Dean was putting the cues away on the rack when Sam’s father came downstairs. The young man plastered a semi-polite smile on his face he usually used for dealing with clients and didn’t say a word. He was well aware of the older man’s scrutiny of him, probably wondering what the hell someone like him was doing in his home with his son. But then all the older man’s attention was focused on Sam, asking him what had happened, and Dean knew he really should leave now. He didn’t really want to get in the middle of this.

The young man grabbed his shirt, and was going to show himself out, when suddenly Sam was introducing him to his father. The fact that Sam had introduced him as Dean Singer didn’t really bother him all that much. Not like Sam could have known that Bobby wasn’t really his father, just his guardian. But when Sam told his father that he and Bobby “restored classic cars” for a living, his polite smile slipped from his face.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was sure as hell far from the truth. Dean felt what could only be described as disappointment settle into his stomach, which really pissed him off, because he really shouldn’t have expected anything less. Why the hell would Sam want to admit to his father, or to anyone, he’d been hanging out with trash from the junkyard, after all?

Sam was just like the rest of them. Worse even. Because at least the snot nosed rich boys up on the hill didn’t pretend like they didn’t care what the fuck his social status was. No, they showed their scorn right out in the open. He was damned sure Sam’s father wouldn’t be smiling at him right now and offering to shake his hand if the younger boy had told him the truth.

“Sure. Thanks.” Dean replied without emotion, taking the older man’s hand only briefly before he pulled away and started for the stairs. “I need to go. I’ll show myself out.”

"No, I'll go with," Sam said, a little confused when Dean seemed suddenly upset. He gave his father a shrug, seeing his confusion as well. He followed Dean up the stairs. His mother was back her bedroom apparently.

"What did I say wrong?" Sam asked baffled as he followed Dean toward the front door. "That's what you do isn't it? I saw that car out back. It looked new. Like yours does. Are you…embarrassed…that your dad makes money using his hands instead of sitting in some office? I think it's got to be pretty cool scavenging through all those old wrecks and making something new out of them. And it's got to be, I dunno, more worthwhile doing that in the evenings than partying every night and drinking your life away like Eric and his friends do. Yeah, it was kinda cool these past few weeks, meeting all the "right' people, but it's all so…phony, so empty. Even more so, now that I know Eric was just showing off his new 'boy' to them. What you do, you create stuff, and that's way cooler." Sam hesitated. It seemed like all the rich parents wanted to know what his family did. Eric usually came up with lies and that bothered Sam, but he knew what the rich folk would do if they knew Sam was trashy middle-class. "My dad won't think it's lame, if that's what matters to you. I just figured…you didn't seem like the type to care about that sort of thing. I'm sorry, I guess I should have let you tell him what you were comfortable with."

Dean quickened his pace to the door as Sam babbled on behind him, the younger boy’s ramblings, apologies, whatever, only pissing him off more with every step he took. Of all the fucking nerve asking him if he was embarrassed by what he and Bobby did for a living. He opened the front door and finally stopped and turned to glare at Sam.

“I live and work at a junkyard, Sam. Plain and simple. Not some fancy auto body shop like your Daddy probably thinks now. Why don’t you go tell him that, and see if he still wants to shake my hand.” Dean snapped angrily before he could stop himself, and then schooled his expression.

“I don’t really give a damn what you think. Or what he thinks. I told you before, I’m not your god damned babysitter, bodyguard, and definitely not your ‘buddy’. And I certainly don’t need you to sugar coat my life for me.”

Dean didn’t wait for Sam to reply before he turned around and walked quickly to his car. Fishing his keys out of his pocket he got in and started her up. The roar of the engine was familiar and comforting as he peeled out of the driveway and down the road without so much as a glance in his rearview mirror.

Maybe he’d still hit the bar on his way home. Have a couple more drinks and play some real god damned pool before he went home and forgot that Sam Colt existed.

Sam's eyes widened at Dean's explosion and anger. He stepped back, unsure, and for the first time got an inkling of the fact Dean could be dangerous. The look in the young man's eyes.

"Okay," Sam said meekly. He watched as Dean stomped out to his car and burned rubber as he left. He sighed. God what a fucked up day.

"Son?" his dad asked. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

Sam closed his eyes. He wasn't about to tell his father Eric tried to molest him. That was just too, well he just couldn't tell him. "Eric wanted me to do something I didn't want to do. He hit me when I refused. I ran. Mr. Singer picked me up in his tow truck and took me back to his place, Singer's Salvage. I got cleaned up, they fed me dinner, then Dean brought me home. Eric and Adam and Cody, they were waiting for me to come by on Toronto Street, but didn't see me in Dean's car. Dad…I can't go back to that school."

Jim Colt listened to his son's explanation, and his eyes hardened. "You are going back to Chalmers. I'm certain it was a misunderstanding. I'll take you in tomorrow morning. You see if you can't work it out with Eric."

"No! I'm not talking to that son of a bitch again! He hit me Dad. Don't you even care?"

"Of course I care. But I know you work it out," Jim told him firmly. "His family is one of the richest in that school. You get back on his good side."

"So if he wants me to snort cocaine, you want me to do it?"

Jim scowled. "Of course not. Don't be afraid to defend yourself and don't be afraid to stand your ground. They respect that."

Sam laughed bitterly. "Fine."

"Don't you use that tone with me, Samuel. This school is costing us everything. I'm trying to make sure you succeed. Sometimes you have to make hard decisions and sometimes you have to do things you don't want to, to get yourself where you need to be. Do you think your mother and I like working overtime? We placed a second mortgage on the house. The school is paid for for the year. You are going to go there, you are going to make friends with the right people, and you are going to like it. You've been quite happy until this altercation with Eric. Fix it."

"Yes sir," Sam snapped, grabbed his coat from where it hung on the door handle of the closet and stomped back to his room, slamming the door.

*
Sam didn't feel like eating breakfast come morning. He dressed in a set of his used school clothes. He still had one nice set and considering he figured he was going to get his ass kicked, he wasn't going to wear his only remaining set of good clothes.

"Where are your books," his father asked.

"Eric has them," Sam answered quietly.

"Even more reason to fix this. I want you in your new clothes. Dressing like that won't impress anyone."

Sam glared at his father, then went and changed. He stuffed his old clothes down into his old book bag. At least all of his text books weren't in the bag in Eric's car. He came back out. "Are you or mom picking me up?"

"If you can't make up with Eric, you'll just have to ride the public bus. Both your mother and I are working overtime, remember?" Jim said pointedly.

"Yes sir," Sam said.

"Now get in the car. I know you'll be getting there early, but I've got to get into work."

Sam went out and got in the car. If he'd know he was going to have to ride the bus, he would have stuffed his jeans and t-shirt in his back pack too.

The ride to the school was silent. He got out of his father's car without saying a word, slamming the door. He made a beeline for his homeroom. Eric's car was already in the parking lot and he just hoped he could get to homeroom before Eric, where ever he was, spotted him. Well, after he stopped and changed in the bathroom.