A blond cheerleader is sitting eating lunch with several other girls and boys. “She’s such a slut,” she says. “So?” says the boy next to her. “Personally I’m very pro-slut.” She shoves him angrily. “What happened anyway?” he asks. “She totally banged Jamie Jaffey, that’s what,” the girl says with a smile. “She gave him the reverse cowgirl and everything.” She stops and looks up as a dark-haired girl walks up, holding her tray. “Hi Taylor,” she says, smiling. “How was your weekend?” “Fine, I guess,” Taylor replies, looking confused as several people laugh. “You didn’t go to the rodeo?” the blond girl says suggestively. Taylor notices that her spot is taken, and then everybody around the table starts pretending to cough, while really saying “Slut”. Taylor looks shocked, and then walks away quickly and sits down across from a slightly overweight girl who is sitting by herself. “You shouldn’t listen to those jerks,” she says, looking tentatively at Taylor. “Leave me alone,” Taylor replies. “I just mean... I’m sorry. That’s all,” the girl says. “You? You’re sorry? Don’t you feel sorry for me, you fat ugly pig,” Taylor says viciously. The girl stares at her, and then stands up abruptly, leaving Taylor alone in the middle of the cafeteria as people stare.

The next day, in the bathroom, Taylor is looking at herself in the mirror when she senses something behind her. She turns to see the overweight girl from eariler, right behind her. “You think I’m ugly?” she says. “Look,” Taylor begins, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean it, okay?” She turns away, and suddenly the girl grabs her head, smashing it into the mirror several times, then drags her into the nearest bathroom stall and shoves her head into the toilet. “I’m not ugly,” she says, then shoves her back in again, flushing it this time. Taylor screams and struggles, but she can’t get away. Finally, the girl lets her go, but she’s drowned. As she looks at Taylor, black stuff oozes out of her eye. “You’re ugly,” she says.

“I’m not talking about it anymore.” The overweight girl is in an institution, sitting across from someone. “I already told the cops and the doctors, and no one believes me. They think I’m crazy.” “Well I’m a little more open-minded than most,” Sam says calmly. “April, why did you tell the police you were possessed?” “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It matters to me,” Sam replies. “When I hurt Taylor,” she says slowly, “I was there, in my head, but I couldn’t control my body. I could see what I was doing... but I couldn’t stop. I just wanted to stop.” She starts to tear up. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t need to apologize,” Sam says. “April, some of the kids at school told the police that you and Taylor didn’t get along.” “Well, yeah. But I never wanted to kill her,” April says. “Never. Do you believe me?” Sam looks at her for a moment. “Yeah I do. Just a couple more questions. On the day this happened, did you happen to smell anything? Like rotten eggs, or sulphur?” “Ummm, no - no,” April says. “Did you... notice any black smoke?” Sam asks slowly. “What, are you crazy?” she says, staring at him.

Outside, Sam walks up to the Impala and gets in. “So?” Dean says. “I think she’s telling the truth,” Sam replies. “I mean the way she talked about being there mentally, but not physically. Kinda sounds like demonic possession to me.” “Kinda?” Dean repeats. “She didn’t see any black smoke, or smell any sulphur,” Sam tells him. “Maybe it’s not a demon. I mean, kids can be vicious,” Dean suggests. “Well I mean we’re already here, might as well check out the school,” Sam says. Dean looks at him. “Right, the school.” “What?” Sam asks. “Truman High - home of the Bombers,” Dean says, not looking too happy. “What’s your point?” Sam asks, smiling a little. “Well I dunno, I mean we went there, like, for a month, about a million years ago,” Dean says. “Why are you so jazzed to go back?” “I’m not,” Sam says casually, “I just think it’s worth looking into.” Dean looks resigned. “Alright, well what’s our cover? FBI? Homeland Security? Swedish Exchange students?” “Don’t worry,” Sam smiles. “I got an idea.” Dean shrugs. “Okay.” He starts the car.

