Author's Note: So this is the sequel to Take This Longing although I suppose it should be called a companion piece, more so. You don't have to have read the other first to get it, but they were written to complement each other. This entire piece was incredibly difficult to write, Sam is simply not the easiest voice for me. I'm a Dean person, what can I say? Either way, most of the credit for this piece goes to EmptySolitudes who had a lot to say in defense of Sam, to which I agreed whole-heartedly. From her I used the quote that bothered her in reference to Sam, and hopefully, I reached all her expectations for showing that both brothers are in the wrong in the end. That being said, enjoy.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
And Leave this Sorrow
You're a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don't care what anybody thinks.
4
Because Sam went up to the teacher's desk and told her, very dutifully, that he couldn't complete the assignment because he didn't have a Mommy to make a gift for, she changed the assignment for him.
He was allowed to make a gift for his brother instead.
6
"Step on a crack, break my mother's back." Sally sang out happily, viciously landing on a crack in her buckle shoes.
"Why do you do that?" Sam asked.
"Do what?" She jumped again. "It's not like it's real or anything."
"But…"
She whirled on Sam. "You're not scared, are you? It's just a stupid rhyme. It doesn't actually break your mother's back."
Hesitantly, Sam took a leap and landed with both feet on a crack. He supposed he didn't have a reason to be scared considering he didn't have a mom.
8
He was having a hard time understanding why Scott was so upset. You would have thought someone had died.
"It's just not fair. I hate this." He sniffed.
Sam shrugged his shoulders, "It can't be that bad."
"But it is that bad, Sam! How would you feel if your dad went away?"
Sam bit his lip. His dad was almost always away these days. It seemed that every year there were more ghosts to hunt. Their dad was almost always on his way back out the door as soon as he got back in. Sam was more accustomed to Dean being around, even though Dean was starting to travel more and more with their dad, too.
"You'll still be able to visit him."
"It won't be the same. Why can't they just get over their problems? Why do they have to get a divorce?"
"It could be worse."
"How could it be worse?"
"He could be dead."
That shut Scott up, but Sam didn't feel better about it.
10
The woman hesitated, looking at him for a long moment on the other side of the fence of the playground. He could almost feel her wanting to simply continue on her way. He got that feeling from a lot of people. Much to his surprise, though, she took in a deep breath and came towards him.
"Um, hi."
"Hi." He said, not meeting her eyes.
"I just thought…Are you okay? You don't look too great."
She was referring to the dried blood on his face from where Rick had punched him. Sam unconsciously reached up and rubbed at the dried flecks of blood.
"Here." She said, taking out a wet wipe from her purse. "This might work better."
"Thanks."
"Um, is there somebody I should call or something?"
Sam shook his head, rubbing his face hard with the wipe. Dean was in detention and John had made it clear he wasn't going to be home until late.
"Oh, not even your mom?"
"My mom's dead."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, it happened a long time ago."
"Doesn't make it hurt any less."
Sam glanced up at the woman. She was younger than his dad. Her eyes showed him pity and a basic understanding. Then again, thought Sam, what did she really know?
But that wasn't what he was expected to say. "No. It doesn't."
12
Could she be any more condescending?
"I'm not abused, Miss Cordova. I'm well known for being a klutz…"
"Sam, if you're being hurt, then you can talk to me about it. We can get help…"
"I don't need help, Miss Cordova, at least, not concerning my dad. And if you people really want to start helping, then maybe you can do something when somebody's being beat up at lunch time instead of calling me into your office because I 'get injured' a lot."
Cordova opened her mouth, then closed it. Sam continued to sit in his seat obediently. Usually, Sam covered his intelligence. It wasn't considered normal to be so articulate at his age. Then again, Sam wasn't particularly normal, so it all worked out in the end.
But the woman was not to be deterred. "It must be hard for you, Sam. You don't seem to fit in with the other kids."
"Yeah, well, I've only been here a few weeks."
"Still…Your lack of socializing has been noted in the past."
"While my being picked-on has been conveniently ignored." Sam muttered, and met the woman's eyes. "So what exactly are you going to tell me, Miss Cordova? You can't make me socialize if I don't want to."
She smiled, and Sam wondered if he'd fallen into a trap. "I'm just going to make some recommendations, show you some extra-curricular activities that may appeal to you."
She gave him pamphlets before she allowed him to leave. He was halfway into the hallway before he realized he'd forgotten his jacket on the chair. He headed back. Cordova was no where in sight. He grabbed the coat, but paused when he saw his file open on the desk. Glancing behind him to make sure the counselor wasn't returning, he peeked at the noted remarks.
