the bell rang for common recess, Dean shoots out of his seat and runs out to the playground. He looks over at the little kids’ side, searching for a short kid with a mop of brown hair. When he spots him, relief floods his system. Sam is climbing on the monkey bars with other kids, and he’s laughing.
“Dean?”
He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder. It’s his teacher, Mrs. Freeman. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I was just looking for my kid brother. It’s his first day,” he points over at the other playground and shrugs his shoulders.
“Ah. That’s nice that you look out for your brother.”
“Of course. It’s my job!” Dean puffs up his chest because he’s really good at his job.
“Well, you’re doing great. That explains why you were a little distracted today, huh?” When Dean hears that he turns to face her, ears turning pink. “Your teachers from your old school indicated that you were a smart, focused, hard worker.”
“Oh. Um. I guess,” he likes hearing that, but it does make him feel a little uncomfortable. Sammy’s the smart one, not Dean. Dean’s good at running, and he’s good at throwing a ball. He’s okay at school, but Sammy’s gonna be so much better. “Sammy can already read.”
“Is that so? What’s his favorite book? Has he read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom?”
“Well, yeah, but that one’s for babies. Sam likes to read Magic Tree House.”
“Oh, you read to Sam?”
“No. I mean, yeah, but,” Didn’t Dean just tell her? “Sam reads to me! We take turns. Sometimes he doesn’t know what a word is, so he has me read it to him. He finished the one we were reading last night without me, though, which is fine, because it’s a little kid book, but I did wanna know what happened to Jack at the end, so that kinda sucks,” Dean had been watching a scary movie, and he sent Sam to bed so it didn’t scare him.
“Wow, Dean. That’s… exceptional. Who taught him how to read?” She seems impressed, which she should be. Sammy’s super smart.
Dean shrugs, “I did, I guess. He used to sit with me while I did my homework, and I’d read stuff out loud to him.”
“Do you like to read, Dean?”
“It’s okay. I like funny books better than sad books though. The one I’m reading right now is sad.”
“What are you reading right now?”
“The Giver. No one can see color except this old guy and this kid, and they all take medicine that makes them boring, except for the old guy and the kid. And there’s this weird thing where they all have to wear the same clothes and eat the same food. That’s sad. I’d be mad if I couldn’t eat cheeseburgers,” he squirms a bit, scuffs his shoes in the dirt that’s peeking through the scruffy grass this close to the little fence. This is a long time to talk to a grown-up, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Dad says you should always be polite to teachers. “Can I go play now?”
“Yeah,” Mrs. Freeman looks a little shocked, “you can go play. It was good to hear about your reading, Dean. I’d love to know what you think about the end.”
“Mrs. F, you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine, dear,” she smiles at him, but still looks weird. “Go on. Some of the boys and girls from your class are playing soccer over there,” she points over to the field, where he sees Julia kick the ball into the goal.
“Cool!” Dean runs off.
________________________
“Dean?” Mrs. Freeman calls as the bell rings. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Dean feels his heart speed up a little. Is he already in trouble? Dad’s gonna be so mad at him. Is this because he pushed Steve? He was being mean to Martin, and Steve didn’t even get hurt. He walks up to the desk cautiously.
“Is it okay if I walk down to the kindergarten with you? I’d like to meet your brother.”
“Yeah!” Of course she wants to meet Sammy, he’s awesome. Dean’s got the best little brother on the planet.
“Great! Is your father coming to pick you up?”
Oh. “Uh, no. Dad’s at work. He’ll meet us at home, though,” Mrs. Freeman sort of frowns at that, but doesn’t say anything.
They walk down the hall, which has mostly cleared, to find Sam still in his classroom, talking to his teacher.
“--and they’re from 65 million years ago! I don’t really know how much that is, but Dean says it’s a super long time ago. My book says an as’troid hit the earth, which is where we live now and killed all the dinosaurs. I hope one doesn’t hit us now. I’m glad T-Rex’s aren’t still around, even though they’re super cool, because--Dean!” Sam’s wide eyes spot Dean and Sam almost trips over his own two feet as he runs over to talk to him, “I was telling Mrs. Jones about my book, and she says I can bring it in tomorrow!”
“That’s great, Sammy,” Dean smiles.
“Hi, Sam. I’m Dean’s teacher. My name is Mrs. Freeman. Dean told me a little bit about you today, and I wanted to come to meet you. He said you like to read?”
“Yeah! Dean and me are reading a ‘cyclopedia about dinosaurs!” Sam’s almost shouting in his enthusiasm. Dean doesn’t bother to hold back his smile, the kid’s enthusiasm is cute.
