Ordinary People

Chapter 11

I walked into the room cautiously, but my watch scraped against the doorframe and I saw Sam move feebly in reaction and try to twist around. His back was to the door; he was facing the wall and the window curtains were closed. I made an effort to move around to face him.

"Hey it's just me." Sam looked up and saw me.

"Oh, okay, hey," he responded, tired, and settled.

"Hey," I replied solemnly as I sat down. I could tell Sam didn't appreciate being unable to see who walked in and out of the room.

"Do you-" I stood up and grasped the arms of the chair. Sam looked confused.

"What're you doing?"

"Do… I can move the chair around so you can face the door…" It was a logistical question and Sam was a little drugged, so it might've not been the best question to ask him at that moment. I saw the wheels turning in his eyes, though, as he grasped what I was asking.

"Um, yeah…" He murmured. I got up and scraped the chair around to the other side of the bed. Sam started moving, repositioning himself on his stomach, then turning to the side facing the room. I looked up after repositioning the chair and moved over to him to help, if it was possible. I caught a wire above Sam's head before it hit him. Sam took it in stride, stopped as I moved the wire up away from the head of the bed, then he continued to turn. With a sigh, he settled down and I sat back down.

"Better?" I asked, sheepishly. It seemed like a dumb adjustment, in hindsight.

"Yeah," Sam breathed. The move had taken a toll. There were a couple beats of silence and I stared at my hands a lot.

"Where's Dean?"

"Took off about 20 minutes ago."

"To find Dad?"

"Yeah to find your Dad."

Sam scrunched his eyes closed and opened them again.

"That's not normal. He'd stay here."

I understood what Sam meant. Ordinarily, Dean would've blown his dad off in order to be there for Sam when he woke up.

"Yeah. That's… A few things've happened since you've been out of it."

"What happened?"

Sam sounded groggy, but not really fragile. He seemed competent; ready to hear the news.

"Dean's been ordered against seeing you until legal guardianship is established."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"CPS," he whispered.

"Yeah," I replied delicately.

"Who's the case manager?"

"A woman named Sandra. Sandra Clauson," I replied. I started to get the distinct impression that this had happened before.

"Okay will you go get her for me?" Sam asked, sitting himself up a little bit more and reaching for the glass of water. He took a sip. I watched him, slightly alarmed.

"Wait, what, no…"

Sam set the water back down and looked at me, not understanding my reaction.

"What?"

"You're just getting of heavy sedatives and you've been… really… hurt…" I said, trying to come up with a gentler way to say beaten to a bloody pulp.

"I'm fine, Jesse," Sam replied, looking at me like I was coddling him or something. I opened my mouth to speak back, but nothing came out. Sam's expression was calm and honest. "Seriously, I'm okay. I'm at least okay enough to tell Sandra Clauson that Dean didn't do this."

I didn't really know what to do… In my head I wondered what Dean would do.

"You're sure-?" I asked. Sam nodded and smiled a little.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay…" I said, and proceeded to get up. Within the time I'd spent talking to Sam, he'd gotten a lot more cogent. Quick recoverer, I thought. But I already knew that.

As I moved to the door, I heard Sam's voice ring out in curiosity.

"Hey, Jesse…"

I stopped and turned around.

"Yeah?"

"Did you talk to Clauson?"

I took a second to figure out what I was going to say.

"Yeah, I-" I moved back to Sam, "I did."

Sam looked expectant and I spoke before he could prompt.

"I don't think I did a really good job…"

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't really explain your injuries… I just swore that it wasn't Dean."

"Okaay," Sam trailed his voice, knowing there was more to my guilt than that.

"I told her that you and Dean lived in a motel room… And that your Dad was barely ever around…" My heart was thumping as I admitted this to Sam. I was so mortified that I had given them more rope to hang Dean on… I hadn't meant it – everything I had said was that Dean was great and that he took care of his little brother. But somehow I mentioned those other details in the midst of these statements and Sandra had picked up on them immediately. As the interview went on, I felt her fleshing out an image that I knew was painting Dean in the worst light… And I couldn't stop it. I felt helpless as she took inventory of Sam's quality of life and, even to me, it came out wanting.

