Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form
Author's Note: Whew! After a month's break from the world of fanfiction while I took a break on some fiction writing (scary stuff!) I'm back (in black) and writing our boys again. Just as a note, this story sort of goes along with, "Homework", but to understand this story it's not necessary to have read it, and it's somewhere in between "Scarecrow" and "Dead Man's Blood". Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Language, no season 2 spoilers
"You're a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don't care what anybody thinks." - Dean, Scarecrow
Sam found the scores when he was digging around for money to buy lunch with.
Dean was in the shower, trying to relax away the tense muscles from the last hunt. "I bought the last two times!" Sam shouted over the hiss of the shower water.
Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed his sore arm, not responding.
"Fine, you don't want to tell me where the money is, I'll find it myself!" Sam shouted.
Dean smiled and relaxed. Good. He'd hunt around for a few minutes, get frustrated when he couldn't find the money, and end up just paying himself.
Fifteen minutes later he finally turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He threw the door of the small bathroom open, steam pouring out after him like strange, thin clouds. "Sammy? You home with that grub yet? I'm starving."
He saw his brother sitting on the bed staring at several papers, and he didn't look as if he was about to sing a happy song anytime soon.
He also didn't seem to be bearing a bag of fast food.
Holy shit, Dean thought, what the hell did he find?
The paper that Sam held was crumbled and aged. "790 math and a 720 verbal?" He laughed.
Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I knew you would find that sooner or later. Hoped you wouldn't, but…you always were pretty good at putting together the puzzle pieces."
Sam laughed hollowly again. "Dean…" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Why didn't you tell us?"
He sighed and shrugged blankly. "I dunno," he chuckled as he reached into his bag for a shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, "maybe because we're not exactly the Bradys?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "This isn't funny, Dean."
Dean sighed. "Come on, Sam, it doesn't matter. It just would have gotten Dad wound up, you would have freaked out…too many problems, too much drama, too many similarities to some kind of TV movie that I really wanted to avoid."
Sam threw the crumpled paper on the ground. "You know, I don't understand you."
Dean made a face as he pulled the thin, gray t-shirt over his head. "Yeah, well, I can be a very difficult person to understand. Scientists call it the Winchester Paradox."
Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? This isn't supposed to be funny. Why is everything just a big, fucking joke to you?" A raw laugh found its way out of Sam's throat. "I mean, you could have gone to college, man. You could have gone to good college." He picked up the paper and waved it. "I mean, I'm not talking Joe-Schmoe college, Dean, I'm talking about Ivy Leagues!"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Sammy - I mean, you saw the scores, I'm not a moron carrying around a sack of dead pigeons, you don't need to explain what the scores mean, alright?" He gave his brother a piercing look for a moment before sat down, reached back into his bag, pulled out a shirt, and refolded it. "Besides, you know me – I couldn't have gone to college, couldn't have made it there."
Sam shook his head. "Yes you could have! If you just could have opened your mouth and stood up to Dad –"
Dean jackknifed off the bed, and for a second he looked angry enough to hit something. He put his hands on top of his head and walked around the room for a minute, slowly lowering them to his face before he dropped his arms to his sides and stared out the window. "You think I couldn't stand up to Dad? That's what you think this is about?" He laughed bitterly. "My God Sam!" he finally exploded. "My God!"
"What?"
"Dude, you know, you have me thinking that you can pick up on stuff like this with your whole 'I see dead people' thing, but sometimes you don't even have a fucking clue!" he shot. His voice shook with raw, unchecked anger
"What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" Sam shot, standing up as well.
Dean's mouth opened and then closed. He stared at the floor and shook his head. "Nothing, Sam," he said softly. "I'm talking about nothing." He sighed again, and reached under his pillow where he had hidden his wallet.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"Stay the hell away from my stuff, I'll be back later," was the stiff reply he received, along with the bang of the motel room door.
Sam stared at the door for a second before he rubbed his searing forehead. He slipped into the tiny bathroom, filling a Dixie cup with lukewarm water and swallowing a couple pills before he collapsed face down onto his bed. He turned over slowly and stared up at the ceiling that was speckled pop-holes and ugly watermarks. He reached for the paper again, and as he laid on his back he stared at the paper.
Only when the light shined through it did he see.
He sat up quickly, flipping the paper over. Scratched lightly in his brother's tell-tale messy scrawl were two columns: PRO and CON
The PRO column was completely blank, yet the con was filled. "Leaving Sammy alone with Dad will ultimately end in homicide" "Dad will be down one man in hunts" "We're getting closer to finding the demon" "Sam will be all alone when Dad is hunting" and then finally, his father's favorite saying at the very bottom – "Semper Fi" – always faithful.
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. "I'll be goddamned." He got up from the bed and reached into the bottom pocket of his own duffel, where he pulled out his own note from the College Board boating his significant test scores. He flipped it over and on it was the same thing – a PRO and CON list, but this one was significantly different, seeing as the PRO column was filled. "Education" "One in a lifetime opportunity" "What mom would have wanted" "No more hunting" "Getting away from that life"
And there, in a small, musty motel room, he finally saw and he understood.
He was selfish bastard after all.