“Wow, that’s great, Sam! What did you do in school today?” She glances at Mrs. Jones, who has a smiley face. Dean likes that because it means she was probably nice to Sam. Of course, smiles don’t always mean nice, but the way Sam was talking to her definitely means she’s not mean, at least. Mean people don’t listen to five-year-olds tell them stuff they probably already know about dinosaurs.
“We did the days of the week and the ABCs--those were really easy, everyone already knew them. But I was the only one who knew all of the letter sounds! I told Mrs. Jones that it was really easy, but she said not everyone knows how to read yet. I’m not very good at writing yet--” that’s true, Dean thought, they didn’t practice that very much. But writing is kind of boring, so-- “--but I know how to spell my whole name. Can you believe that some kids don’t? I helped some of them. Emily who sits next to me wrote her E backward!” He looks at the teachers with wide eyes.
Mrs. Jones cuts in, “you were very kind when you corrected her, Sam,” and Dean grins. Sam is helpful when he wants to be.
“Well, that sounds very exciting, Sam. It was so nice to meet you. Have a safe walk home.”
“Thank you! It was nice to meet you too! Bye, Mrs. Jones! Bye, Mrs. Freeman!” He waves and Dean says goodbye. They walk out of the door and across the street, not knowing that the teachers’ eyes are following them.
________________________
“When is Dad coming home?” Sammy asks while they eat dinner. Dean had heated up a can of Spaghetti-o’s, and Sammy was still a pretty messy eater so Dean passes him another napkin.
“He said tomorrow,” answers Dean, “but I don’t know when.”
Later, the phone in the room rings. Sammy is across the room to pick up the phone by the second ring, but Dean makes him wait.
“Wait, dude. If it’s him, he calls again, remember?” They’re supposed to let it ring through, and then when a second call comes through, they can answer it.
The phone rings again, and Dean lunges for it. Sam stomps his foot, mad that Dean got to it first.
“Dad?”
“Dean. Everything good?”
“Yes, sir. Sammy and I were just eating dinner.”
“How was school? Did you give everything to Sammy’s teacher?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You stay out of trouble?”
“Yessir. My teacher’s real nice.”
“Hm. Hopefully she can keep you in line.”
Dean blows out a breath. “Yessir,” A long pause, then Dean asks, “when are you coming home?”
“Looks like it’s gonna be Friday.”
“But that’s two days away!”
“You’re in charge until I get back,” his dad’s voice brokers no argument, and he makes no apologies for being gone longer than he thought he would. Still, Dean thinks, he’s doing the best he can, right? “Make sure you boys get up for school.”
Dean always makes sure they’re up on time. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Give your brother the phone.”
Dean passes the phone to Sammy, “Dad wants to talk to you.”
“Dad? Yes, sir. Yes. Uh-huh. She’s nice. I will. I’ll tell him, Dad,” tell me what? Dean wonders. I was just on the phone with him, why didn’t he tell me then? “Okay, Dad. Love you too, bye,” Sammy replaces the phone on the cradle, and tells Dean, “Dad wants me to tell you to make sure I eat enough,” Sammy’s big eyes look up at Dean.
“Duh, of course I will,” Dean’s always made sure Sammy had enough, no matter what it cost him. He wishes he hadn’t eaten half of the Spaghetti-o’s though. Those could’ve been dinner tomorrow for Sam. He’s pretty sure they have a can of soup somewhere, and he knows they have bread and peanut butter. It’ll have to work.
________________________
On Friday, the two boys come home from school to see the Impala in the driveway. Dad’s waiting for them at the little kitchen table.
“I got a call from school today, boys. They want me to come in for a meeting on Monday morning. Anything you want to tell me?”
The boys look at each other. Sammy shrugs, and Dean answers, “I don’t know, Dad. Nothing happened.”
His dad looks skeptical, but responds simply, “we’ll see what they say on Monday, then.”
Dean swallows and nods. He has a stone in his stomach that doesn’t go away. He doesn’t eat much at dinner. Sammy talks to Dad, telling him about the school, but Dean stays largely silent. What if it was something he did? Is he failing already? Maybe his teacher figured out that he’s too dumb for third grade, and he has to go back and be in kindergarten like Sammy.
All weekend, Dean replays in his mind what had happened at school for the last three days. He had been put on yellow instead of green that one day because Tyler stole his eraser and Dean was trying to get it back. They ended up arguing, and Mrs. Freeman made both of them move their clips on the chart. But no matter how hard Dean thinks, he doesn’t think there was anything else that happened to get him in trouble. Unless they’re meeting with Dad to kick Dean out because he’s already failing? That could be true. They hadn’t gotten their pre-test back yet for math, but Dean’s sure he didn’t get any of them right. And he got some of those words wrong on that spelling list Mrs. Freeman gave them.
