This is another one of my favorite chapters. Hope you all enjoy this as much as I do!

Now on a more serious note, there are a few things I need to say.

Suggestions are okay, but this is MY story, and this one in particular has already been mapped out, so don't expect them to be used unless I feel they really benefit the plot. This story, like all my others, is mine. And, this is going to sound strange, but I've put a ton of time and effort into each (even if it doesn't always seem like it) and I'm protective of them. They are my ideas and will stay that way. I wrote this story all by myself (I'm a big girl now!). I'm not pointing fingers (I'm not solely talking about this story either), I'm just trying to say this for general purpose.

And that leads me to the second topic I wanted to cover. Flames. I've only gotten a few, some on this story, some on others, but that doesn't mean they don't hurt. If you seriously didn't like it that much, tell me WHY. Don't rip into to me and say I'm a crappy writer. Tell me that my characters are too OOC for you, or it's just not your style. Or that I need to work on this or that. Don't just say you hate it and leave it there. If you think my story is a waste of your time, for God's sake don't read it! I'm not forcing it on anyone. I'm not demanding you all read my story or perish. Just because you didn't like a story doesn't mean you have to attack the person behind it. It's natural that people will disagree on stuff.

I am a writer. I take my writing very seriously, fanfiction or original. I try very hard to approach stories with open-mindedness and the author with respect. It's not always easy to put something up here. You're exposing your talents to the world. And if you're immediately ripped into and tore down, you won't do it again. Too many amazing writers have been lost like that. Reader encouragement and interest is what keeps me, and many authors, going. I read every single review I get on every story and cherish them all. Whether it's one or thirty, I'm always happy to hear from a reader as long as you're reasonable about it. Flames benefit no one. Again, not to point fingers or anything, I just really wanted to get this all out there.

Now that that mile long serious crap is over, onto the chapter!

Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing
Disclaimer: See chap 1
Beta: Little Miss Artist
Word Count: 3,000
Chapter: 15/21
Next Update: Sunday

Textus

Chapter 15: This Is How A Heart Breaks

Sam slowly swung his feet back and forth as he waited for John to come. This was going to be bad. This was going to be very, very bad. John would be here soon and would no doubt rip him a new one.

"What the hell is going on?" Someone shouted from the secretary's desk around the corner. Sam groaned and drop his head into his hands. That was John making all the noise, there was no doubt about it.

"Sam!" John yelled as he rounded the corner and caught sight of Sam sitting dejectedly in the chair.

Sam immediately stood obediently but before he could get to his dad and usher him out, Mr. Burke came up behind him.

"Mr. Miller? Can I speak with you privately in my office, please?" Sam sat back down in the chair, sinking further into it as John shot him a look as he passed.

Sam hated waiting. It was so…uncertain. Sam liked to have all the facts and know all the details so nothing came as a surprise. Waiting meant you didn't know the facts…you were in fact, waiting for the facts.

The door swung open and John stepped out. The devil himself wouldn't want to approach John at that moment. Anger just radiated off him and Sam had to give Mr. Burke props for willingly staying alone in a small room with John.

"Car. Now." John said gruffly. Sam stood obediently and followed his dad out the door. No one said anything as they quickly crossed the parking lot and got in car.

Sam had never thought silence could be deafening. That was just something they said in books because it was hard to describe silence. But at that moment, he realized silence could be very deafening. Sam felt like the silence was pressing in on him from all sides, preventing him from saying something and breaking it.

He once again felt like the car was far too small. It was getting harder to breathe with the oppressive silence and tight car… Sam prayed John wouldn't start a fight in the car because he'd have no chance of defending himself when he could barely breathe.

He cast a wary eye over to his father, but John was just staring ahead determinedly, daring any cars to get in the way and face his anger.

Finally they pulled up to the house and got out of the car. Sam wanted to stand there and gulp in great gasps of air. But, not wanting to tick John off further, he hurried after his father.

Once inside, John immediately headed for the fridge. Sam was beginning to get nervous. With John, silence wasn't usually a good thing. He stood by the doorway fidgeting anxiously. Surely John would have something to say…he wouldn't just let him go like that…Sam didn't want to stay, but feared leaving the room wouldn't go over with John very well.

John sat down, beer in hand, and stared at the wood surface of the table like it had all the answers. The irrational desire to grab the beer and throw it at the wall while demanding John say something swept over Sam and he found his finger jumping forward slightly.

"Um, Dad?" he asked quietly, wondering if he was waking the sleeping bear.

"What were you thinking?" John asked, dangerously quiet.

"I don't know…I didn't really mean to-"

"Yeah, but you did."

"I know, Sir, and I'm sorry, I promise it won't happen again.

"Oh well just so long as you promise," John said mockingly. For some reason, those few words caused a flare of anger in Sam. What did John want from him anyway?

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Sam demanded.

"Explain to me what you were thinking that you would go and do something so stupid, something so selfish-"

"What are you talking about? It wasn't selfish! It may not have been the right thing to do, but it wasn't selfish," Sam snarled.

