Chapter 8

Dean's feeling better than he has in days. He's in a goddamn high school, and he feels good, and that's something he never thought he'd see.

He's surrounded by parents, teachers, the odd student. There's an atmosphere of fear and anxiety, but Dean just feels pride. He's got one more teacher to see, another that's bound to tell him that Sam's their best student.

Dean looks at his schedule, looks up at the number on the classroom in front of him. He pushes on the door and goes in.

Then his heart stops cold, because it's not some middle-aged teacher behind the desk. It's Ethan.

It's not in Dean's nature to run away, but he starts backing up immediately.

Ethan gets to his feet, his chair scraping loud on the floor. "Dean, wait."

Dean stops, halfway out the door. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Come in," Ethan says. He looks like shit, dark circles underneath his eyes, and his hair is mussed. "Shut the door."

It hurts just to look at him, to remember how Ethan made him feel, both before and after. It hurts to remember what they did together, and to remember how it ended. "What is this?"

"The door, Dean."

Dean closes it, stands with his back to it as Ethan sinks back down into his seat. "You're not Sam's math teacher."

"I am." Ethan glances at the chair in front of the desk. "Sit down."

Dean doesn't move. "I'll stand."

Ethan looks down at the file folder open in front of him, sighs, and then pushes himself back to his feet. His eyes are on Dean as he crosses the classroom, and he stops just a foot away. "Now do you understand why?"

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat and shakes his head. His heart is beating hard and fast and he can almost feel the heat coming off Ethan's body. He looks away, because it isn't fair. He shouldn't still want to reach out and touch.

"I'm not out at school, Dean," Ethan says. "It's not right, but some people are still assholes. I could lose my job."

That Dean understands, but it still doesn't tell him why Ethan did what he did. He shouldn't care anymore, wishes he didn't. "You think I'd tell someone?"

"Not you," Ethan says. His eyes linger on Dean's face, stray to the cuts, the bruises that are still there after werewolf job. "Sam."

Dean almost chokes. "Sam doesn't know, and if he did, you think he'd spread it round like some juicy piece of gossip?"

Ethan grimaces and turns away. "Sam's a great kid, Dean. Academically, he's any teacher's dream. But he's still just a kid, and kids talk."

"You don't know my brother," Dean hisses.

Ethan turns back. "I couldn't risk it. My job is too important to me."

Dean looks him straight in the eye. "You're an asshole."

"I know," Ethan says, and drops his eyes. "I panicked. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you."

Dean turns away, grabs the door handle and pulls at it. The door creaks open, and he's about to step out, because he's got to get away, before his heart implodes.

"Dean?"

Dean looks up.

Ethan's hand goes to his face, to his cheek and temple. "You're hurt. Are you okay?"

Dean shrugs. "You should see the other guy," he says, and then walks out the door.

---

He should be coming home full of pride, ready to give Sam the expected good news. Instead, he can't even look at Sam when he walks through the door.

"What?" Sam says, as he follows him to the fridge. "Oh my god, Dean. What?"

Dean pulls out a beer, screws off the cap, downs half the bottle in one go. "You're good," he rasps. "Everyone loves you." He lifts the bottle, empties it.

Sam steps back. "Then why the sudden alcoholism?"

Dean grabs another bottle, sits down heavy at the kitchen table. He sighs, and looks up at his brother. "What's your math teachers name, Sam?"

Sam frowns. "Mr Jones?" His frown deepens, and his eyes focus on something far away. "Ethan Jones—" His eyes snap back to Dean's face. "No way."

Dean tips his bottle at Sam, makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "Bingo, Sammy. They all said you were smart. Including the asshole that br—" He cuts himself off, screws off the bottle cap and tosses it at the garbage. It misses, hits the floor and spins there for a few seconds.

"That broke your heart," Sam finishes for him. "God, Dean. I'm so sorry."

Dean stares down at the tabletop. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Right." Sam sits on the edge of the table. "I know you're not, Dean." He makes an exasperated noise. "I don't know how he could look me in the eye. What a dick."

Dean's eyes snap up. "You can't say anything, Sam. Not to him, not to anyone else. You understand?"

Sam stares back at him, his face impassive. "Sure, Dean. I get it. But you know this is my fault, right?"

"What? Sam, no."

"I told him," Sam says. "I told him my brother, Dean, would be coming to parent teacher night, because Dad wasn't in the picture anymore."

---

Dean steps back from the open hood of the Impala, wipes his hands on his overalls. He managed to lose himself in Baby's inner workings for a while, and now he's done, he realizes he's got a smile on his face.