He doesn’t sleep much on Sunday night, either. Those same thoughts keep running through his head. By Monday morning, he’s 100% sure he’s about to be kicked out of school. Dad’s impatient, trying to get them out of the house early so that he can meet with whoever he’s meeting. Dean’s silent, insides churning over the anticipation of the unknown.
When they get there, both Sammy’s and Dean’s teachers are there, and so is the principal, and two other ladies that Dean’s not met yet, but he’s seen in the hallways. They send him and Sammy into the gym to sit with the other kids that get to school super early and wait.
Dean can’t help but jiggle his knee the whole time they’re waiting. He’s about to be expelled, he knows it. And then Dad will get angry, and when Dad’s angry-- No. He can’t think about that, because he might cry, and then he’ll get teased. If he’s getting kicked out, he doesn’t want anyone to see him cry.
A while later, Ms. Freeman comes out to get them and bring them back in the meeting, and Dean is sure she’s about to tell him he’s been expelled. The stone in his stomach is still there, and now it’s hot and rolling around with a bunch of other stones.
They head into the main office conference room, and find… smiling adults, plus Dad. He doesn’t look angry, he looks thoughtful, which settles some of Dean’s nerves, but--
“What’s goin’ on?” Sammy asks first, which is good because Dean doesn’t think his voice works right now.
“Well, Sammy, we’ve been talking. About you and your brother.”
“Okay?”
“Your dad has agreed to let us do a couple of things to find out if you boys are in the right classes,” and Dean feels like his worst fears have been confirmed. He’s not smart enough for third grade, and they probably figured that out by day two.
Dean can feel his face go white, and he thinks he might throw up. “Did I fail the pre-test? I promise I can do better, I’ll try real hard,”
Mrs. Freeman interrupts his fretting. “No, Dean. We think you boys should be in higher grades, or at least in the gifted and talented programs,” the principal tells him, smiling brightly.
“I know Sam’s ahead for his age, but do you really think Dean is?” His dad asks, blunt as ever. Dean looks down at the table, cheeks pink.
Mrs. Freeman answers him quickly. “Dean is very bright for his age as well, Mr. Winchester. He answered every single question on the math pre-test correctly, and the majority of those concepts are things that aren’t in the third-grade curriculum until the spring. He’s got the highest reading score in my classroom, according to his reading group placement test. And it’s not just that Dean reads quickly and fluently--which he absolutely does. He’s comprehending information that he reads at a higher level than most third graders,” her attention turns to Dean, “can you tell Ms. Scott and everyone else what book you told me you were reading?”
Dean lowers his eyebrows. Why does it matter? “The Giver.”
“Mr. Winchester, that book is part of a sixth-grade curriculum in our district. Sammy here was telling me that he reads Magic Treehouse books? Those are part of the second-grade curriculum,”
His dad grunts in acknowledgment, “so what are you proposing, exactly?”
“I’m proposing that we check that Sam already has all the skills that we are going to teach him in kindergarten. I want to give him a placement test that I’m positive will tell us that he belongs in first grade. I want to give Dean a placement test for reading and put him in advanced reading with older students. I might want to put him in advanced math. But I can’t do it without your permission.”
“You really think Sammy can skip a grade?”
“I really do. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t suggest this. Socialization is typically very important for first grade, as is learning a routine and learning how school works. Learning how to do homework is another skill most of our kindergartners don’t have yet. But Sam is… mature. And the reason I don’t want to advance Dean a grade is that at this point in his school career he would miss pieces of the rest of the curriculum. I don’t want to leave gaps in his knowledge.”
“But Sammy can skip a grade.”
“Pending the results of an evaluation, yes.”
Dean is only sort of following the conversation. He’s getting that Sammy is smart (which of course, he already knew) but it also sounds like they’re saying he’s smart, which can’t be right.
“--we, of course, want to challenge our students. There’s a chance that if Dean isn’t challenged academically, he could start to act out, simply because he’s bored--”
“I’m not bored,” Dean interrupts. The adults all look at him, and he shrinks back in his seat. “I won’t be bad, promise.”
“Dean, we know you won’t be bad, but we want to make sure you’re learning things that you find interesting.”
“Oh,” Dean looks back down at the table, and then up at his dad, who is watching him with his thinking face. He nods once.
“Alright, let’s do it.”
________________________
The first time the fire found him was a blaze when he was four years old. Little Sammy wasn’t even 6 months, and the fire took away the only home they had ever known, along with their mother.
