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Dean Winchester stepped into her classroom on Wednesday morning at 8am. He sauntered in, wearing a self-assured expression tinged with boredom; this wasn’t his first time being the new kid. After a perfunctory introduction he took his seat, sat with hands shoved into the pockets of his weathered leather jacket, gave her an astute once-over that made him look old beyond his years, and proceeded to ignore her in favor of eyeing the pretty girls in the room until the bell rang. It was one hell of a first impression.
The rest of that first week Janet Adler, English teacher at Emmery High, learned plenty about the teen without even trying. She heard Mr. Shultz, the science teacher, begrudgingly mention his comedic tendencies, and Mrs. Fletcher’s irritation at his deflection against her authority in math class. The only one who had any real praise was Coach Jacobs, who claimed Dean was an exceptionally adept student who could easily win an athletics scholarship if he would just apply himself. Beyond this she saw Dean’s jocularity win him friends, saw him turn on a masterful level of charm when a girl batted her eyelashes at him, and even saw the tenderness towards his younger brother when they wandered home after school.
By the time she drove home on Friday afternoon she’d learned that his father was a widower who moved the family around a lot for work; his younger brother was academically gifted, though awkward and shy; and that Dean carried a darkness in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. In her decade long career Janet had crossed paths with several youths who had more emotional baggage than was fair. None had ever perfected the well-polished veneer that Dean had, though. Dean Winchester intrigued her in a way few students had over the years.
Monday morning Dean walked into her 2nd period English class with a shitty attitude and bags under his eyes. She espied a slight limp that he was doing well to cover but what really alarmed her was the angry purple bruise his frayed plaid collar couldn’t quite hide. Her mind reeled, abuse or fighting, neither a good explanation but both things she had to push aside to begin class. Today the seniors were being given their finals assignment, an essay due at the end of the semester. Dean spent the entire monologue practically nodding off at his desk, adding another thing to discuss with him after class.
“I want a minimum of 5000 words, exploring the themes of your chosen work. Books, not comics, people.” Some students groaned, some chuckled; Dean remained comatose. “One page outline on my desk no later than Friday, please. And this will count towards half of your final grade. Now, moving on to post war literature. What themes became prevalent in the aftermath of World War 2? That’s what we’re going to explore today.”
She stole another glance at Dean before turning to the blackboard and beginning to write up bullet points.
When the bell rang students hurried on to their next class, and Dean strode towards the exit with an energy that belied his need to sleep through the last 40 minutes.
“Mr. Winchester,” she caught him as he passed her desk. He stopped and turned, hands in pockets again which was beginning to look defiant. “I don’t appreciate you using my class to catch up on sleep. Did you hear anything I said today?”
Dean sized her up again, not unlike on that first day, and smiled slightly. “I don’t really read,” he said dismissively.
“Neither do half of the other seniors, yet here we are.” Janet’s tone was the one she’d cultivated over the years to convince students that she wouldn’t budge, that her word was the end of the matter. Dean sighed almost imperceptibly. “I want your outline on Friday, please.”
“Sure.” One contemptuous word, but he held her gaze with a shining acuity that was quickly beginning to make her squirm.
He turned to leave and she pressed on with the second point she wanted to address.
“Is that going to be a problem?” She pointed to his neck.
Dean’s poker face held fast, and he answered with a curt, “No, ma’am.”
“I hope so, Mr. Winchester,” she replied. “I also hope you know that there’s help available here should you need it.”
Something akin to sadness passed across his face. “I won’t be here long enough.”
And then he left.
A week later and no summary was forthcoming. Also, the word around the water cooler was that Dean had been skipping several of his classes. He hadn’t show up to 7th period English on Friday nor to any of the three classes the following week. Janet had seen him in passing on campus a couple of times, but only when he came to walk his brother home at 3 p.m. For a student to nosedive so early on at a school was alarming.
When alone or with his peers Dean moved through the halls with easy aplomb, neither fading into the background nor exhibiting any braggadocio. He exuded an assertiveness, humbler than the jocks but shrewder than the bullies, intensity honed into the perfect tool. What little she had seen of his brother witnessed to a certain level of the same. However, where Dean was cocky and deflecting, Sam seemed by all accounts to be sweet-natured and diligent. Still, both were reclusive and… odd.
