Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural." Let's not rub it in.
Author's Note: One more to go, guys! I'm editing it as you read! Thank you for reviewing. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it.
The end scene is where I've been wanting to get since the sixth chapter of this story. I just couldn't figure out how to work it, lol... but I finally did!
Thank you again for all the encouragement! The last chapter will be up Friday at the latest!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX"Thank you," Sam said impulsively when the Impala came into view.
Dean hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should pretend ignorance at his little brother's words, at the meaning behind those words; wondering if he should pretend like he hadn't purposefully set out to be as normal as possible to his little brother's friends.
But why bother with that when they both knew what he'd done. He'd played a game-- and as usual, he'd done it for Sam.
He shrugged a little, "Not a big deal," he murmured, then confessed almost guiltily, "I kinda... it wasn't as... I mean..."
"You had fun," Sam provided, a huge smile on his face that reminded him of little Sammy when he'd finally gotten Dean to play checkers with him. Dean couldn't help, but return it.
He nodded a little sheepishly, "Yeah, I guess I did..."
"I had fun too," Sam nodded, waiting as Dean unlocked the car doors.
They were silent as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.
"My friends like you," Sam stated softly a few minutes later.
Dean nodded, "Well, who doesn't, Sammy..." he drawled, shooting his brother a smirk.
But Sam wasn't in for bull-shitting, he was being serious, "I mean it, Dean. They really like you, they weren't faking or anything. They like you..."
Dean shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable suddenly.
"Were you... you know...? Faking?" Sam asked when the silence stretched. It didn't matter really. What mattered was that Dean hadn't provoked any questions in his friends-- at least not any that Sam couldn't bluff through. It didn't really matter if Dean really liked them or not. He'd pretended to and that was enough. He'd made them believe... and that was enough.
Except it wasn't.
He wanted to know if his brother liked his friends, wanted to know if his brother approved of them and no matter what his head told him, in his heart he knew there was nothing more important. In his heart he knew he'd waited four years to hear what Dean thought.
The older man was silent a moment, then shook his head, "For a bunch of geeks there not so bad," he offered shooting Sam a quick grin, "You could do worse, Sammy..."
"It's Sam," he responded automatically, even as a grin formed on his face, "Admit it, you liked them," he stated, feeling confident in that fact now.
Dean chuckled, "I'll tell you who I did like," he murmured.
Sam rolled his eyes, "See, you spent the entire day with us and not one weird thing happened-- it can be done."
"I never said it couldn't."
"So come to my wedding."
Dean smile vanished and Sam swore he felt the car tense around him, "Don't start," his brother grit out.
"I don't get what the problem is, Dean."
"Don't tempt fate, that's the problem."
Sam shook his head, "I'm not. Just because--"
"Do you know why I'm in California, Sam?" Dean asked, abruptly cutting him off. Sam snapped his mouth shut. Dean shot him a sidelong glance, "Do you want to know?" he asked coldly.
The silence stretched.
"That's the problem," Dean pointed out a moment later.
"Not wanting the supernatural in my life doesn't mean not wanting you to—"
"It's a package deal," Dean interrupted.
"No! It's not! Look at today!" Sam cried, shifting in his seat to study his brother's profile, "Look at how great today was!"
Dean laughed, but the sound brittle, "Christ Sammy," he murmured.
"You said you had fun, you just said it!"
"It isn't about having fun," Dean contradicted shaking his head.
"Then what's it about, huh?"
Dean released a frustrated breath, shooting Sam another dark look and thanking the heavens that traffic was light, "I can't put my life on hold all the time, Sam..."
"Not all the time, Dean... just sometimes... once a month... every couple of weeks... on October 3rd..."
Dean rolled his eyes, but a small smile lurked on his lips. Sam knew he was making sense, could feel that Dean was giving in and he felt a small smile light his own face.
"Sam--" Dean began, but cut himself off as he started a little in his seat, "Shit," he murmured and reached down, pulling a phone out of his pocket.
Sam watched as the little smile faded off his brother's face and suddenly felt a chill go down his spine. He knew before Dean looked over said it, who was on that phone.
"It's Dad," his brother said softly, but the impact was the same as if he'd yelled it.
Sam flinched and shook his head, "Dean don't--"
But his brother was already pulling over onto the shoulder of road, already raising the phone to his ear, already lost to him...
"Hi Dad."
"..."
"Still in California."
"..."
"Yes, Sir."
"..."
Sam saw the way Dean hesitated suddenly before he spoke again.
"No, Sir." His brother finally stated.
"..."
"Something came up," Dean said, fidgeting a little in his seat.
"..."