Memory - 1997

The Impala pulls up in front of Truman High, and a teenage Dean and Sam climb out. “Thanks Dad,” Dean says as he gets out. He turns to Sam. “Got your lunch? Books? Butterfly knife?” “Yeah Dean,” Sam says. “You okay?” Dean asks. “Yeah,” Sam says. “Sammy?” Dean stops in front of him, waiting. Sam sighs. “I mean, look. This is the third school we’ve been to this year, and it’s only November! I’m just sick of always being the new kid.” “You’ll be fine,” Dean insists. “If anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know.” Sam smirks and looks away. “Relax! Dad said this hunt will take him two weeks, tops,” Dean goes on. “As soon as he gets back, we’re out of here.” “To another school,” Sam says. “Awesome.” He walks past Dean. Dean sighs, then follows him

Sam is standing in front of his new class. “Ladies and gentlemen - please say hello to Sam Winchester,” says his teacher, a tall dark-haired man. “Hi Sam,” the class says together.

Dean stands in front of his new class. “Class, say hello to our new student, Dean Winchester,” says his teacher, a red-haired woman. The class is silent. “Dean, is there anything you’d like to tell us about yourself?” the teacher asks. Dean shakes his head. “Not really, sweetheart.” She looks annoyed. “Take your seat.” Several kids laugh.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell us about yourself?” Sam’s teacher asks. “Not really,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Okay, grab a seat,” the teacher says.

As Dean walks down the aisle, he notices a blond girl watching him and smirks a little.

As Sam puts down his backpack, his butterfly knife falls out onto the desk, and a kid with glasses sitting next to him sees it. “Whoa, that’s yours?” he says excitedly. “Awesome!”

“Dean, where are your books?” his teacher asks, looking angry. “Don’t need ‘em, sugar. Not gonna be here long enough anyway,” Dean replies. The blond girl sneaks another look at him, and Dean smiles at her.

“Alright gang - essay assignments,” Sam’s teacher says. Everyone groans. “Yeah yeah, my heart breaks for you,” he says lightly. “Hey - I’m Barry,” the boy with glasses next to Sam says. “Sam,” Sam replies. A big boy behind Barry leans forward and starts flicking his ear. Sam notices. “Leave him alone,” he says. “Shhh,” the big boy says. “I’m going for a record.” He continues to flick Barry. “I said leave him alone,” Sam repeats. “You wanna take his place, midget?” the kid asks. Sam looks at him squarely. “Yeah. Sure.” The kid looks surprised, and turns away.

Present

Sam is walking down the hall, pushing a janitor’s cart. He looks back, and sees his old teacher coming out of his classroom.

A whistle blows. “Today, you will have the honour, of playing one of the greatest games ever invented,” Dean says. He is wearing red shorts, knee-socks, and a headband. “A game of skill, and agility, and cunning.” A row of kids watch him as he walks in front of them. “A game with one simple rule. Dodge.” He throws the ball at the kid in front of him, hitting him square in the chest. “Sorry,” he says, and continues walking. “Uh, Coach Roth?” another kid says, raising his hand. “Yes?” Dean walks over. “Miss Budroll never let us play dodgeball,” the kid says. “Well, Miss. B’s in Massachusetts getting married,” Dean says. “So we’re playing.” “She says it’s dangerous!” the kid begins, then jumps as Dean blows his whistle. “Take a lap!” he orders, blowing it again. The kid runs. Sam walks into the gym, and Dean looks up, then heads over, throwing a bag of balls over his shoulder. “Go nuts.” “Having fun?” Sam asks as his brother walks up. “The whistle makes me their god,” Dean says, smiling. “Right. Nice shorts,” Sam comments. Dean ignores him. “Find anything?” “Been over the entire school twice. No sulphur,” Sam replies. “No sulphur, no demon. No demon, no case,” Dean says. “Maybe I was wrong,” Sam admits. “Ah well, it happens to the best of us. I say we hit the road, huh?” Dean smiles hopefully. “But after lunch, it’s Sloppy Joe day.” Sam winces as someone is hit with a ball behind them. “Walk it off!” Dean calls at him as the kid from earlier runs by, holding his nose.