When Dean showed up to the following Monday’s class sporting more bruises Janet finally decided to speak with the principle.
“I know something’s going on here, Jim.” She repeated emphatically for the third time.
“Look, I trust your judgment on this, but there’s just not enough verifiable evidence to move forward with CPS.” Jim Cauldwell looked apologetic but firm. She knew he wasn’t trying to be difficult but her gut said something was amiss with the elder Winchester boy.
“We’ve done more with less before.” She tried one last time to convince him.
Jim sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his green blotter. “He’s new, it’s the middle of senior year, and from what I could tell when I met his father, the man’s struggling to make ends meet as a single parent. We can bring in the counselor, if Dean will even speak to him. I’m sorry, Janet, that’s all I can do right now.”
Janet begrudgingly agreed and went straight to Alex Murphy’s office down the hall. He was all too happy to take a crack at the kid.
“Is there anything in his record that could be a red flag?” Janet asked.
Alex swiveled to his filing cabinet and pulled Dean’s out. “Not really.” He opened the folder and perused the first page. “His truancy rate is pretty high, and he’s not exactly a straight A student. But he does the bare minimum to get by. A few fights in the past at other schools, but he’s been enrolled at so many that could easily be due to garden variety bullying. It’s not exactly a point in his favor, but he hasn’t stepped out of line here yet.”
Janet snorted.”He’s skipped half his classes in less than two weeks.”
“I admit that’s high, but…” He looked down at the file, back to her. “Kids skip class all the time.”
Janet suppressed another sigh. Alex wasn’t being difficult either; no, he eternally gave people the benefit of the doubt. “What about the bruises?”
Alex shrugged. “I’ll ask.”
A thought occurred to her. “How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many schools has he been in?”
Alex referred to the file, flipping through the pages. “Almost 20 in the last three years.”
“Jesus!” she breathed.
Alex stood and came around the desk, patted her arm. “I know you care, but don’t worry. I’ll talk with him, see if we can figure this out.”
She nodded lamely.
The next time Dean graced her with his presence he paid attention to her properly for the first time. It made her feel like he could see her innermost thoughts and knew her secrets - a disconcerting feeling, certainly, but more likely caused by her own worry than any ability possessed by the 17 year old. The final bell rang, and while all the other students rushed home to the freedom of their weekend, Dean hung back, loitering as Janet shoved a stack of tests into her bag for grading. She noticed him there in her periphery, near the door and perhaps blocking her way out. A burgeoning fear that perhaps he would retaliate against her meddling crept up her spine. When the last student walked past him Dean spoke, startling her.
“I know what you think about me, Ms. Adler. But you’re wrong.”
The words, the attitude, the sheer presumptuousness, made her scoff without thinking to censor herself. “I think you’re trouble.”
It sounded more accusatory than she meant, but Dean just smiled enigmatically.
“I’m sorry,” she amended. “But I have concerns that you may be in trouble and I have a duty to take action in the event that you’re in danger.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really? Because I’ve seen the bruises.”
“What, you meant these?” He pulled his shirts up to reveal a large bluish off-center mark on his stomach.
Janet’s flushed; his brazen and insouciant manner was fast moving this into very inappropriate territory. She looked away from the vicious injury, ignored the scars marring his warrior’s body and resolutely met his eyes.
“I can’t pretend that I haven’t seen that. If you’re sustaining these injuries at home-“
“I do some martial arts,” Dean interrupted, easy and reassuring, let the clothing fall back into place, “took a knee to that side while sparring, that’s all.”
Janet frowned, at a loss for words. Dean’s cocky, self-assured smile returned. “You don’t have to send the counselor to head shrink me. I’m fine.”
He sauntered out, leaving Janet feeling like she’d been steam-rolled. It wasn’t until she’d gotten home and poured herself a well deserved glass of wine that she recalled they had no training facilities for martial arts in town; besides the high school football field, they had one poorly furnished gym and a public pool. She didn’t believe his story for a second.