Sam glared at his brother, "Tell him you're with me," he told Dean angrily, but Dean made a shushing motion with his hand and automatically Sam's mouth snapped shut. It reminded him that while he'd been prone to disobeying his father's every word, he'd always followed Dean's orders.
"Something..." again the hesitation, "... personal," Dean continued.
"..."
Sam heard the pitch of his father's voice suddenly and knew that John Winchester was yelling. Dean remained silent through the tirade and finally Sam stopped hearing the muffled cries.
"I understand," Dean finally replied.
"..."
"Yes Sir. Oregon, okay..."
Sam felt his breath catch, what?
"..."
"Yesterday, I got it, Dad."
"..."
"Yes, sir."
And then Dean was putting the phone away, tucking it into his pocket, avoiding Sam's gaze.
"Does he know you're with me?" Sam asked after a few mintues of silence.
Dean shook his head, "No." He said simply.
"But he's pissed," Sam added unnecessarily, staring at his brother.
Dean nodded, pulling back into traffic, "I didn't check in after the last job... he has a new gig for me..."
"Dean--"
"Vacation's over, Sammy."
Sam felt a lump rise in his throat, his hands fisted and his jaw clenched, "No..." he choked out. It was too soon...
Dean shot him a quick unreadable look, "I have a job to do, Sam."
"So leave tomorrow, get a good night's sleep..." Sam tried, his voice steady as he told himself to stay calm, to stay rational.
"I have to leave now," Dean stated, his voice as steady as Sam's.
Sam blinked at his brother, then shook his head again, "No, Dean... you can't..." Sam stated.
"I have a job, Sam," Dean interrupted, his tone hard, "People's lives--"
"No! Don't give me that bullshit! That goddamned bullshit that Dad force-fed us!" Sam hissed.
Dean's hands clenched the steering wheel a bit harder, but he said nothing.
"You can't just leave, Dean... come on, man... you… you can't... you owe me a game... everybody's waiting... you owe me a game..." Sam babbled, the fury of his last words dissolved in the face of Dean's silence. He hated Dean's silence. You couldn't argue with silence and it had always been Dean's most effective weapon. He wasn't like their Dad or even like him, Dean didn't yell back. He just waited for the storm to pass.
And when this storm passed, Dean would leave...
"The rematch, Dean... you owe me a rematch..." Sam repeated. The car stopped suddenly and Sam realized they were back at his apartment.
"I have to get my stuff, then I'll drop you off at the bar, you can get a ride back with Jess." Dean said calmly reaching for the door handle.
Sam sat in the empty car for a moment, before the words his brother said actually registered. He jumped out of the car and found Dean waiting for him upstairs and outside his apartment door.
Dean smirked at him, obviously trying to lighten the mood, "I was just about to pick it," he murmured, but Sam didn't bother to respond to that. The mood could not be lightened.
He just shook his head, "You can't be serious..." he whispered.
"No really, I was about to start..."
"You're just going to leave?" Sam asked his voice carry the bewildered quality of a child's, "You can't do that…"
Abruptly, Dean tensed and his gaze seemed to suddenly burn, "Why not?" he asked, his tone hard, "You did," he spat.
Sam flinched as if he'd been struck-- he hadn't seen that coming.
Dean stepped back, "Open the door, Sam." He ordered and just like that, Sam stepped forward and unlocked the door; his mind still reeling from the verbal back-hand Dean had issued.
Inside the apartment he watched Dean study the living room. It was a lot messier than they'd left it that afternoon. Magazines and invitations littered the sofa and coffee table.
"Where's my stuff?" he heard his brother ask.
Sam swallowed hard, "uh... Jess she, uh… put it in the study..."
Dean nodded, turning to head that way.
"Dean," Sam called out.
The older man paused, but didn't turn around.
"It wasn't..." Sam drew in a deep breath, "When I left... it wasn't... it had nothing to do with you... it was that life... I couldn't... take it, I didn't want it... I felt like was... drowning somehow..." he stuttered out, trying to put into words everything he'd felt and wanted all those years ago.
It was as hard to do now as it had been then-- especially when Dean turned around and pinned a hard, hazel gaze on him.
"But it wasn't about you!" Sam cried, wanting his brother to understand that.
Dean was utterly still for a long moment.
Sam took a step towards him, ready to continue, but the flash of something dark and warning in his brother's gaze stopped him.
"Well sorry Sam, I never got that memo," Dean growled.
"It was the hunting Dean, it was Dad and his inability to hear me, it was the moving and the--"
"Christ Sam, would you LISTEN to yourself," Dean roared suddenly, "That's my life, that's my world. You think Dad hears me. Dad doesn't hear anybody, Sam! You were just too damn blind to look around and see that we were all drowning!"