It’s cooking class. The jock from the cheerleader’s table is standing in front of a skinny boy. “Hey - I need to copy your algebra homework again,” he says quietly. The boy is staring at the table as he grinds up ingredients in the food processor. He doesn’t answer. “Hey,” the jock says, shoving him. The kid finally looks at him. “Why? Cause you’re a stupid, brain-dead dick?” He turns on the food processor again. “I’m gonna shove my fist down your throat, you little freak,” whispers the other boy. “That fist?” the kid says, looking at the jock’s hand on the table. “Yeah,” he says. The skinny boy suddenly grabs the other’s hand and shoves it into the food processor. Everyone begins to scream as blood splatters everywhere. The teacher runs forward and pulls out the boy’s hand, then takes him out of the room just as Sam is coming in. Sam stares in shock as the skinny boy suddenly collapses. He walks forward and kneels down. “What happened?” the boy says. Sam notices black goo running out of the kid’s ear.

Later, Sam is going over some of the lockers with the EMF, and Dean joins him a moment later, wearing a red sweat suit. “The kid had ectoplasm leaking out of his ear?” “Which only comes from a seriously pissed off spirit,” Sam replies as they walk. “It’s gotta be ghost possession.” “That’s pretty rare,” Dean says. “Yeah but it happens. I mean, they get angry enough, they can take control of a person’s body,” Sam says. “Alright so what, we got a ghost in the building?” Dean guesses. “Yeah, but where? I mean, there’s no EMF,” Sam replies. “Maybe we can find out who it is, at least, you know, check and see if somebody died bloody around here or something.” “Way ahead of you,” Dean says, pulling out a piece of paper. “I had to break into the principal’s office to get this. Oh, and FYI, three of the cheerleaders are legal. Guess which ones?” “No,” Sam says flatly. Dean opens the paper. “Okay, so there was only one death on campus, it was a suicide, some kid named Barry Cook.” Sam looks shocked. “What?” Dean asks. “I knew him,” Sam sighs. “How did he die?” “Uh, he slit his wrists on the first-floor girls’ bathroom,” Dean says. “That’s where...” Sam begins. “Right where the chick got swirlied to death, exactly,” Dean finishes. “So what, this ghost is possessing nerds?” “And using them to go after bullies, yeah,” Sam agrees. “Well does that sound like Barry’s MO?” Dean asks. “Barry had a hard time,” Sam says sadly.

Memory

Barry is walking down the hall carrying his books when a jock shoves him on the way by, making him fall and drop everything. “Oops,” he sneers. Sam drops down next to him, helping him gather everything up. “Thanks Sam,” Barry says. “Great school,” Sam says sarcastically. “I don’t care - three years and I’m out of here,” Barry says. “I’m going to Michigan State. They got the best vet program in the country.” “You like animals?” Sam asks. “They’re a lot nicer than people,” explains Barry.

Dean is in a janitor’s closet, kissing the blond girl from his class. He pauses for a minute. “So tonight I’m thinking... you, me, a bucket of popcorn drenched in butter...” he begins. “Mmm, kinky,” she giggles, kissing him again. “And the midnight screening of ‘I Spit On Your Grave’ at the Cinedome,” he finishes. “I can’t,” she says, “I have a curfew. At eleven.” “Sooo?” Dean asks. “So, if I break it, my folks will ground me for a month,” she explains. “Yeah, parents - terrifying,” Dean says. “Yeah, when’s your curfew?” she asks. “I don’t have one,” he replies. She laughs a little, then stops. “Your parents just let you stay up all night, don’t they?” “My dad’s out of town on a job, it’s just me and my brother,” he says. “For how long?” she asks. “A couple of weeks,” he answers. “Seriously?” she asks, looking concerned. “Yeah - we got a pretty sweet set up at the Pines,” Dean says. She looks confused. “The motel?” “Mmmhmm - HBO, magic fingers, free ice... it’s great,” he says. “Yeah, I guess,” she says, looking away. “What? I do whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s perfect,” he says. “Yeah, but... don’t you miss your dad?” she asks finally. Dean is silent.