…

"Where do they do their laundry?"

"I guess the laundromat on Carmon street…"

"What food do they have stocked in the room?"

"Um, parishables… Coffee," I added, knowing Dean had offered me coffee. I didn't mention the beer.

"How does Sam get to school?"

"Dean picks him up and drops him off with the black car, um, the Impala."

"Do they talk in school?"

"No, they talk outside of school."

"Where?"

"Home… Sam talks to Dean at home."

"And you know this?"

"Yeah Dean… Told me," I said, deflating a little bit.

"If something were to happen, is Dean Sam's only emergency contact?"

"I… Dean is the only person Sam would need…" I replied, confused.

"What about their father?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Where does Sam go to be alone, do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where does Sam find privacy?"

"Um. I don't know. He hangs out in the library a lot."

"The library's 5 miles out from their motel. Sam would need a ride from his brother."

"Yeah," I shrugged, then looked up at her.

"Yeah," Sandra Clauson repeated softly back as she jotted something else down. I tried to look, but I couldn't read upside down.

"Oh he goes for runs!" I added.

"Mhmm… On weekends, do you see him often?" Sandra replied, not really caring about the running thing.

"Um, not really… We do homework together sometimes."

"At the public library," Sandra supplied.

"Yeah."

"You don't go see movies or go out to eat or anything?"

"Um… No Sam doesn't really come with us to those things…" I answered honestly. What did Sam do on the weekends?

"Does Sam ever talk about his brother?" Sandra asked quickly, changing tack.

"Sure," I said offhandedly, kind of lying.

"What kinds of things does he say?"

"He hates his taste in music," I replied with a smile. Sandra smiled in return.

"What else?"

I tried to think of other things Sam had shared with me about Dean. I knew Sam only ever drank around Dean… That Dean knew how to neutralize tensions in his family, what with their father being kind of strict as an ex-marine… And I knew that Sam was quite used to trusting Dean with his life, which seemed to become endangered more often than was normal… But I couldn't really say any of these things to Sandra…

Thankfully, Sandra changed the question.

"Does Dean go out on dates?"

"Uh, yeah…" I replied, thinking that was coming out of left field.

"And who can Sam turn to if something were to happen to him? Or Dean?"

"Sam's 14 years old… It's not like he needs to be baby-sat," I replied, indignant. I was 14, too. Sandra nodded, a little too understandingly. It felt condescending.

"I'll rephrase, sorry. If something were to happen to Dean, who would be able to contact Sam?"

"I… I…" It was an easy question, but it occurred to me that their dad wouldn't really hold weight, since Dean still hadn't gotten a hold of him even though he'd left close to a billion voice mails.

"Things… Don't… Happen to Dean," I replied haltingly, knowing it sounded ridiculous. By then, I had gotten kind of fed up with these questions.

"I don't understand this. Dean's 18. 18-year-olds are totally in their right to be legal guardians-"

Before I could continue, Sandra Clauson set her clipboard down and leaned forward towards me sharply.

"Listen, Jesse," she commanded as she interrupted me. She looked me straight in the eye and I closed my mouth to listen. "Dean is well within his right to obtain legal guadianship, but he is not Sam's legal guardian. Sam's father is his legal guardian. And he's not here. Sam has endured some really, and I can't stress this enough, really serious injuries – and they're not from today."

She leaned back a little, now. "…And his legal guardian," she paused for emphasis, and I heard just the slightest hint of irritation as she spent her time saying the last word. "…His legal guardian is not present." She sighed and looked at me. Almost as an afterthought to her monologue, she said sadly: "And his current guardian can't explain those injuries."

"It wasn't Dean! I swear it!" I promised in urgency. Really, this was what it came down to: these injuries. Sandra just shook her head.

"Jesse, my hands are tied."

…

Sam looked at me like I knew he would, but quickly recovered his expression.

"Hey… Hey it's okay, Jesse," he said as he tried to alleviate the guilt written over my face. I swallowed.

"Listen, just get the case manager in here, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I replied and turned around.

Sam's reaction had been far and away better than Dean's. As I walked back into the hallway to get Sandra, my hands shook a little at the memory of Dean's reaction. Sandra had brought Dean back to the cubicle space she'd interviewed me in… And I kind of angled myself in the waiting room to be able to see down the hallway. I didn't know they would tell Dean he couldn't see Sam anymore.

