He hates libraries.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but a certain evil scheme may change that...anyone up for it? I promise I'll share...
There were a lot of things he didn't like about libraries.
That Sam loved them was just one of them.
As far as he was concerned, places that prohibited ( and what was it with the word 'prohibited'? Why couldn't they just say "no eating, please", why not just a sign that read "we don't want ketchup on our stacks of paper, so leave your burger at the door"? Why was it always something like: " Consuming prepackaged foods prohibited" or "smoking not permitted". ) eating were built for boring people who didn't know a good time if it bit them in the ass.
And what kind of place didn't allow talking? There was the occasional grunt, the sporadic ( prohibited, sporadic...Sam would be so proud ) sigh and the rare muffled curse but other than that, hardly any sound could be heard in the large musky rooms. It seemed unnatural for so many people to be in one place and then not talk. Eerie almost. This, in Dean's opinion, only further proved his point that places such as libraries were not built to entertain. And it's not like Dean loved to talk. He didn't. He doesn't. He appreciates a good silence. Would pick a good silence over a meaningful conversation any day. (A bad silence is fine too) He's good with silences. Just not when they're forced upon him. Like he's not good with anything that's forced upon him. (Which doesn't mean he won't yield to it. It doesn't mean he won't oblige. He's just doesn't like it.) But that's not the point. The point is that Sam's a talker. So how comes he loves libaries so much?
They were all the same. In the end, all libraries were the same: musky rooms that smelled like dust and toner, with signs expressing their forbidding of all things good in life. ( although, he had heard about the backrows in libraries, the ones were they kept all the special ( translation: older, dustier, even more unreadable) books, being used for things that had very little to do with theoretic knowledge. He had asked Sam about it once, wanting to know whether Sam had ever set foot in a library with something other than tests and classes on his mind. Sam had just given him that 'Are you serious?!'-look. The one that said "I can't believe we're related". Yeah. Me neither, kid.). Sam loved libraries. That's why Dean hated 'm. In any place they came across, any town they stayed in, Sam always managed to find the library within the hour upon arriving. He could be seen going in and out of the schoollibrary every day with his bag full of books, probably a couple more in his hands, looking for more information, more stuff to learn, more stuff to bore Dean with when he came home. More stuff Dean would have to listen to if he didn't want to hurt Sam's feeling. And he didn't want to hurt Sam's feelings. Where every other kid his age was busy sneaking out to attend parties and hang out with friends in the parc on saturdaynights, Sam could be found sneaking out of whatever house they'd be staying in, to head to the library, on saturdaymornings. Sam loved libraries. That's why Dean hated 'm.
He liked the smell, he had once said. The smell of books. Dean knew how to finish that sentence. "The smell of books." The smell of knowledge. Of freedom.
Dean wasn't stupid. He knew why his brother loved the damn things so much. He liked the escape it offered. The promise. The foresight of freedom. Of leaving. Sam wanted normal. Had always wanted normal. Had never even gotten close. That's why he chose to spend his time in libraries. Surrounded by books and people that were all there for the same reason. Surrounded by normal. He wanted to be part of it and the library was the only place that would allow him to pretend. So every time Dean saw his brother wander off in the direction of the library, it was all he could do to not chase after him and haul his ass back. Everytime he saw him coming home, walking a world he considered better than the one he had ( and where nobody could follow. Where Dean couldn't follow), it was all he could do not to rip said world from his hands. Everytime he told Dean about all the things he had learned, it was all he could do not to scream in frustration. Because he knew. He knew what it would lead to. He knew that damn library would be the end. The end of their life as it was. The end of the world as he knew it. The end of everything. Sam's salvation. His undoing. He knew it would be because of those libraries that Sam would leave. That his little brother would leave. He knew it. And he resented them for it. He couldn't get mad at Sam. The kid was smart. Deserved to go to college. Deserved to be normal. Deserved a future. But it would be that future that would leave Dean to fend for himself. It would be Sam's future that would take away Dean's. And he needed to something to blame. He needed something to hate. So he hated those libraries. Resented the hell out of them. Because Sam loved them.
Now, years and libraries later, he tried not to flinch everytime Sam mentioned having to go to the library to research whatever monster-of-the-week they were to face, tried to hold back the grimace everytime Sam disappeared through the doors, worked his hardest to hide the sigh of relief that escaped him everytime his brother returned, arms filled with paper, head filled with knowledge. Because he knew. He knew what it would lead to. He knew that damn library would be the end. The end of their life as it was. The end of the world as he knew it. The end of everything. Sam's salvation. His undoing.
Sam loved libraries.
Yeah.