They step out of the closet, and Dean says “Yo, Sammy!” as Sam walks by. “That’s your brother with Amanda Heckerly?” says Barry in awe. “She’s cool.” “Yeah, he thinks so,” Sam says. They keep walking and run into the big kid from class earlier. “Hey tough guy. Been looking for you,” he says. “Still wanna take Barry’s place?” “Get outta here, Barry,” Sam says quickly. “I’ll go get a teacher,” Barry says, leaving quickly. Sam stops the boy from following him. “You wanna go?” he says. “I’m not gonna fight you, Dirk,” Sam says calmly. “Why not? Chicken?” Dirk says. “Come on!” he shoves Sam. “No,” Sam says, starting to turn away, but Dirk pulls him back and punches him. He falls. “Get up! Get up!” Dirk yells. “Get back, get back!” Their teacher arrives, and holds Dirk back. “That is enough.” He looks at Sam, then follows Dirk.

Present

Sam is shaking salt onto Barry’s bones. Dean squirts on holy water and then drops in the match. As they put their tools back in the trunk, Dean says “So long, Barry Cook.” Sam is silent.

As they drive, Dean looks over at Sam. “You alright?” “Barry was my friend. And I just burned his bones,” Sam says. “Well, he’s at peace now, Sam,” Dean replies. “I mean if Dad had let us stay just a little longer, maybe I could’ve helped the kid, you know?” Sam says. “You read the coroner’s report, same as me,” Dean replies. “Barry was on every anxiety drug and anti-depressant known to man. School was hell for that kid. His parents had split up... he just wanted out. It’s tragic, but it’s not your fault.” Sam doesn’t say anything. “To tell you the truth, I’m glad we got out of that town. I hated that school,” Dean goes on. Sam glances at him. “It wasn’t all bad.” “How can you say that after what happened to you?” Dean asks.

Memory

Sam is sitting on the bleachers, with Dean in front of him. “That kid’s dead,” Dean says. “Dean...” Sam begins. “I’m gonna rip his lungs out!” Dean says angrily. “It’s not a big deal,” Sam tries. “Not a big deal? Sammy, look at yourself! If Dad was here...” Dean begins. “He’s not,” Sam says. “Well I am. And as soon as I’m finished with that dick...!” Dean says. “Just shut up, okay?” Sam says loudly. “I don’t need your help.” “That’s right you don’t - you could’ve torn him apart, so why didn’t you?” Dean asks. “Because I don’t wanna be the freak for once, Dean,” Sam says. “I wanna be normal.” “So, taking a beating, that’s normal?” Dean says. He shakes his head. “Any word from Dad?” Sam asks. Dean pulls out his cellphone. “He called this morning, he said he’s going to be another week, at least. We weren’t supposed to be here this long.” “At least you got Amanda,” Sam says. “She’s cool.” “Dude, she wants me to meet her parents,” Dean says. “I don’t do parents.”

As the bell is ringing in Sam’s English class, his teacher, Mr. Wyatt, stops him. “Mr. Winchester - can I talk to you?” he asks. “I’ll wait for you outside,” Barry says, then leaves. “Look, if this is about the fight, I didn’t start it,” Sam says as he stands in front of the teacher’s desk. “Oh no, it’s not about the fight, Sam.” He sits down, holding some papers. “You know this assignment was non-fiction, right?” “Yes Mr. Wyatt,” Sam says. “So, you and your family killed a werewolf last summer, huh?” the teacher asks. Sam doesn’t answer. “Why would you write something like this, Sam?” “It doesn’t matter. As soon as my dad gets back we’re leaving, so...” Sam replies. “You can flunk me if you want to.” “I’m not flunking you. I’m giving you an A,” Mr. Wyatt says. “Aside from the werewolf, is that really how you describe your family?” “Yeah,” Sam nods. “Well, your brother’s quite a character,” his teacher says, smiling. “And your father he seems... driven. Anyway, it’s good, Sam. It’s really good. Have you ever thought about pursuing writing?” “I can’t,” Sam says. “I have to go into the family business.” “Family business?” “My dad’s a... my dad’s a mechanic,” Sam tells him. “So I have to be mechanic too.” “Do you want to go into the family business, Sam?” his teacher asks. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” Sam admits. “More than anything, no.” His teacher stands up and walks around the desk. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds here, but... you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Look, I know what it’s like. I come from a family of surgeons, and that wasn’t me. So you know, I traded in the money and prestige of being a doctor for all the glamour you see around you. The point is, there may be three or four big choices that shape someone’s whole life - and you need to be the one that makes them. Not anyone else. You seem like a great kid, Sam. Just live the life you want to live.”

