Rating: PG - Gen - Outside POV - wee!Chesters
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Outside POV - A grade school teacher has a new student in class.
It happened sometimes.
Not often, but often enough in his classroom that it wasn't a complete surprise or any kind of major disruption. It was always a little bit more of a hassle if it happened mid semester but you made do. An extra hour of paper work and a reshuffle of the desks and another child fit just fine into his not overly crowded classroom of fifth graders.
The small sign he had made for the new desk still hung taped to its front so the others could easily see it when need be. First and last name with a small shiny sticker that said: Welcome!
He had immediately liked the sound of the recent arrival.
It reminded him of old westerns and the lost charm of the names of antiquity. His other boys had names like: Clark, Xander, Dylan... He even had a Troy. A network television generation had all grown up and had seemed to have all named their children accordingly.
The class had all eyed the stranger that walked slowly to his seat and carefully unzipped a worn out army green backpack. They murmured amongst themselves when they saw he had his own small ruler that he placed in the corner of his desk. They giggled at his unadorned and oddly perfunctory pencil box.
As a teacher, you did what you could to make any outsider feel at home and fit in. There was a small party so the new kid could feel special and not just be quietly absorbed into the class. A series of introductions of all the children he'd been teaching all year long. That was going to be the hardest part for the new boy. The group under his charge had had weeks to form their own little social orders and it never ceased to amaze him how elaborate and complicated those circles of hierarchy could be. In his experience he noticed that new students usually fell right into some part of it or they remained quietly teased on the fringe.
As always, he hoped for any student, to lapse into the former rather than the latter.
The effort in the days that had to follow was always the new arrival's burden to bear. He knew it couldn't be easy, traveling from town to town with parents that constantly had to be on the move. Although, he was surprised that this one had a Dad in the military considering the near by army base had shut down and moved shop almost three years ago.
But military meant he wouldn't be here for very long. A year on the outside. But from the look of him it appeared he didn't spend much time anywhere for more than a few months tops. After almost twenty years in the school system, a teacher learned to see certain things in their students eyes that revealed a lot more than the words that came out of their mouths.
That and what was simply observed.
The reused paper bag Samuel brought lunch in was a start. He noticed the child didn't throw it away for almost four days until it had completely ripped down its middle. There was also a high repetition of ill fit clothing. More so than even his most economically strained students. But being and doing what he did, he noticed that when he leaned down to study the boy's work that the kid was always very clean. Someone at home was washing the threadbare clothes almost every other day.
A search through the paperwork revealed that the father had registered his son into the school himself. That was curious considering it was usually the mother that came in and liked to give the new school a look. A few questions around the principles office and the older and very talkative secretary was very happy to divulge that Mr. Winchester had come alone. The older woman was also very eager to explain how he had smiled at her when he had come in and what nice eyes he had.
So a week went by.
And then another.
To his disappointment, Samuel Winchester did not fall into any easy circle of friends. Not even the other quiet ones that had formed their very own group to avoid being the entertainment of the more popular students.
Samuel's clothing and silence made him an easy target. His unflagging ability and eagerness to raise his hand at every question put forth to the class room also didn't help. There was only so much to be done to temper the childish sting of cruelty, and there were only so many reprimands before those too could be held against the one they were used to protect.
Despite it all, instead of the boy's grades crumbling with the pressure of class status, he was astounded by Samuel's carefully written papers and meticulously drawn equations. He suspected the kid had been home schooled even though records indicated steady enrollment in various public schools since the age of five. He'd been a little astounded at that track record as well. The boy seemed to have lived in almost twenty states at some time or another, a few of them twice.
But as another week went by, he knew the harsh words easily tossed around by the young would take their toll. And when he suspected that the jibes had turned into shoving and other small petty torments that children devised, he braced himself for the inevitable. Something was going to give.
And just that morning it finally did.
He had heard them at first from his desk. The steady chant of a fight outside and the yard monitor's shrill whistle, all mingled with the noises of children with the excited prospect of their own brand violence.
By the time he arrived he had witnessed the quick start and startling finish of it.
Another one of the boys was holding his bleeding and likely broken nose in stunned disbelief.
It figured it would be Troy.
"He-He kicked mah!"
Samuel was almost hanging by the grip the flustered yard monitor had on the back of his oversized flannel.
"These kids!" The monitor said. "They watch too many of those kung foo video games if you ask me!"
Without a scratch on him, Samuel looked up at his teacher semi-apologetically.
He'd seen and pulled apart countless school yard fights throughout his career. Children were capable of inflicting great deals of harm on one another. But it was just that, young bursts of chaotic violence. Even with the rash of parents that thought it was cute to teach a 10 year old martial arts, he had never quite seen a child move like this one had and accomplish defending himself with something like restraint.
It was then with a sigh that he knew he had to dig up the Winchester file one more time.
