DISCLAIMER: blah blahblah, its not mine and ya'll know that
Okay, holy crap, I'm so so so sorry that it's taken me this long to get the next chapter up! School sucks and I even ditched out on studying for a final to get this posted. And that's why I'm also sorry that it's kinda short. Please don't hate me for it, and let me know how its going cause I'm beginning to doubt it know, LadyWilde you're my hero :D
Sam leaned on the side of the Impala and let the cool night air flutter across his face. He closed his eyes and tucked his hands into his pockets. Two weeks, that's how long he had left before the regular school semester started back up. Two weeks and he still hadn't mentioned anything to their father about leaving. Two weeks and Dean had yet to bring up the topic again.
In fact they hadn't really spoken to each other. There were the automatic responses during hunts and the monotone answers during research, but that was it. There was no joking, no suggestive comments and no laughing.
Sometimes there were the briefest of touches at night after their dad had fallen asleep, but they only left him hurting and more frustrated then if there had been no touching at all.
He opened his eyes and glanced towards the cheap bar that their dad and Dean had chosen to hustle. There was no telling how long they would be in it, so he pushed himself of the car and started walking back to the motel. It wasn't that far anyways, about a mile or so.
He kept his hands tucked in his pockets as he walked and kicked the dirt a few times, wishing Dean was around so he could kick him instead. Why did the jerk have to make things more difficult then they already were? It was bad enough that Sam knew their father was going to have a hard time taking in the whole Stanford issue, but he had thought for sure Dean would understand – Dean always understood. He was going to tell their dad weeks ago that he was thinking about going away to school, but then the whole blowup between Dean and him had happened and…well, if Dean had taken it that bad, Sam was sure to be killed, salted and burned when he told their dad.
He stopped walking and turned around to look at the bright neon sign of the motel that he had completely bypassed. He dropped his shoulders and started backtracking, but instead of going into their room he walked across the street to a baseball diamond. He leapt onto one of the bleachers and moved to lay on the top row, with his knees bent. The wood was cool on his heated back. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
The crisp breeze chilled his skin but he didn't feel it – no, there wasn't a lot that he was feeling lately…except regret. He regretted applying to Stanford, it had only created more problems when it was supposed to take them away.
He heard the stiff grass crunching somewhere off to his right, but didn't open his eyes. He felt the bleachers heave under the weight of another body and the thudding of shoes making their way towards him. The noise stopped and his hair swayed as a puff of air passed by him, body warmth leaked onto his cooled scalp.
For the first time Sam just didn't know what to say…and, yeah it was awkward. So he kept his eyes closed and focused on the cool breeze instead of the musky leather smell that was invading his space.
"Do you know when you were little," His voice was soft and just above his head, Sam kept his eyes closed. "That I was the only one that could stop you from crying? Dad would try, God he tried, but you just wouldn't stop. Whenever we were at Bobby's he would try, it didn't do any good. But the second that I had you that was it, you were quiet."
Sam wasn't sure where the conversation was supposed to being going, but it annoyed him that Dean hadn't even tried to talk since the episode in Alliance. "Yeah, well, I don't cry that often anymore, Dean." He cringed, he hadn't tried very hard either.
There was a heavy pause and Sam thought for sure that Dean was going to leave. "That's not my point." Sam kept his mouth closed, not wanting to hear his point anymore. But that didn't stop Dean from talking and Sam should have known it wouldn't. "Sam, I've always been here for you, and you damn well know that. The whole Stanford thing…I just wanted you to talk to me."
Sam's eyes snapped open. Dean was sitting right by his head, with one arm slung over the railing. "I tried talking to you, remember how that went?"
Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy, I pushed you into talking, I had you backed into a corner and you had to tell me. There's a difference."
"I don't see a difference."
He watched Dean's nostrils flare. "The difference is that you wouldn't have told me! You didn't want me to know. Do you know how bad it hurt having to hear you on the phone with him of all people, Sam?" He raised his eyes to stare up at the sky and for the first time, Sam understood why Dean reacted the way he had.
"I'm sorry." Dean tipped his head back down to stare into Sam's eyes. As always the intensity there heated him, practically warming his cooled skin. "I was gonna tell you, Dean. This wasn't something that I was trying to keep from you."
He ran a hand down his face. "It sure felt like it. This was big, Sam…" He trailed off.
Sam closed his eyes again. That's really all their family knew; pain was just as part of their lives as breathing. "I was just trying to find the right way to tell you, Dean. You told me that I was abandoning you and that was exactly what I didn't want you to feel."
Dean didn't answer and Sam squeezed his eyes tighter, unable to continue. They feel into silence again with nothing but the sound of the wind and passing cars in the distance. And that was the biggest reason why Sam regretted applying to Stanford – he would have done anything not to cause Dean the exact pain that he was in.
With his eyes closed, he felt Dean's hand brush gently along the tips of hair on his forehead and then slowly push his fingertips farther into his mess of hair. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything.
"Why did you do it?" Sam opened his eyes to find Dean staring out into the distance, his hand still playing with Sam's hair. Sam wouldn't have even known he'd spoken if they hadn't been the only two within shouting distance.
"Do you want me to lie this time? Cause you didn't like my answer before."
"No, Sam, I'm tired of all the lies."
Although he really didn't want to talk about it anymore – in fact he was ready to tear up the letter and pretend like it had never happened – Sam sighed reluctantly. "It's just everything, Dean. I feel like this life is draining every piece of humanity out of me, and it's slowly driving me insane. The only time that I feel calm anymore is when I'm with you, and with the way things have been lately that hasn't even been doing me any good."
"Me and dad…things are getting worse and worse everyday, and I hate that. I hate that I feel this resentment towards him when I know it's not his fault. And you're right."
"Right about what?"
Sam laughed bitterly at himself. "I am selfish. I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna be here, but you're missing one thing."
Dean's voice cracked. "What's that?"
"When I say I don't want this life anymore, it has nothing to do with you. With us. I love you, Dean, I do. And if I leave, I'm still gonna love you."
Dean was quiet for a few minutes and Sam didn't say anything, letting his older brother think about everything he had admitted to.
"I'll still love you too." And Sam could hear all the unspoken words. I wish things could have been different, I'm sorry I couldn't understand, I don't know what to do. The hand in Sam's hair kept moving.
Sam moved his hands from behind his head and pushed himself backwards so he could set his head on Dean's thigh. He closed his eyes again, drinking in the closeness that he felt again. Because this – being able to talk to each other again – felt like they were closer then when they slept next to each other every night.
"I'm just tired, Dean."
Dean's hand kept moving and the other one snaked down from the railing to curve possessively on Sam's thigh. "I know."
Haha, bet you weren't expecting the huggle talk from me :) take that!