The boys are sitting in the car, outside the school. “We came back so you could talk to a teacher?” Dean asks incredulously. “He’s a good guy,” Sam says. “Well whatever,” Dean says.

Sam heads into the school. As he walks towards the room, he pushes his hair back, just like used to do when he was a kid, in this exact hall. Just as he’s about to knock on the door, a girl stops him. “Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me how to find room 305?” “Sure. Head down the hall, take the first right, and it’s the third door on the left,” Sam says. She looks at him, then smiles. “Thanks, Sam.” Suddenly, she drops her books and jabs him with her pen. “You got tall, Winchester.” She knees him, then punches him. He flies backwards. Black goo oozes out of her mouth. As she approaches, Sam quickly opens a little bottle of salt into his hand, then grabs her and shoves the salt into her mouth. A moment later, a black shape flies out of her and disappears.

The boys are sitting by the car. “Trust me, this’ll help,” Dean says, passing Sam a bottle of liquor from the cooler. “That ghost is dead. I’m gonna rip its lungs out!” Sam looks at him. “You know what I mean,” Dean says. “It knew my name, Dean. My real name,” Sam tells him. “We burned Barry’s bones. What the hell?” Dean opens the folder of victims and looks at it again. “Well maybe it wasn’t Barry, maybe we missed something. We just gotta go back.” He looks at the list again, then looks up. “No way. How did we not see this before?” “What?” Sam asks. “Check it out - Martha Dumptruck, Revenge of the Nerds, and Hello Kitty - they all rode the same bus,” Dean says, showing him. “’Kay, so maybe the bus is haunted,” Sam says. “Well that would explain why there’s no EMF at the school, but not the attacks,” Dean replies. “I mean ghosts are tied to the places that they haunt, they can’t just bail.” “Unless this one can,” Sam says suddenly. “Dean, there’s lore about spirits possessing people and riding them for miles. Whenever they leave the body, they’re bungied back to their original haunt, but until then, the ghosts can go wherever they want.” “So a spook just grabs a kid on the bus, and walks right into Truman?” Dean asks. “It’s possible,” Sam says. “Ghosts getting creative. Well that’s super,” Dean says, reaching for a drink for himself.

On the bus, Sam has the EMF on, and it’s getting plenty. “It’s definitely not clean,” Sam says. “Here, ghostie ghostie ghostie,” Dean says, tapping the roof with his shotgun. “Come out come out wherever you are!” “Dean I don’t get it - nobody ever died on this bus, and it’s not like there’s a body hidden in here,” Sam says. “A flap of skin, a hair, hell even a hangnail - something’s gotta be tying the ghost to this place,” Dean says. “We just gotta find it.” “Yeah,” Sam says. Dean walks to the front of the bus and finds some papers in a compartment. He pulls them out and finds a certificate. “Got a new driving permit,” he calls. “Issued two weeks ago.” “Right before the first attack,” Sam realizes. “Yeah. The bus driver is Dirk McGregor Senior,” Dean reads. “39 North Central Avenue.” “McGregor?” Sam repeats. “Yeah. Why?” Dean says. “I knew his son,” Sam says. “Did you know everybody at this school?” Dean asks.

Memory

Sam is heading out of school when he sees Dirk pushing Barry around. “Leave him alone, Dirk,” Sam says. “You never learn, do you, midget?” Dirk says. “Get to the bus, Barry,” Sam says. He starts to leave, but Dirk shoves him and he falls. “What’s the matter? Scared? Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you this time,” Dirk says, waiting for Sam to get up. “Come on, Losechester. Let’s see what you got. Come on, freak! Freak!” Sam suddenly gets up and shoves Dirk. Dirk swings at him, but Sam ducks and punches him in the stomach. They continue to fight, and Sam immediately gets the upper hand, knocking Dirk to the ground. “You’re not tough,” Sam says. “You’re just a jerk. Dirk the Jerk.” People around immediately pick up the name and start chanting it as Dirk walks away quickly.