"Oh, really? First of all, you interrupted my work and made me go down there to get you. And secondly, you intentionally did something that you knew would drag attention to our family. What if they tried to look up past school records to see if you get into fights a lot and for some mysterious reason Sam Miller has never been to school before? You risked everything just to take a swing at some guy!"

"Look, it was wrong of me. I didn't mean to and I apologize for apparently causing you such turmoil. Furthermore, I assure," Sam purposefully avoided the word promise, "you that it won't happen again. Is that good enough for you?" Sam spat.

"Don't you take that tone with me! I-" Sam didn't stay to listen. He spun on his heel and stormed down the hall into his room. He slammed the door, then opened it and slammed it harder just for effect. He kicked his nightstand before collapsing down on the bed on his back.

It hadn't actually been that bad, really. He'd been expecting John to rant and rave for hours on end, but he'd gotten out of there before he could. At the same time, Sam knew he'd only made things worse by fighting back and eventually leaving. He would have done better to just stand there and take it all without fighting back.

Sam hadn't realized he was tired, but his suddenly drooping eyes told otherwise. Sam let them slide closed and drifted off.

Sam jerked awake when the front door slammed. He was grateful for the nightmare free sleep, whether it was two hours or two weeks.

Sam pushed himself up and walked quietly over to the door to listen. He wasn't sure if the door was John leaving or Dean coming. Sam wasn't sure which was better.

"Hey…didn't realize…home…" Sam only managed to hear snippets of what Dean said. Sam knew John would tell him about what happened and Sam wanted to hear. For starters he had to know how much Dean would be told so he knew how to react in response, and it also gave him the opportunity to defend himself should John phrase something unfairly.

He crept down the hall and stopped just to the left of the kitchen doorway.

"…something wrong?" Dean was asking.

"Sam was suspended," John said bluntly. Sam could just picture the shock on Dean's face. Sam-loves-school-a-lot-Winchester got suspended? No!

"Why?"

"Got into a fight," John said and Sam could practically hear the eye roll that accompanied that statement.

"Sam did? Wow, uh, that's not like him at all. Is he okay?" Sam wanted to hiss that he could damn well take care of himself, thank you very much.

"Yup."

"So how long's he suspended for?"

"Two days starting on Monday. He's supposed to go in tomorrow to get his homework and stuff."

"Oh, um, okay then." Dean said. Sam could hear his sock feet padding across the floor, giving him just enough time to dash into his room. He laid down on his bed and dragged his schoolwork to him. Sam could hear Dean come down the hallway and stop in front of his door, but Dean seemed to change his mind as he went into his own room after a minute.

After looking down at his homework Sam realized that he'd screwed up every answer he'd written so far. Perhaps he'd wait a bit to do his homework.

The only other thing he could do without leaving the confinement of his own room was draw, so draw he would. But as he'd been finding recently drawing just wasn't exciting anymore. It didn't calm his emotions or help him relax in general, it was just something that took a long time and never came out right anyway.

Sam dragged a box out from under his bed and set it down on top of the old blue comforter. Inside the box were all his old sketchpads, some were filled and others had just been forgotten when he'd gotten lucky enough to find a new pad on sale somewhere.

He dumped all the sketchpads out on to the bed and began to flip through them randomly. The pages in some of the older ones were yellowing from months of disuse while other, newer ones, still had empty pages in the back that looked crisp and new, just waiting for someone to create a masterpiece on them. The drawings were reflections of another time. Times of tiny Christmas trees and times of root beer floats at local diners. Times of Dean's devilish grins of the curious eyes of an animal spotted. He traced his finger over the lines so perfectly executed to show something that had once meant something to him. It felt so foreign, like it was someone else's work. The person who had spent hours poring over the pictures had long ago disappeared in a new town of misery.

Sam longed to be that person again, someone who could get relief out of simply drawing the simple things in life; someone who could always find good in the bad, even if he griped about it sometimes. But he'd given up being that person in light of a new hobby.

A salty tear splashed down on the comforter making a tiny circle of darker color. Blinking rapidly, Sam closed the old sketchpads and tucked them away in their box which he slid back under the bed.

The rest of the night passed in homework and lying on the bed just staring at the ceiling. When Dean called dinner, Sam replied he wasn't hungry. Dean didn't bother coming to investigate. He had probably figured out by now that his little brother was getting seriously fucked up.

After getting into his pajamas, Sam still didn't do anything but lie on the bed staring at the ceiling, just letting his mind go blank. It was a nice feeling, to just relax. Sam briefly wondered if he should start meditating daily.

Around nine o' clock, there was a soft knock on the door, pulling Sam back to reality.

"It's me," Dean said softly.

"Come in," Sam said quietly.

"Hey," Dean said as he came in and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Sam.

"Hey."

"So, Dad told me about what happened today," Dean started.

"I assumed," Sam said, leaving out the fact that he'd eavesdropped on that very conversation.

"So you wanna tell me what really happened?"

"What?" Sam asked, mildly surprised.

"You seriously expect me to believe you were just walking down the hall and decided to punch someone? I know you better than that," Dean said. When Sam still didn't give up any information, Dean gently nudged his brother's shoulder to try and get him to talk.

