I walked into the locker room absent mindly, I hadn't checked my phone and I wanted to get away from the bustle of immature school kids. I was the tough guy, people didn't cross me. Except for that Dean kid. He was always putting himself in between me and my victims that had so much looked at me wrong. Real tough like and even the girls liked him; his little brother was the same. As I turned the corner I froze, hoping I hadn't made that much noise because, stood with their back to me, fist against the lockers clearly in pain – was Dean Winchester. The guy was shaking. Half of me wanted to keep up my childish façade but the other half wanted to comfort him. I knew this guy came from a rough family. Dad moving them all the time, grotty motel after grotty motel and new schools every term. I jumped slightly when he hit the lockers with his fist.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" He yelled.

I couldn't stop myself any longer.

"Hey, man… You look pretty rough." I didn't realise how rough he looked until he turned round and I saw great wads of bandages taped to his muscular chest. I didn't realise I was staring until he yanked on a t-shirt for PE.

The only reasonable explanation I could come up with was that he got beaten by his Dad, I mean, that's the only thing I could relate to. Drunk fathers taking swings at their sons.

I had never really looked at Dean properly until now and what I saw was scar after bruise after cut after graze. That wasn't even counting all the injuries that were healed and the bruises that had turned yellow. I thought I had it bad, that I could relate. But I couldn't even begin to understand what Dean went through. I took my bad life out of slow fat kids but Dean protected them. Even with all of that, he still managed to be…good.

"Look, I don't know what you're going through-"

He cut me of suddenly and glared. "No, you don't. So don't even bother with the sympathy vote." He stopped and took in a slow breath, calming himself. "You'd never understand what I'm going through, I don't want you to."

He pushed is way past me and his eyes caught mine; they were sad and painful to look at. But he didn't want to drag anyone down with him.

From then on I looked out for him, stuck up for him in the corridors. I even looked out for his brother.

Three months later Dean's dad came into our class as equally beaten as Dean. Dean packed his bag and walked towards the door. As he reached the door he turned back towards me and nodded in thanks. Dean's dad patted his shoulder in affection and I realised he wasn't beaten how could he? His Father was in a worse mess than him.

These guys had a secret. A terrible secret and nobody would ever truly understand.