Present

“You say you were friends with Dirk?” his father is saying. The boys are sitting across from him, at his house. “Yes sir, in high school,” Sam says. “I don’t recall Dirk having many friends at Truman,” his father says. “When did Dirk pass?” Dean asks. “He was eighteen,” his father says. “What happened to him?” Sam asks. “Well there was... first, drinking. Then drugs, then too many drugs. He just slipped through my fingers. It was my fault, I should’ve seen it coming. Dirk - he had his troubles. School was never easy for Dirk. We didn’t have much money, and... well you know kids. They can be cruel. They picked on him.” “They picked on him?” Sam repeats. His father nods. “They called him poor, and dirty, and stupid. They even had a nickname for him. Dirk the Jerk.” Sam looks awkward. “After what happened to his mother, he...” “His mother?” Sam cuts in. “Jane, my wife. She died when Dirk was thirteen. Cancer. I was working three jobs, so it fell to Dirk to take care of her. And he was a great kid. He made sure Jane got her medicine... he helped her, cleaned up after her. You know, when you watch somebody die slow... waste away to nothing... it does things to a person. Horrible things.” “I didn’t know about his mother,” Sam says quietly. “He wouldn’t talk about her,” agrees Dirk’s father. “Not even to me. Lotta anger in that boy.” “I’m sorry,” Sam says. “We’d really like to pay our respects, Mr. McGregor,” Dean says carefully. “You mind telling us where Dirk is buried?” “Oh, he wasn’t. I had him cremated,” his father says. “All of him?” Dean asks. The man looks surprised. “I kept a lock of his hair.” “Oh - that’s nice. Where do you keep that?” Dean asks, trying to be casual. “On my bus... in my Bible?” his father says, looking confused. The boys nod, then exchange glances.

A school bus is traveling along the road, with a whole bunch of teenage boys, obviously heading to a sports competition. The coach leans forward to the driver. “Thanks for subbing tonight, Eddy.” “My pleasure, coach,” the driver replies. Some black goo runs out of his nose as he smiles. After a few moments, the bus is really picking up speed. “Eddy - you wanna ease up on the pedal there?” the coach says, looking worried. “I got it all under control,” replies Eddy. A few seconds later, they drive over a row of spikes on the road, and the tires blow. “What the hell was that?” gasps the coach as Eddy quickly pulls the bus to a stop at the side of the road. He slowly climbs out of the bus, and looks around outside. Suddenly “Dirk!” Eddy turns to see Sam, standing with a shotgun pointed at him. “Winchester,” he says. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” “Don’t need to,” Sam replies, and Dean grabs Dirk from behind and wraps a rope around his arms. “That rope is soaked in salt water, Dirk, you’re not going anywhere,” Sam says. Dean runs by him and jumps on the bus. “Alright, everybody stay where you are, you’ll be okay,” he says firmly. “Aren’t the PE teacher?” the coach asks. Dean turns back. “Not really. I’m like 21 Jump Street. Bus driver sells pot,” he says seriously. “Yeah.” He turns around to where the papers and Bible are, but after going through it, he can’t find the hair. “It’s not here,” he calls to Sam. “Where is it?” Sam asks Dirk. “No way you’ll ever find it,” Dirk replies. Sam moves forward and shoves Dirk against the side of the bus. “Where is it!” “Sam Winchester,” Dirk says slowly. “Still a bully. You - you jocks... you popular kids. You always thought you were better than everybody else. To you I was just Dirk the Jerk, right? Now you evil sons of bitches are gonna get what’s coming to you.” “I’m not evil, Dirk,” Sam says, stepping back. “I’m not. And neither were you. Trust me. I’ve seen real evil. We were scared, and miserable. And we took it out on each other. Us and everybody else. That’s high school. But you suffer through that, and it gets better. I’m just sorry you didn’t get a chance to see that. You or Barry.” “Nothing is gonna get better for me,” snaps Dirk. “Not ever!” He strains and snaps the ropes, then heads towards Sam. Sam shoots him with rocksalt, and the driver falls down. A boy on the bus jerks, then ectoplasm runs out of his nose. Dean and Sam approach the bus driver’s body slowly. He’s just starting to move when suddenly Sam is tackled from behind. The boy from the bus holds him down and punches him. Dean shoots him, but nothing happens. “Dean - find the hair!” calls Sam desperately. Dean whirls around and runs back into the bus, searching everything. Suddenly he turns, as something occurs to him. He runs back down and out to the bus driver, and starts to go through his pockets, saying “Hey buddy - this isn’t what it looks like.” He finally pulls off one of his boots, and the lock of hair falls out. Sam is still getting pummeled as Dean desperately clicks his lighter. He finally sets it on fire, and Dirk pulls back with a yell. Sparks fly out of his mouth, and the boy slumps forward on Sam. “A little help?” Sam wheezes. Dean looks over, then makes a face. “Ugh - he’s giving you the full cowgirl.”