It feels good, for a change. Life doesn't exactly suck, but smiling, feeling good, has been sort of elusive lately. He pushes aside the thought that if it wasn't for Ethan, if it wasn't for Ethan's guilt money, he wouldn't have had the part he needed.

He's reaching up to close the hood when there's a sound behind him, the soft scuff of rubber soles on cement. It's almost nothing, but it's a Saturday. The garage is closed, there shouldn't be anyone here. Dean's immediately alert. He leaves the hood up and reaches for the wrench sitting on top of the engine, and then he turns around.

Then he sighs, and slides the wrench into his back pocket. "You just come here to ruin my day, or is there something you want?"

Ethan looks good. There are still dark smudges under his eyes, but his shirt is clean and pressed, his hair is combed, and he'd shaved that morning. Dean turns his back on him, bangs the hood closed, pulls a rag out of his pocket and wipes the grease off his hands.

"I called your place," Ethan says. "Sam said you were here."

"Sam's supposed to be at the library." Dean slides into the driver's seat. He turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life. He lifts his eyes, just a quick glance through the windscreen at Ethan standing in the open workshop door, then looks away, tipping his head to the side as he listens to the engine.

"Good girl." He pats the dash, and can't help smiling, even though his heart is pounding. He looks up again, and the smile melts off his face. He turns off the engine, drops his head. He can't look at Ethan as he approaches.

"This is a beautiful car," Ethan says. He stands on the outside of the open door, trails a finger down the hood. "Is it yours?"

"She was my dad's." Dean shakes his head before he lifts it. "What do you want?"

Ethan's eyes are clear, the whites are bright and his pupils are dilated. "I made a mistake, Dean."

"Yeah, you said that already." Dean gets out of the car, shuts the door behind him. "Don't worry, I got the hint, you don't have to track me down and hammer it in." Dean drops the wrench back in the toolbox, crosses the room and lifts it onto the shelf. "So why are you still here?"

"You weren't my mistake."

It's just a whisper, but right behind him. Ethan being here throws him off, distracts him. Dean turns around, backs up half a step to put more distance between them. "Your mistake was coming here."

Ethan shakes his head. "When I quit on you like that. It might be the stupidest thing I've ever done. I hurt you, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Dean pushes past and walks away. He stops in the center of the room, because he's got no where else to go. "I'm fine."

"I'm not."

Dean's lungs tighten. It gets hard to breathe. "Is that all? Because I'm done here, but I can't lock up until you're gone."

"I want to see you again."

Dean's heart stops for a second. "What?"

Ethan's shoes scuff across the cement floor again, and Dean can feel him before he reaches out. He brushes his fingertips down Dean's arm, and it raises goosebumps. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the moment I laid eyes on you, Dean. Meeting you, kissing you, everything we did? None of that was a mistake. Ending it? Even if I had done it properly. That was the worst mistake I've ever made." His fingers wrap around Dean's wrist, and he tries to pull Dean to face him. "I like you, Dean. A lot."

Dean turns, grabs Ethan's wrist, pulls it off and drops it. "Fool me once," he says. He walks to the roller door and pulls it up. "Now get out. I gotta get home to my brother."

"Sam doesn't like me much right now, does he?"

"Yeah, well," Dean says, as he opens the car door and slides into the drivers seat. "Neither do I." He starts the engine, pops in the first tape that comes to hand and dials up the volume. A song starts halfway through, pounds right into Dean's chest. He shoves the Impala into reverse, puts his foot down and squeals out of the workshop. He'll have to explain the tire marks to Jimmy on Monday, but right now he doesn't care.

He leaves the engine running when he gets out to lock up the shop. "Get out or I'll call the cops," he says, bluffing, but Ethan doesn't need to know that. "We're done."

---

Ethan was right there, practically down on his knees, and it would have been so easy to take him back. Dean wanted it. Wanted to give in, to cave, but he couldn't.

He knows what's going on. He knows why Ethan broke up with him. He's never had to deal with that kind of prejudice himself, but it exists, and as a teacher, Ethan's vulnerable.

Sam's told him Ethan's a good teacher. One of the best. Approachable, attentive. He takes teaching seriously. There are no rumors about him, he doesn't look too long at the male students or anything. Sam tells him half the female student body are in love with him, and that doesn't surprise Dean in the slightest, because Ethan is beautiful. He's all the things that Dean can't get out of his head.

Sam swears he's given up on giving Ethan a hard time at school. Dean's pride wouldn't let him forgive Ethan when he came for forgiveness, but he's done it now. He doesn't want Ethan to suffer, and he doesn't blame him anymore.