"You walked out on us, Sam, not just on the hunting or Dad's orders, but us-- as in me too... and now you want to pretend like it never happened... well, sorry I don't deprogram that fast..."
Sam said nothing, could say nothing, could think nothing... Dean's words swirled around his head in a haze. Their meaning so horrific that his mind refused to register it-- all it could come up with, all it could deal with was simply, Dean was mad at him.
"I'm getting my stuff," his brother announced abruptly and Sam watched as Dean strode away from him.
And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Dean was going to leave tonight... and that he had no right to demand anything from his brother-- even another visit.
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Dammit, dammit, damn-it, GOD-damn-it...
Why the fuck had he done that? Why even go there...
He shoved the study door open so roughly it practically slammed against the wall. He couldn't help it though, his body was humming with pent up anger and adrenaline that had no where to go.
He reached for the door and closed it behind him. Looking around he found himself in a room that was obviously a den... a room that was obviously Sam.
It wasn't large and what there was of it seemed to be mostly bookshelves, but it was welcoming somehow. A desk sat at one end, a sofa at another, a coffee table sat between them and two tall floor lamps stood at attention in the corners, but it was the mess that spelled Sam. There were papers, pens, books and notebooks everywhere-- on the desk, on the coffee table, on the sofas. Every surface was covered with one book or another. A laptop sat on the desk, surrounded by textbooks and an old mug.
The room had his little brother stamped in every nook and cranny and it made Dean feel like shit. He hadn't meant to yell at Sam... but dammit nobody could push his buttons like Sammy could...
Four years and the kid still didn't see anything. For being one of the smartest people Dean knew the kid could be just plain stupid sometimes. He still didn't get it. He still thought that Hunting was just what they did. Dean sighed softly, looking around for his duffle. Sam just didn't understand... Hunting is who they are.
It stopped being a job a long time ago. God knows sometimes it felt like one-- a really crappy one, but it was their duty, their calling... at least for him it was.
He didn't want to live another life. Even if today hadn't been as bad as he'd anticipated...
He'd surprised himself by actually liking Sam's friends. Of course, it could be because he'd managed to see a bit of Sam in all of them; Doug's curiosity, Jake's goofiness, Mike's cautiousness, Kerrie's wit, Lacey's wariness-- all pieces of his little brother.
And there was Jess of course, he couldn't have hand-picked a better girl for Sammy. There was a careless quality to her, an irreverence that lightened the mood around her and god knows Sam was perpetually surrounded by a dark mood.
So Sammy had gotten what he wanted… and now he wanted more.
He really hadn't meant to yell at his little brother. It was just… Sam making excuses, justifications for leaving… it had made him see red.
He didn't want Sam to justify himself. He didn't want Sam to explain. All he wanted from Sam was for him to understand…
He just wanted his little brother to understand why Dean couldn't let it go. Why it had hurt… why it was such a big deal that he'd gone college.
He spotted his duffel sitting on by the side of the desk and started heading around the desk to get it. Fat chance of that happening though, his little brother seemed to have it stuck in his head that his leaving them in North Dakota to go to Stanford, California should have had absolutely no lasting effects. He seemed to believe that because he was following his dreams no one had a right to be hurt by it. He seemed to believe that—
Dean's thoughts halted abruptly .
It was sitting by the laptop, surrounded by textbooks and pens, inside wood, covered by glass…
He'd been 21, Sam 17… he couldn't remember where they'd been only that Sam had hated it, as usual.
He remembered he'd set out to make his brother smile. He remembered that he'd gotten tickets to a concert. He remembered that Sam had hated it and that he'd bought his little brother a t-shirt and sang himself hoarse until Sam had cracked a smile told him he was an idiot. He remembered that he'd bought a disposable camera and taken shots of the band. He remembered that towards the end Sam had been enjoying himself. He remembered surprising Sam in a playful, one-armed chokehold and snapping a picture with his other hand. He remembered tossing the camera to Sam so the younger boy could take a picture of him with band.
And he just now remembered that he'd never gotten that camera back.
The picture had come out good. Great, even. Dean hanging over Sam, Sam caught looking up at him; wide smiles, shining eyes, sunshine in the background. There was affection in the picture-- you could feel it; you could hear laughter in it too…
It wasn't in Sam's living room; on his mantle surrounded by other friends and family.
It was in Sam's study; on his desk surrounded by his books and notes.
And somewhere it that, Dean realized suddenly, lay the defining detail of their relationship, of how Sam saw him. Somewhere in that was the reason why Sam could say with so much fervor and honesty that he'd turned away from everything, but not him.
Because he'd never been a part of everything…
The door opened and he looked up. Sam stood there.
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