K is for Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope: a complex set of events or circumstances.


For a single moment it almost amazed him how much he stood out.

The humidity, the palm trees, the tanned skin of almost every single person who passed him by.

It was a completely different world and as he leaned casually against the side of his much-loved Chevy, Dean didn't even try to make himself fit the mold. He wasn't a person who cared whether or not he blended in and with all the blonde haired surfer boys, he couldn't even if he wanted to—leather jackets and hard rock didn't exactly gel with the Beach Boys and board wax.

Well, ok, the Beach Boys weren't that bad.

He wasn't even supposed to be there. Not really. But Palo Alto was a usual stop for him that time of year—the end of final exams, the first few days of summer…the tidal wave of newly liberated college kids heading out into the California sunshine with their beach bags, stress-free smiles and shoe lace bikinis.

The beach was relatively crowded, his watch announcing that it was just after noon. He'd parked the Impala in the tiny parking lot which was only a few steps to the sand and then a good distance down to the water's edge.

It was there, standing with a group of his friends that Dean had first spotted him. Black swimming trunks and a white t-shirt, Stanford blazoned across his chest in red lettering. His hair was slightly longer than Dean remembered, flopping and blowing freely in the cool breeze. And there was no memory whatsoever of the green surfboard the kid held nervously in his hands.

Sammy surfs?

No freakin' way, it's impossible.

But then, a lot could happen in two years. Anything was possible.

It wasn't something the older man liked to think about but it was always there, sitting in the very recesses of his mind; the sneaking around, the fight, the ultimatum and the quickly packed bag. The twenty minute car ride to the bus station that Dean would always be remember as the longest twenty minutes of his life.

Not to mention the most painful.

And God, it'd hurt.

Dean Winchester, by way of the world, was used to pain. He faced it head on, took it and shouldered it…maybe not with ease, but with astonishing experience.

But how he'd felt watching his little brother get on that bus? How he'd felt when the one year anniversary of Sam leaving had come and gone? And how he'd felt, drowning himself in beer and whiskey, alone, on Sam's nineteenth birthday?

That was a brand of pain he wasn't used to.

He'd always faced pain with Sam, never because of him.

The smile that was on Sam's face at that moment, however, was somewhat painful, too. He was happy and content with those people, those strangers, seeming to fit in without any problem.

Dean found himself wondering if any of those kids had ever even heard his name—Dean Winchester. If they even knew who he was. Hell, if they even knew that Sam had a brother that thought about him probably close to a thousand times a day.

Probably not.

Sam had said that he was leaving the hunt behind and that probably meant he was leaving Dean behind, too. After all, their father had made it clear—college or family—and Sam had accepted the challenge, severing nearly all contact.

It had been one of the only times in the twenty-four year old's life where he could've easily knocked his father on his ass with a perfectly aimed punch and not felt one ounce of guilt over it.

There'd been a build-up of fury in his right arm for months, just waiting for the right face to come along as an outlet. But every face that had come along hadn't gotten rid of the rock in Dean's stomach; bar fights, hustles gone bad, drunken bikers in that parking lot back in Dallas. Nothing had made the difference. He was still furious.

But furious at who? That was the real question.

He knew without a doubt that he was mad at himself. He'd watched the proverbial shit speed towards the metaphorical fan and had done nothing to thwart it or change the course of things. He'd let Sam pack that damn bag. He'd driven the kid to the bus station himself and hadn't said one single word to try and talk him into staying.

And the worst of his crimes? He hadn't backed his little brother up.

Dean hadn't wanted him to leave. He hadn't agreed with Sam about being out at school, on his own, surrounded by people he didn't know and invisible threats—dark corners, alleyways—perfect hiding places for bad crap that the geek had been a magnet for since he was a kid.

But when John Winchester had said, "If you're gonna go, stay gone."?

Letting that moment go by without saying anything was the biggest mistake of Dean's life. And dammit, he knew it.

And he hated himself for it.

Sam was gifted in school, always had been. Teachers absolutely fawned over this hopelessly adorable shaggy-haired kid with cute dimples who was always polite and courteous in class.

The little dude's grades had been practically perfect all through elementary and high school and his ambition was unstoppable. Sam had dreams and he had goals; things that he wanted in life, places he wanted to go and experiences he wanted to have. But he'd been held back—by a father who demanded military perfection and obedience, and an older brother who was so entrenched in hunting and training that he'd overlooked what was most important.