They had played at the park for hours earlier in the day. It was sunny and warm. A sweet breeze kept the air cool enough, but Dean’s nose got all pink from sunburn anyway. Afterward, his mom put some green goop on it, and he giggled while she rubbed his nose and called him her little man. They baked a pie for after dinner. Dad came home and they played in the yard while the sun went down. Everything was perfect.
Right up until Dean woke up, coughing smoke.
“Mom?” He called, knowing that she would come. She always comes when he calls, no matter what. Sometimes it takes a minute because she’ll be busy, but she always answers him.
Not this time.
What he does hear is a loud crashing sound that seems to be coming from in the hallway. Dean is terrified, but gets out of bed and looks.
He knows what fire is. He knows about stop, drop, and roll. He knows that smoke goes up, and he’s supposed to crawl.
He didn’t know how hot it was. He didn’t know how loud it would be. He didn’t know about the sparks that flew, trying to catch him and light him too.
He screams for his mom and dad, and for a minute, no one answers, and Dean doesn’t know what to do. He wants to go hide in his bed, but he feels stuck standing in his doorway. He squeezes his eyes shut. Fire is a lot scarier than the firemen who came to school on Fire Safety Day told him.
“Dean!” He hears his name called, and he sees his dad come running out of a room, holding a bundle in his arms.
Sammy.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean, go!” He hears a scream coming from inside Sammy’s room, his mom is screaming, but his dad pushes him and says, “I’ll get your mom, go!” And Dean runs down the stairs and out onto the lawn.
A moment that lasts forever, and then his dad is running down the porch steps with tears streaming down his face.
“Where’s Mom?” Dean whispers. The shock of the way he woke up is beginning to wear off, and the frightening picture that their burning house makes, the heat that it gives off, it’s settling in.
His dad just hugs him closer, and a second later he hears the sound of shattering glass and sees a giant fireball bursting through a window. His dad is shaking now, falling to his knees with his arms around his children, his breath coming out in harsh sobs.
“Dad? Where’s Mom? Dad!” And then Dean understands. His mom isn’t coming out. She’s still in there. He tries to tug away from his dad. If she heard him calling for her, she’d come out! She never ignores Dean! “Dad!”
“She’s gone, son,” his voice sounds funny, and Dean looks at his dad’s face to see that he’s crying very very hard. By the time the sirens wail and the big trucks are there, Dean has stopped crying.
This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream. He’s going to wake up tomorrow to a bowl of Lucky Charms, and his mom is going to set up the sprinkler so he can run in it. She promised.
Dean knows that there is someone asking him questions, but all he can do is tremble, nod and shake his head. His dad is over there, talking to the police, Sammy being looked at by another person in a blue uniform right next to Dean. They put a little mask over his face, and they give Dean one, too.
“It’s just oxygen, sweetie. We want to make sure you didn’t breathe in any of that smoke, and this will help make your lungs feel better. Does it hurt anywhere else?”
Dean has a bandage on his upper arm; apparently, he scraped it against something while he was running out of the house. He doesn’t know what it was. He shakes his head at the man asking him questions and holds onto little Sammy’s hand.
Wake up, he tells himself. Wake. Up.
He doesn’t.
________________________
Sam skips up to first grade. Dean ends up in advanced reading and advanced math, which basically means he’s in classrooms with much bigger kids for two or three hours a day, although sometimes the resource room teacher takes him by himself. It’s weird, and the other kids don’t really talk to him, but he likes the books that they’re reading (he likes Hatchet and The Phantom Tollbooth, but doesn’t like Old Yeller), and he likes solving the math problems.
Sam isn’t the smallest kid in his class, which is a relief. He says his class is a lot harder than the last one was, but he loves that.
The Winchester boys settle into a routine. Dad’s gone more often than not, but the boys do okay. Dean steals bread and peanut butter and two apples from the store on the corner, but he doesn’t get caught. Dad’s home for Thanksgiving.
The day after Thanksgiving, Dean wakes up with smoke in his nose and fear in his heart.
Their house burns down. They’re two states over checking into a motel by dinner time the next day, and Dad won’t look at Dean.
________________________
When the boys start at their new school, there’s more paperwork and discussions of what classrooms Dean and Sam should join. Sam joins back in with a first-grade class (and he is the smallest in this room, so Dean vows to watch out for bullies), And Dean gets placed in a classroom that’s half third graders and half fourth graders. There’s a little group of the fourth graders that take the fifth-grade reading, and they’re in the middle of reading Shiloh, which was one of Dean’s favorites at his last school. The kids in his class are kind of mean to him, but there’s a kid wearing thick glasses that shares his twinkies with him at lunch, so it’s not all bad.
Dad leaves them alone again by the second week of December, and he doesn’t come back until after Christmas.
Which is fine. Dad’s working hard.