Janet had trouble sleeping that night. Something was very wrong in Dean’s life but he wouldn’t let anyone help. Alex Murphy had been informed of the new development and had promised to call Dean in for another talk on Monday. None of this made her feel any better, because it was evident from the first meeting that despite Alex’s talent for the job, he’d been swayed by Dean’s confidence, charm and bullshit. Janet had been told by Principal Cauldwell to unequivocally leave it in his hands. And she did. Until she ran into Dean in the supermarket parking lot Saturday afternoon.
He was carrying a bag of groceries, unhurriedly strolling through the increasing downpour. He smiled at her when their eyes met, friendly but empty as a ransacked bank vault. “Hi, Ms. Adler.”
“Dean. You heading home?” She tried to put as much amiability into the words as possible, suspected he’d ignore her and continue, but he stopped short and gave her a contemplative look.
“Yeah,” he said finally. Wariness was evident, but something in that moment of consideration made him choose to have this conversation.
“Is your dad waiting for you?”
“He’s working.”
“Is he going to be gone long?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that these boys were left on their own more than they should. Why else would Dean be walking in the rain to buy groceries?
“Nope.” He shifted from one foot to the other, the first time she’d seen him show discomfort.
“Where are you living?” Janet pushed on, adding a smile.
“Twin Pines.”
“The motel?”
He nodded, more laconic than usual.
“That’s a long walk in this weather.” She made a choice she knew she’d regret. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
The whole way across town she tried to glean more insight, and was met with monosyllabic replies until she pulled up to the motel. They sat in the cocoon of tense silence as rain pelted down around them. Janet opened her mouth to try one last time but Dean spoke first.
“Thanks.” He exited the car and walked at a leisurely pace towards room number 12, fished a key out of his pocket and stepped over a line of white inside the door. Through the rain battering her windshield Janet couldn’t quite make out what it was but it seemed strange to say the least.
Monday came. Dean missed English class because he was in with Counselor Murphy and Janet desperately wanted to be a fly on that wall. Alex assured her that Dean was fine and that everything he’d told him checked out. Mr. Winchester had been spoken to and corroborated all explanations, politely and solicitously. There was ’nothing to worry about’. She had a hard time believing that when Dean came to Wednesday’s class looking drained and apathetic, stonewalling her attempts to ask why.
Friday rolled in like a bad hangover after a bender. Clouds filled the sky ominously and when the final bell rang Dean surprisingly stopped at her desk on his way out. His smile was commiserative, kind instead of overweening - closer to the way she’d seen him smile at his brother than any she’d had directed at her in the weeks of knowing him.
“You’re a good teacher, Ms. Adler. You see things others don’t, never lose that.” He brushed a hand through his hair, demeanor so deferential and subdued it concerned her, then seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “Anyway, thanks.”
Janet sat nonplussed at what felt like an irrevocable, dire farewell; an unfulfilled denouement. She hurried after him to make sure he was okay, that nothing had happened, but stopped dead on the front steps of the school at the sight of him waiting at the curb. He stood there, worn leather jacket and tired blue jeans looking exactly as they had on his first day all those weeks ago, one arm slung over his brother’s shoulders as they watched a sleek black car pull up in front of the school. Both boys got in, and left Emmery High in the rearview.
Janet Adler always considered Dean Winchester to be one of her failures. That one kid impossible to reach, to help. And when she saw, many years later, that he and that adorable kid brother of his were wanted by the FBI her heart broke a little again; broke for the fact that she couldn’t save him from his destiny.
More years passed. Janet got a degree in school administration and took over as principal after Jim Cauldwell’s retirement, needing the change of pace after a career in teaching became stale. When the strange disappearances began she was nearing her 50th birthday, and Dean’s words to her that last day echoed from somewhere in the back of her mind. They encouraged her to pester Sheriff Wilkins, but he assured her it was nothing to worry about, these kids just skipped town. Janet Adler knew her school, and her students; no chance all these teenagers just decided to up and leave within a couple weeks of each other. Her colleagues wouldn’t listen, the townsfolk wouldn’t listen. No one would.
That was, until the FBI rolled into town in a sleek black car; and eyes that carried a darkness when no one was looking brightened a bit after stepping into her office. And that genuine smile she’d only seen once before was his response to her utterance of: “Something supernatural is going on in this town, Mr Winchester.”