As it was with school policy and fighting, he had to find the contact number and get his mother to come pick him up.
The school day was almost over when he decided to ring the office one more time to see if they had been able to reach anything besides Mr. & Mrs. Winchester's answering machine. Samuel was sitting quietly in the teacher's lounge reading books and seemed to have accepted his fate graciously enough. No tears. No excuses. Just a shrug and a request for more orange juice.
The internal line buzzed with static as he dialed up the secretary once again.
"No luck on the phone, but she must have gotten my messages."
The old secretary's dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Very comely, I think she's one of those trophy wives."
"Yes indeedy, she's sitting here just as pretty as you please in the head office."
"Oh, thank you? Tell Mrs. Winchester I'll be right there with Samuel."
Of all the weeks he had had the boy in his classroom he had never seen him make a larger reaction than to those words. He fought his smile a little bit, maybe the kid did fear some things. Potentially angry mother's tended to do that to you.
He had to admit as he walked down the school halls with Samuel following behind, that he was more than a little bit curious. It was strange that it had been over a month and the boy's mother had never once been by the school. In fact, no one could seem to recall even having spoken to her on the telephone.
Before they entered the room he immediately spotted the woman through the clear window paned walls of the school's office.
Seated on the beige and hopelessly outdated sofa that sat between two plastic ferns just outside the principles door, she appeared to be almost as nervous as Samuel was. A little younger than imagined, with trendy clipped honey brown hair, careful makeup, and a halter top that seemed a little excessive for the cool of the month. The jeans she wore were tight enough for him look down and away but not before he caught sight of a belly button ring and a small tattoo of a butterfly. She was rapidly chewing gum.
Samuel and she both paused and looked at each other for a moment.
"Sam?" The woman almost asked.
"I'm here to take you home."
Trophy wife? He thought she looked more suited to be among the working girls that walked the rows of the parked semi-trucks just out by the highway exit. The one right next to that old Motel that had been converted into some slummy boarding house.
He studied Samuel's face for some sign of distress or confusion. However, all he saw was worry and the anxiety any child would feel with a parent brought into school. But still, even with all his years in which he had made it his business to read children like he did books, there was something strange there that he couldn't quite figure out.
Clearing his throat he held out a hand. "Mrs. Winchester, I'm Samuel's teacher, it's very nice to finally meet you."
The hand that took his up to awkwardly shake it was stiff and clammy with sweat.
"We really have to be going. S-Sam's father and I we um, we are just furious?"
Shouldering her handbag, and with a grab of Samuel's elbow, the woman nodded a tense and terse good-bye and was already out the office door.
"Well," The old secretary huffed under her breath. "She's a rude one."
Mrs. Winchester briskly exited the building through the glass double doors just down the hall.
He watched thoughtfully as the heavy doors swung back closed before he turned to the older woman's desk.
"Did you see her ID?"
"Of course I did." There was a flip through an aged Christianity Today magazine and a sip of herbal tea. "And let me tell you, she's a lot older than she looks."
Walking to the glass doors himself he saw that Mrs. Winchester and Samuel had paused outside by the parking lot. The child's mother was saying something to her son and looking down at her watch every few seconds.
Hands resting on the metal bar of the doors, it was pure instinct nagging at him to just go ahead and push it open. But then he suddenly stopped.
A boy had appeared from out of no where.
It was an older kid, in a jean jacket and mussed up close cropped hair. He looked like he belonged to the high school on the other side of town. Approaching them easily, his first action was a strike, but not a terribly hard one, across Samuel's head.
Twenty years of being an educator had also taught him other things. Mainly about body language. Samuel and this kid were related. There was another smack and a raised voice that he could hear even from behind the glass doors.
Their mother didn't seem very concerned about it.
After the teen had grabbed the younger boy by the scruff of his neck, they all turned towards a parked car that didn't look like it belonged anywhere other than in an old movie about drag racing. Watching the teen that maybe acquired a valid drivers license less than a week ago take the wheel instead of Mom made him wonder once again just a little bit.
He supposed he had seen more bizarre families over the years. The broken, the missing, the foster care and the like. This was just another story to tell around cups of coffee in the lounge.
Breathing a sigh, he decided it was time to head back to his classroom and save the hapless teacher's aid he'd left in the clutches of his children. But he glanced back one more time as the large car rumbled in reverse and glided by towards the main road.
With a strange flip in his gut he somehow knew that this was the last time he'd see Samuel Winchester.
For some reason he knew that by tomorrow morning there would be the small stack of forms indicating that the boy had been disenrolled. There would be a request to forward his records to some far off address. Maybe a small formal message to please send on anything left behind to a P.O. Box.
Turning tiredly back down the corridor, he sighed again.
There were plenty of places to go out there.
And he sincerely hoped that what ever state that kid landed in next would be a nice one.