Dean knows that Ethan was scared. He knows that he sought to protect himself and he knows that he probably didn't think he'd be hurting Dean, because Dean wasn't gay. He was just trying something new, and he wasn't falling in love or anything.

Except that he was.

Time is supposed to fix pain like that, but it's not getting any better.

There's a girl working at the diner where Dean gets his lunch sometimes. She's cute, and she flirts with Dean. He flirts back out of habit, but he hasn't asked her out yet. Deep down, he's hoping Ethan will come back, but he knows that ship has sailed. This time, Dean's the one who made it clear that they were over, and Ethan won't come back.

Jimmy takes days off sometimes, leaves Dean to run the workshop. Skips out on a Thursday night, says he's going to get a head start on some fishing. He's never said as much, but it means he trusts Dean. Gave him a pay rise a month back. Not much, but enough to put a smile on Sam's face.

Weirdly, Dean doesn't miss hunting full time. He'd be doing it alone now, or he'd be dragging around an increasingly belligerent teenager. Dean's never seen Sam so happy.

That makes Dean happy. But there's still something missing. It's not hunting, but that's what Dean tries to fix it with. That's why Sam comes to him one Sunday afternoon, with an old newspaper from two towns over in his hand, opens it up and jabs his finger at the article Dean circled.

"You didn't bump your head on a muffler, did you, Dean?"

Without thinking, Dean lifts his hand to touch the fading bruise from the poltergeist job a week back. He looks up at Sam, still tapping at the paper, and snatches it off him. "Leave it, Sammy."

"How many more?" Sam demands. "How many other hunts have you been on? You're not working on the weekends, are you?"

"I'm working," Dean says. "Just not at the garage. What does it matter? We're still here, you're still at school. What else am I supposed to do at the weekends? What else am I supposed to do to keep my mind off—"

"Ethan," Sam says, and sighs. He drops onto the couch beside Dean. "Why don't you just call him?"

Dean pulls a face. He wants to get angry, because even Ethan's name makes his heart hurt. Hell, seeing Sam doing his math homework makes his heart hurt. "Fuck Ethan," Dean says. "Maybe I need to take my mind off Dad. Dad's dead, Sam, and you don't even seem to care."

Sam's face closes off. "Dad died hunting. He left us, Dean, and he didn't come back, and we didn't even know where to look for him. So fuck Dad, okay?"

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but snaps his jaw shut at the look Sam gives him.

"No, Dean. Dad had a mission, I get that. But he left us with nothing. The mission was more important to him than we were, so I'm not going to torture myself over him being gone."

"Sammy, you're wrong. Dad knew I'd look out for you—"

"Then why the hell are you trying to kill yourself?" Sam's lip starts to quiver. "That's got nothing to do with Dad, and you know it."

Dean stops when he sees the emotion on Sam's face. "Sam," he whispers. "I'm not. You think I want to leave you? No. I just can't—" The words stick in his throat, he chokes on them. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to deal with—" He hunches over, and his hand goes to his chest, and he fights tears. He shakes his head. "I can't. But when there's something to fight? Something I can hit or shoot or set on fire? I can forget for a while, you know?"

"It's not even Dad, is it?"

Dean stares at Sam for a while. Long moments pass. Then he shakes his head. "I had my whole life to get my head around the fact that one day, Dad wasn't going to come back. When we were younger, when you were too young to understand, he'd tell me what to do when it happened. A couple years back, he stopped reminding me."

"I can't do that," Sam says. "I won't be okay if you don't come back."

Dean drops his head. His vision blurs until all he sees is the black circle around the article in the paper. The brick the poltergeist hurled at him knocked him out for a good half hour. It could have finished him off, could have brought the whole crumbling house down on top of him. Dean got lucky. "You want me to quit hunting."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam says. "Really quit this time. I don't want you to leave me, too. You're all I've got."

Dean looks up. "Okay, Sammy. I promise. For real, this time." This time he means it. He can't stop the tear that rolls down his cheek when he wonders just how he's going to quiet the hurt in his chest next time it gets to be too much to bear, but he's not going to risk leaving Sam all alone.

Sam reaches out, wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. "Call him, Dean. He misses you, too. I can tell."

Dean turns his head away. "He doesn't even know me."

"He knows enough. And so do you. Call him."

Dean snorts, but it's not funny. "I can't. If he didn't answer, it would be the same thing all over again, and I don't think I could stand it. I can't go to his place for the same reason." He looks at Sam. "I'm fucked, Sam, and he's not gonna come back to me, I made it clear the last time that he wasn't welcome."