So he was mad at his dad, too…for not appreciating academic smarts and flawless report cards. Because while hunting and training were important, they were only important to one of his sons. John Winchester should've taken that fact and ran with it. But instead he'd chosen to tighten the vice, causing little Sammy to slip through their fingers.

"Dean?"

The sudden sound of the familiar voice was like being doused with a bucket of ice water.

Dean's head snapped up, his eyes widening at the approaching figure of his little brother.

Well, awesome surveillance, Winchester. Real smooth.

He tried his damnedest to smile. "Hey Sammy."

He'd better not say 'It's Sam', I won't be able to freakin' stand it.

"What…are you doing here?"

Dean shrugged a shoulder, leaning more of his weight against the car. The hot metal against the small of his back was anchoring him, keeping him from having a complete nervous breakdown. "Just uh…thought I'd come up and check on you."

"Check on me?"

"End of exams, right?"

Coming to a slow stop right close to the car, Sam crossed his arms loosely. It was an action Dean recognized—Sammy was crossing his arms so he wouldn't fidget. "Yeah, Tuesday was my last one."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah, well, y'know, I…" Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. Did he know Sam's class schedule off by heart? Damn right he did. Did he want Sam to know that? Hell no. "I just figured, y'know, summertime and everything."

I am so lame.

Sam just nodded.

Feeling a little bit better Dean looked directly at his little brother's face, squinting in the sunlight. "So how you been? You good?"

Sam's eyes had been trained on the sandy asphalt and he quickly raised his head, nodding again. His stupid hair flopped into his eyes and Dean resisted the urge to raise a hand and move it the hell outta the way. "Yeah, I guess."

"You learned how to surf, huh?"

Dean nodded towards the group of college kids that Sam had been with. There was a blonde girl standing there, Sam's green surfboard held loosely in her hands. Following Dean's eyes, Sam snorted lightly before looking back to his brother. "I don't really surf. Mostly I just…fall ass-backwards off the board and swim back to shore."

Dean found himself chuckling. "Oh, ok. That's…awesome."

"Yeah."

"You're, uh…not turnin' into a surfer boy on me, are you, Sammy?"

"Would you care if I was?"

Ok, so it was gonna be one of those conversations.

Dammit.

"Yeah-" Dean's words stalled and he cleared his throat again, nodding quickly. "Yeah, I'd care. Can't have you changin' too much-"

"I want to change, Dean."

Ouch.

He nodded again, ignoring the sudden pain in his chest. "Yeah, I know you do. How could I forget?"

With each brother putting some form of a scathing comment on the table, an awkward silence fell between them.

Silences between them never used to be awkward. They'd always been comfortable and friendly; two kids, two teenagers, two men, keeping each other company and being there for one another, whether it was conversation that was needed or something else altogether.

But as much as it hurt those times were gone. A darkened abyss had taken the place of the camaraderie of two brothers who'd practically been stuck at the hip since the death of their mother.

It was astonishing how something as simple as ambition, not to mention stubbornness, could rip all that apart.

Dean had seen Stanford coming a mile away and when Sam first announced his desire for a higher education—the kind that his father and brother weren't capable of giving—Dean hadn't been surprised. Scared? For sure. Angry? Yeah, a little bit. Heartbroken? Definitely.

When he'd hit eighteen, Sammy had grown too "big" to stay under Dean's safety blanket. After all, the older man couldn't force brotherly closeness on his younger sibling, no matter how much he might've wanted to.

Sam audibly swallowed hard, but when he spoke his voice was rigid. "Does dad know you're here?"

"What do you think?"

"I think that…some things never change."

"Y'know, you're pretty self-righteous." Dean's eyes narrowed against his will and he fought against the sudden instinct to protect a man that wasn't there. It was a trait in the older brother that had always been a bone of contention; his blind faith, his never-failing obedience. He tried to push the feeling away. "You're not exactly innocent in all this crap, Sam, so don't try to come off as the victim, ok?"

Sam chuckled bitterly and Dean felt his blood boil. "I thought you said you could never forget what happened?"

"Sam-"

"Dad said to stay gone, Dean. He did that all by himself. That was him."

"I know that-"

"But I'm not the victim?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam, you've got real issues with this-"

"Yeah, maybe I do…and you wanna know where they all come from?"

Dean's hand shot out and gripped Sam's arm angrily before he was even aware he'd moved. "You say 'Dad', and I swear, I'll knock you on your ass right here."

"Sam?" A voice rang out, a delicately female voice, and the two angry brothers continued staring at each other as the question was called out concernedly. "Is everything ok?"

