Disclaimer: Sad to say, I own nothing Supernatural.
Sam's POV:
I got it. I can't believe…I actually freakin' got it. I mean, yeah, sure I applied again. Hell, every law student applied. But I got it.
"What's with you?"
"What?" I say turning around. I see Dean standing in the open doorway looking at me like I grew a third head. I didn't even hear him come in.
He narrows his eyes and studies me for a second before sitting down across from me at the table. "Vision?" he asks, and I can't tell if he'd prefer I say yes or no, if he's asking because he's concerned or hopeful. I shake my head and hold up the cell phone I just clicked off. "Dad?" Again, I'm not sure which response he'd like me to give. Again, I just shake my head no. "What then?"
And my mood comes crashing down. Yay, I got the job! No, I have to tell Dean.
No easy way, right? I should just come out and say it. Dean, I know you're already sad and pissed that I'm leaving to go back to school soon, and I know this was supposed to be a great brother-brother stress-free vacation kind of thing for us to do to make the…transition a little easier. And I know that so far it's been neither stress-free nor particularly brother-brotherly fun time. But I got a job and have to be back at Stanford by Monday. Sorry.
"Sam," he says breaking me out of my thoughts. "Who was on the phone?" He looks worried. I want to tell him he shouldn't be, it's nothing bad, it's good. But I doubt he'll see it that way.
"An old professor of mine," I say. Maybe if I just ease into it…
"From Stanford?"
"Yeah."
"What's he want?" I try to stifle a laugh. It's amazing how defensive he gets at even the mention of my school. Defensive and jealous.
"He has a job for me," I say, completely cowardly averting his eyes.
"Really?" he asks, seeming interested, maybe a little excited even. "What kind of job? We gotta leave right away?" I look up at him and see my mistake. A job. To Dean that only means one thing.
I shake my head back and forth for a minute – at least it seems like that long – before correcting him, saying what needs to be said. I look into his eyes and prepare to – for the second time in four months – break my brother's heart. "Not that kind of job," I say softly. Maybe too softly. He gets it right away, I can tell when his posture tenses, his mouth straightens, and all the color drains from his face. But he doesn't say a word. "Professor McKinn, he only teaches a couple of classes. When he's not teaching he works at a law firm. His law Firm. McKinn and McKay." He snorts at the name and looks away, but I go on. "They do mostly environmental law, which is really what I want to do. And every year he hires a new intern. He gives his students first crack, but he remembered me from last year. He was kind of a mentor…to me. Anyway, he offered me the position, which is crazy because I'm already behind and a year out of practice and, really, not at all experienced enough for it. But he called and offered it to me, and I accepted."
He doesn't move. He doesn't look back over at me. He doesn't speak. He just sits there, staring down at the floor. We just sit there, here, in this strange kitchen that smells like lemon zest and roasting chicken, in silence. Forever.
At least it seems like forever. I can hear Callie playing somewhere upstairs, stomping around and singing. And there's Sal begging her to be quiet. I can hear the beginning of the storm they said would roll in tonight, pitter-patter of little raindrops on the roof. But it's a long time before I hear my brother's voice again.
He takes in a deep breath and gets up, heads to the counter, pours himself a cup of cold coffee. He walks to the opposite side of the room and puts it in the microwave for 72 seconds. 72 seconds? Then, finally, he turns to me and says simply, "Congratulations." I can't tell – his voice is so flat – if he's being sarcastic or totally, bizarrely honest. Knowing him like I do though, I'm, guessing the former.
"I'm sorry," I say and he gives an awkward wave of the hand, like 'don't bother' or 'it's cool'. The microwave beeps and he takes out the mug, sets it on the counter and leans up against the cabinets.
"Last night was fun, huh?" He tries to make his voice light, but it doesn't quite work. "At least after we got out of that creepy Star Trek trap."
"Yeah," I say.
"Seeing Haley…that was weird. Cool, but weird." He blows on his coffee and takes a sip.
"Yeah." Should I tell him I really did have fun last night, that Jake was a riot playing the slots, yelling at the machines? That Haley's stories about growing up with her brothers made me laugh and think about what our life could have been like if not for Dad's drinking, our family's hunting? Should I mention that I noticed how quiet he was when she spoke, not just out of respect but genuine interest, more interest than I've ever seen him have in a girl he's sharing a pitcher of beer with? Or should I just keep saying 'yeah', keep waiting for the inevitable?
"You hear Sal last night screaming at Jake? I guess he told her about the $250 he lost."
He laughs a little, that same scoff-snort-chuckle, and I say, "Yeah." And he notices. He notices that I'm not really participating in this discussion, if you could even call it that. He notices that even though I'm looking at him, I'm also trying to look away. He notices that the elephant in the room is begging to be acknowledged.
He sets down his coffee and puts his hands on the counter behind him, bracing himself it looks like, his knuckles growing white as he clings to the gray granite. "When are you leaving?" he asks, his voice more deep and serious than I think I've ever heard it before.
"Sunday," I say staring into his eyes. I can't gauge his reaction, he doesn't even seem to have one. He just stares stonily at me and I feel my cheeks burn in a guilty and ashamed blush. "I start Monday, so I have to go." I can't take it; I look away. "We still have a few days." I hear the words come out and can't help but cringe at how pathetic they sound, like a whiny five-year-old.
I don't look back at him in time. When I'm finally able to force my head to turn, my eyes to focus elsewhere, all I see is my brother's back, his hunched shoulders, his strong hands scooping the car keys off the counter, and his quick stride as he storms out of the kitchen.
A/N: I know this one's a little short, but I'm already working on the next chapter and hope to have it up soon. Until then, please, feel free to review!