I saw Sandra lean forward towards Dean – her facial expression was apologetic. I could only see Dean's back. It looked like Sandra was doing most of the talking, and slowly Dean seemed to tense up until his hands were braced against the arms of the chair he was in. Finally, he stood up and shook her hand formally… I figured things must've gone well… Until I saw him turn around and start walking down the hall.

A extremely disgusted, furious look overcame him, transforming his bearing into something… else. He was lost in thought while he walked, the change in demeanor a completely unconscious move on his part. His eyes seemed black and his hands clenched… His lips were peeled back and pressed together in repressed anger. The lights in the hallway only served to exaggerate the lines in his face, creating sharp edges and deep shadows under his eyes and cheeks. He looked dangerous.

He walked out and the bright fluorescent light of the waiting room did nothing to change my impression of him. He looked right past me as he moved straight towards the exit.

"Dean-" I spoke, feeling small. Dean did a double-take and I inhaled deeply, surprised and worried about what he would do as he immediately changed directions and bore down on me. He walked right up to me, his expression livid, and I stumbled back a little bit, my thigh hitting the edge of a plastic waiting chair. I had to look down for a second to adjust, but looked up again in near-panic. I held my ground (trembling, as it were) and looked into his eyes in fear. He spoke with pursed lips, holding back.

"Stay here," he growled slowly. I nodded fast, and with that, Dean left. I stood there, kind of stunned, and heard the Impala screech around the parking lot. I started breathing again as it left the parking lot. Loud car, I thought shakily.

Sandra Clauson filled me in on what had happened about 2 minutes later when she came out into the waiting room. She seemed unaware of Dean's mood, but my heart was still beating… Jesus, he's a good actor, I had thought.

…

I went to go get Sandra in the area she had taken me to – the small cubicle space. Not an office, but it was quiet. She was hovering over a few folders she was working on and looked up, taking off her glasses.

"Sam… Sam's awake. He wants to talk to you," I said softly.

Sandra smiled at me and I couldn't help but return it.

"That's really good to hear. I'll be by in a moment, okay?"

"Okay I'll go tell him," I replied and turned.

"Hey- Jesse-"

I turned around back to Sandra.

"Jesse you're okay, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine," I said in a fake, bright voice and forced a smile. Before Sandra could continue, I turned on my heel and walked quickly down the hallway to get to Sam's room. No! I'm NOT fine. I'm 14 years old and trying to stop child protective services from separating two brothers who would clearly die for each other and the scariest one is furious with me right now! How the hell did I get here?

I slammed the swinging door with as much force as I could muster as I headed into another hallway. The door didn't go back all the way, though, and suddenly I heard a sharp yell of pain. The door flipped back at me and I stopped it before it hit my face. I opened the door more gently this time and looked around to find a janitor whose cleaning supply cart had just been slammed into him.

"Shit, sorry! Sorry sorry-" I said, trying to pick up the supplies that had fallen off the cart for the janitor. He just looked at me with irritation and nodded.

"It's okay…"

"S-sorry again," I said, uncertainly, as I placed the 409 on top of the cart carefully and backed away. I turned around for Sam's room.

I walked in and Sam looked up at me.

"She coming?"

I nodded and moved to sit down and sighed heavily.

"Relax, Jess, it's okay," Sam coaxed gently. I looked at Sam.

"Yeah. It is," I replied, newfound confidence in my voice. Sam nodded and smiled a bit; mostly for my benefit, and I returned the smile – mostly for his benefit.

"I'll get Dean back to you," I blurted out after a few minutes' silence. Sam's eyes crinkled in a genuine smile this time. He sighed.

"No you won't."

"No?"

"No. I'll get him back." Sam said casually, quite self-assured.

Okay, I thought. I'll just work out a plan B, though…

…

Writer's Note: Thank you for all your reviews so far and please keep them coming! Let me know what you think because constructive criticism is becoming more and more important as the chapters continue – I'm trying not to slip up on characterizations or degrading the POV. Thank you again! Cheers! – Alex