Sam hardly blinked and Dean didn't have to look to know it was the cute blonde girl that was watching them so closely.

After a few seconds, Sam called back, "Yeah, Jess, everything's fine."

Out of his peripheral, Dean saw the girl nod her head. "Well come on, we're heading into the water!"

"I'll catch up, go ahead."

"You sure?"

Sam nodded, glancing at her quickly over his shoulder and shooting her a reassuring dimpled smile. "Yeah, I'm sure."

God, Dean had missed that smile.

The girl, Jess, observed them for a little while longer and then reluctantly turned her back on them, grasping the surfboard tightly and walking down the beach towards their friends.

Dean never made the first move. It just wasn't something he was programmed to do.

But with Sammy, he always seemed to find it in him to do things he wasn't programmed to do.

That moment was no exception.

"Look-" He started in a low voice, squeezing Sam's arm to get his attention. "I didn't drive all the way out here to fight with you. I came here to check on you, to make sure you were ok."

"Well, I'm fine."

It was only because Dean knew the kid's face that he spotted the slight softening of his expression. But then, he hadn't really known Sam in two years, so as far as Dean knew, the softer expression was a bad thing. "I know you are." He released Sam's arm and flexed his fingers, sending the younger man a quick look of apology. "Sorry, didn't know I was holdin' on so tight."

"It's ok." Sam massaged his arm slightly and then sighed, dropping his arms down to his sides. "Look, Dean…I just…uh-" He shook his head, swallowing again. "I don't really…know…how to-"

In their countless years of being inseparable, Dean had never seen his geekified little brother struggle so hard for words.

It was a true testament to how crappy their situation was that Sam, the sensitive one in the family, couldn't figure out what the hell to say.

"I just…I don't know…with the way things are-"

"Sam, man, it's ok." Dean shrugged a shoulder, saving his brother from giving himself a possible aneurysm. "Things are jacked up, I know that."

Sam nodded and released a breath, looking back down to the pavement. "Look, uh…thanks."

"For what?"

"For coming out here." Seeming to find some courage, Sam raised his eyes and looked directly into Dean's face. "I mean, I know that things are-"

"FUBAR?"

Sam blinked for a moment and then chuckled in spite of himself. "Yeah, even though things are FUBAR…well…y'know-"

Translated? It's good to see you.

Dean swallowed hard and then took a deep breath. "Yeah, well, y'know-"

Translated? Good to see you, too.

"Sam!"

Another voice called out and this time both brothers looked.

Down the beach where Sam's friends had entered the water was a guy probably around Sam's age with dark brown hair. He was wearing long beach shorts and a skin tight white neoprene shirt. He held his arms out in a classic gesture of "are you comin', or what?".

"Friend of yours?"

Sending the guy a quick wave, Sam turned back to his brother. "Yeah, my roommate."

"What's with that shirt?"

"It's a diving shirt."

"But he's surfing."

Sam smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah, well, he says it's better than wearing no shirt at all."

Dean merely blinked. "Your roommate's a nerd, Sam."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know he is."

Dean pushed himself from his lean against the car and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I should get outta here, I gotta head east."

"Where to?"

Looking down the beach and squinting in the sunlight, Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Probably call dad, see what he's up to. Maybe find a job on the way."

Glancing down at his friends briefly, Sam said, "Look, why don't you hang out for a bit?" Dean slowly moved his eyes back to Sam's face and felt his breath hitch. Sam, not noticing the reaction, kept on talking. "I mean, I'm outta class, I have some free time. I can…maybe…show you around, introduce you to some people."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah." One of Sam's dimples appeared. "Maybe you can try your hand at falling ass-backwards off a surfboard."

Surprising himself, Dean let out a laugh and shook his head. "Nah, fallin' off a waxed board isn't really my style, Sammy."

"No, I know." That damn dimple was still there. "But, I mean, we could figure out some stuff to do. Catch up, y'know?"

Before he could stop himself, Dean said, "Can I ask you a question?"

Sam blinked again. "Uh…yeah…sure."

"Do…your friends know about me?"

The kid answered quickly. Too quickly. "Yeah, of course they do."

But Dean had already seen all he'd needed to.

Sam's friends had absolutely no idea.

He tried to ignore how much it hurt.

A somewhat bitter smile came across Dean's face. "Yeah."

Sam's face fell and he sighed, looking instantly upset. "Dean, man, it's not like that-"

"No, hey, it's fine." He tried to wipe the smile off his face as he met Sam's big eyes again. "I didn't expect much else, man, no worries."