Memory

Dean is kissing a different girl, in the same closet as before. Someone knocks at the door, and Dean calls back “Five more minutes, Jerry,” then goes back to kissing her. The door opens anyway, and Dean turns to see Amanda. “Amanda, hey,” he says, pulling away from the girl. “Uh, Gettysburg address, 1863, right?” The girl walks away. “History test next period, we were studying,” he tells Amanda. She shakes her head and starts to walk away. “Come on baby, she means nothing to me, don’t be mad,” he says, following her. Amanda turns back. “I’m not mad, Dean. I thought maybe, under your whole I-could-give-a-crap, badboy thing, that there was something more going on. I mean like - the way you are with your brother? But I was wrong. You spend so much time, trying to convince people that you’re cool but... it’s just an act. We both know that you’re just a sad, lonely, little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.” Dean looks away for a second. “You feel sorry for me, huh? Don’t feel sorry for me. You don’t know anything about me.” Amanda shakes her head and walks away. “I save lives, I’m a hero,” he says anyway. “A hero! What?” Several girls are watching him with looks of disbelief, then turn and walk away. “What?” he calls to the rest of the hall.

Sam is walking through a bunch of kids, they are all patting him on the back and telling him “Good job, Sam!” “Sam, great job with Dirk the Jerk!”

Dean walks down the hall alone, and then his phone rings. “Dad?” he says “Finally.”

They wait outside on the steps for John. “I can’t wait to get out of here, this place sucks,” Dean says, pacing. He turns around quickly as he hears the Impala’s horn, and it pulls up in front of the school. “Come on, Sam!” Dean says as he hurries towards the car. Sam looks back, and sees Barry watching him from the window, he waves. Sam waves back, then gets in the car and they drive away.

Present

Sam walks into Mr. Wyatt’s room quietly, the teacher is at his desk working. “Mr. Wyatt?” he says. “Yes?” the man looks up. Sam walks forward. “You probably don’t remember me, but... my name is Sam Winchester, and... just wanted to thank you.” “For...?” Mr. Wyatt asks. “I was a student here,” Sam goes on. “And you gave me some advice once.” The teacher watches him a moment, then smiles. “Winchester - right, right - yeah, you wrote that horror story.” He stands up and shakes hands with Sam. “Yeah, yeah I did... it’s kinda all been one long horror story,” Sam says. “What do you mean?” Mr. Wyatt asks. “Nothing, sorry,” Sam says, shrugging. “So what was this advice? I might need to plagarize myself down the line,” Wyatt asks. “You told me that I didn’t have to go into the family business,” Sam says. “You said I should make my own choices.” “Ah - so you managed to do your own thing then, huh?” Wyatt says. “Yeah, for a while, yeah,” Sam says. “And I think I went to college because of you. But - you know, people grow up. You know, responsibilities and... but still. You took an interest me in when no one else did. That matters. So... thank you.” “Well, you know, the only thing that really matters is that you’re happy. Are you happy, Sam?” Wyatt asks. Sam doesn’t answer.

Synopsis by Deanandhisimpala