Single-parent household. Death of parent at young age, possible reason for lack of integration with peers.
Slipping back out again, Sam rolled his eyes.
14
Charlie looked a lot like Piggy from the book Sam was reading. Normally, Sam avoided the people who sought him out on the first day of school. They were the social outcasts and only made life worse for the designated new kid.
In the end, Charlie latched on, first like an unwanted leach and then, as he slowly befriended Sam, more like a stray puppy. Eventually, the two did just about everything together. Charlie even met Dean, although it was after school when Dean had to pick Sam up.
Almost a month later, they sat on the curbside splitting a Coke between them. For awhile, they talked about this and that, who was hot, who was a jerk, what they wanted to do when they were older, then they switched into more serious matters.
It was the first time Sam had ever had anyone to confide in outside of Dean.
"My mom died when I was a baby. I never knew her. I can't even remember her."
Charlie shrugged. "I never knew my dad. He left before I was born."
They grinned at each other in silent understanding.
A week later, John wanted to move again. There had been a fiery death of a woman in Iowa. Sam fought him, but when Dean asked him what was more important than finding what had killed their mother, Sam found it difficult to say us.
16
He took philosophy because it was maddeningly difficult with its circular logic. He liked to bring home what he learned and use it in arguments with Dean. His brother hated it with a passion, couldn't understand why anybody would want something so intangible. It made Sam feel empowered.
They were given an assignment involving defining themselves according to how a chosen philosopher would define themselves. Sam settled into his research, weeding through Descartes, Sartre, Kant, Freud, Lacan, and more. He couldn't decide.
He spoke to the teacher about it, but Mister Marciscovich didn't have anything particularly helpful to say on the matter.
"One philosopher, Sam, first of all." This was in response to Sam's request to combine different philosophers. "And second of all, I know its hard figuring out whether you are nothing more than repressed urges, or created by circumstance, but that's what you have to do. The only thing I'm asking from you, Sam, is don't give the easiest answer. You're smart, and you know what people want to hear. Just…don't give that to me. I'll know if you do."
And so Sam went home. He was halfway through defining himself when his father interrupted him. When the argument was over and Sam had won the right to skip this hunt, he crumpled up the paper he'd been writing on and started again.
If there was one thing Sam knew, it was that he was not defined by a woman he had never met before, no matter what his father said.
18
"Dean, I have to get out of here."
"I'm not arguing with you, Sam."
"Dean…"
"Look, I'm driving you, aren't I?"
Sam shook his head and looked out the car window. Of course it was raining. It only ever rained in this shit for nothing town.
When they stopped at the station, and were standing by the car, waiting for the other to leave first, Dean turned so suddenly it took Sam by surprise. His brother's face was unreadable as he removed a picture from his chest pocket.
"Here. Take this."
Sam didn't have time to refuse. Dean was gone. It was probably for the best anyway. His brother would have had a problem with the way Sam carelessly shoved the picture of his parents into his duffel bag.
He didn't toss it into a trash can because he didn't see one near by.
20
Even at University, people still said I'm sorry when he told them his mother had died when he was young and that he had never known her. It was almost like a ritual. In the end, he just stopped talking about her, and everything connected.
21
The first thing Jessica said when she learned about his family was, "I guess a Christmas card is out of the question then?"
22
Jess held the picture out in front of her. She squinted slightly, and looked back at Sam. "She looks like you."
He shrugged, not quite sure how she managed to find the picture. Unperturbed by his lack of response, she rummaged on the desk for a moment, settling on an empty frame. She slipped the picture in, set it up, and stepped back.
"There. That's better." She looked at Sam. "You know, I owe your mom and dad a lot."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I mean, who else could have given you the good-looking genes." She said seriously.
Sam laughed.
23
"I'm sorry."
Sometimes it felt like all he ever got was an apology. I'm sorry things have to be this way, but what can you do?
"For what?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer.
I'm sorry it's your fault
I'm sorry about Jessica
I'm sorry I'm leaving again
He thought of the way he and Charlie sat together sharing their Coke and their secrets. He wondered if Charlie ever wanted an apology, if maybe he had spent his life searching for it.
Later that night, far from Lawrence, Kansas, in another motel room, Sam lay in bed pretending to sleep. Behind his closed lids, images of Jessica and his mother flickered.
And when he heard Dean crying quietly in the bathroom, he did the only thing he could think of to make it better: he didn't mention it.