"It's just, y'know, they were askin' questions and I didn't know what to say. Then Rick—my roommate?—he saw my bag of rock salt and…I mean, it's hard explaining a ten pound bag of that stuff. And don't even get me started on the wards and protective charms and symbols, dude. I swear, he must've thought I was nuts…started askin' me why I was carving things in the walls-"

"Sam?" The kid trailed off lamely and Dean shook his head. "Stop ramblin', ok?"

"But-"

"Thanks for uh…the offer to stay, but I should really be goin'." Dean tried not to notice the truly miserable look on Sam's face. "I gotta call dad and get back to work."

After a moment, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah…ok."

"SAM!"

That Rick guy, in the ridiculous diving/surfing shirt, was back on the beach and flamboyantly waving his arms like an absolute asshat.

Sam seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Dammit, Rick, I'll be right there!"

"Look, get goin'." Dean spoke over the loudness and nodded towards Sam's friends—and his roommate, who was looking quite offended. "They're waitin' on you."

Looking back to his older brother, Sam's eyes were impossibly big.

If Dean didn't know better he'd say that Sam was on the verge of losing it.

"Dean, stay." The words were quick and almost desperate, Sam running a hand through his hair. "Just…for a couple days?"

Dean's shoulders fell and he let out a breath, his hands clenching inside the pockets of his jeans. "Sammy-" He shook his head, leaning back against the car. He was suddenly very tired. "I don't belong here." He finally admitted in a quiet voice. "This place? I can't stay."

The words came and Dean knew that they were the truth, that they needed to be said. Sam had worked hard to build a life—he had friends, people that he'd obviously trusted with very little of himself, but they were still his friends just the same. And Dean knew that if he stayed, those friends would ask questions and Sam would resent him for it. Even if the kid didn't want to.

Sam nodded, seeming to accept his brother's words for what they were.

Dean was, in essence, a loner. Friends were few and far between, family was cherished. Especially the long-limbed boy standing in front of him.

But at twenty-years-old, Sammy wasn't a boy anymore. He'd grown up. He was finally a man.

Jesus, where's the time go?

"I'll give you a call in a couple days, man, ok?"

"Promise?"

Dean couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, you know I do."

"At least once a week?"

"We'll pick a day and stick to it."

Another silence fell over them, but this time, the awkwardness from before was missing. Of course it was strained because they were on the verge of another goodbye—but it was different than the last time they'd gone their separate ways.

This time, it was on considerably better terms.

This time, it was on their terms.

Before Dean could finish his thought, he was pulled into a rough and unexpected embrace. Two surprisingly strong arms were wrapped around him, a familiar weight—although much bigger—was resting against his chest, the mess of familiar chocolate brown hair was tickling his stubble-covered cheek.

It was a 'Sammy hug'.

And Dean knew from experience that there was absolutely nothing better.

"Take care, Dean. Ok?"

Dean nodded against Sam's shoulder and swallowed hard. "Yeah, Sammy. You too." He returned the embrace as well as he could before they mutually separated—Sam blinking incessantly and Dean clearing his throat. "Seriously, don't go turnin' into a surfer boy."

"I won't."

"Ok, good." Pushing himself from the heated metal of the Impala, Dean slapped Sam's shoulder reassuringly and walked around the car, pulling open the drivers door.

The creak of the hinges instantly made him feel better.

"I'll call in a couple days, alright?"

The younger man nodded quickly. "Yeah, sounds good."

Goodbye wasn't something Dean could force himself to say. He hadn't said it when Sam first left for California…he hadn't said it the few times they'd spoken over the phone…and he wasn't going to say it then.

So instead, he settled for, "Later, bitch."

The one dimple came back to Sam's face and he sent a small wave. "Yeah. Later." Then tentatively, "Jerk."

Grinning hugely, (and feeling completely miserable) Dean slid into the vinyl seat of the Impala and pulled his door closed, sending a small wave to Sam as he started the engine.

Sam didn't move as he pulled away, maneuvering the large car through the tiny parking lot. Dean could feel his little brother's eyes on the tail end of the car, and when he finally found a break in traffic and punched the accelerator, he fought every instinct in his heart that was screaming at him to turn back.

He hoped that when Sam went back over to his friends, he was smiling again.

He hoped that things between them would change and finally get better.

But most of all, he hoped that when his friends asked who he was…Sam would tell them, "That was my brother."

END