Title: happiness feels a lot like sorrow
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, fluff, mild angst
Warnings: None
Word Count: 360
Summary: jaredimplecki requested a drabble about the night before Sam leaves for Stanford
Dean's sprawled out next to him on the couch, a beer in one hand, the knuckles of his other resting lightly against Sam's thigh.
Dean laughs and nudges Sam with his elbow, says something about "three taxis" and "chihuahuas are better" but Sam hasn't really been paying attention to whatever it is Dean has been watching to make any sense of his comment. He laughs anyway.
Sam has so much he wants to say, to tell Dean, but he doesn't want to break this peace. He wishes this was how it always was between them… and just life in general.
Tomorrow. He'll tell Dad and Dean about Stanford. Tomorrow.
Sam takes a gulp of his lukewarm beer and stuffs a handful of stale popcorn into his mouth.
He wonders if he's making the right choice by leaving. Just yesterday, running laps, cleaning guns, screaming matches with dad, all he could think about was getting away and creating a life. Making his own choices. Being his own person and thinking for himself.
For years the thought of leaving was an abstract dream. Even with the acceptance letter to Stanford, he still had months of anticipation.
Tomorrow.
He's actually doing this- it's surreal- he's actually leaving. Part of him wants to pick a fight with Dean to make leaving easier. Part of him never wants to leave Dean behind.
Part of him is terrified, part of him starts to wonder if this life is all that bad? Here and now, watching late night television with his brother by his side, he thinks maybe he could be content.
"What do you think of that hair?" Dean chuckles, pointing with his bottle towards something on the television.
"The dog?"
"No," Dean snorts, "The red head. Looks like road kill."
"Her hair dresser is probably possessed."
Dean grins widely. "Yeah. Maybe we should look into it, huh, Sammy?"
Sam rolls his eyes. Tonight he'll let the nickname pass.