"I don't know, I just lost, I guess," Sam said tiredly.

"What made you lose it?"

"It's nothing, really, I was just…well…my teacher was being an ass then the guy was being a jerk in the hall and…yeah," Sam finished with a shrug.

"And I probably wasn't helping things," Dean said with a knowing-smirk. "Seriously, though, Sam, I'm sorry I've been such a bastard lately." Sam wanted to moan that Dean had been everything but. He'd stuck by Sam even though Sam was starting to avoid Dean like the plague. He was yet to call surrender and walk away saying Sam was too much work.

"The job at the garage is hard and the boss is a jerk but I shouldn't have let it come out on you and for that I'm sorry." That only made Sam feel guilty. Of course Dean had his own problems, but you didn't see him running around punching people and making everyone worry…God, Sam really was selfish!

And suddenly everything just seemed so ridiculously overwhelming. Despite every Winchester front Sam put up, he was still just a boy who, at the moment, just wanted his brother and the comfort Dean supplied.

Tears were suddenly spilling down Sam's cheek and before he knew it he was practically sobbing, albeit silently, but sobbing nonetheless.

"Sammy?" Dean asked in concerned surprise. An arm slid around Sam's shoulder, pulling him closer. "What's wrong?" Dean asked almost desperately. Sam was the only person for whom Dean would let down his mask. Sam didn't deserve him. And Dean deserved a little brother who was so much better.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Sam found himself muttering over and over. He didn't know what he was apologizing for. For crying? For being weak? For being a crappy brother? For murdering Dean's only chance at normal all those years ago? There was so much to be sorry for.

"For what, Sam, for what?" Dean asked, sounding borderline panic now. Dean's desperate tone sobered Sam immediately. What was he doing, crying all over like that? That was just going to worry Dean more! And then Dean would try and dig deeper into the reasons that Sam was upset. Sam pulled away from Dean and began rubbing the tears from his cheeks.

"You okay?" Dean asked, seeing Sam trying to compose himself.

There was one thing Dean tried to avoid at all costs, and that was the dreaded emotional moment. And Sam was going to use that to his advantage.

"Yeah, well you know, someone's got be the girl in the family," Sam joked. If he could steer Dean into the land of light teasing and mockery, then Dean wouldn't try to make things serious. Dean would engage in a chick flick moment if it was started already and he was truly concerned, but he'd never, never, start one.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, clearly grateful for the change to humor, "we'll have to start calling you Samantha," he joked.

Sam froze.

"W-what did you say?" Sam asked.

"I was just saying we'd have to start calling you Samantha," Dean said slowly, clearly not sure why Sam was offended when Sam had dismissed it every other time.

And just like that the room seemed far too small and Dean was far too close and…it was overwhelming. It was like he was back there again. Adrenaline coursing through his veins; blood rushing in his ears; emotions overflowing.

"Don't call me that," Sam snapped, trying hard not to start screaming right there.

"I…what?" Dean asked, bewildered by the sudden change of events

"Can you please, just…go," Sam said with his eyes closed.

"I…if you're sure," Dean said slowly. Sam wasn't listening anymore, in fact, he wasn't even in the room mentally. He was in the hallway in the school. Mike stood looming before him, taunting him as Samantha while the crowd of students laughed at him. They were closing in on him…they were too close…he couldn't breathe! And somewhere in the background, perhaps even in his own head, was Dean unleashing his own hell upon Sam. "You're such a girl, Samantha! Grow up! I could never want you for a brother because you're so. Damn. Weak."

"Sammy?" Sam opened his eyes. Dean was standing at the end of the bed looking panicked while Sam had somehow managed to slide himself back against the wall. His hands were wrapped tightly in his hair pulling almost to the point of ripping it out. What was Dean doing here? Why bother pretending to care? He didn't and Sam wouldn't let himself be fooled any longer.

"Get out!" Sam screamed, pelting Dean with a pillow for good measure. Dean now looked down right terrified.

"I…okay…but, Sam," he said, stopping half way through the door, "we're not done this conversation."

The sound of the door shutting snapped Sam out of his daze.

"Well crap."

TBC…

Review Replies

Cartoon Cow: Well, it's kind of a combination of both, really. For this story in particular I planned every chapter out in Word ahead of time then wrote it all on the comp before I started posting. But usually I write it on paper and on the computer and usually have about half written before I start then make it up as I go.

Judyann: Not done with Sam or the principal? Big bro Dean tried to come out…but sadly he was quickly rebuked by a panicky Sam…he'll try again though!

Gord and V: It was indeed a car Dean worked on. I really just needed an excuse to make Sam walk to school. Was John's reaction all you hoped?

OutTonightAndForever: Ooh, that's so sweet! You're right Sam is not going to like the consequences. Did Friday come fast enough?

Anonymous: Glad you liked Newman, makes me happy to know my readers feel for my characters! And it's my pleasure!

Supernaturalrenegade: First off thank you for defending me. I value loyalty pretty much above all else and that just made me swell with happiness. I guess Dean got your shake because he tired to talk to Sam, but…sigh. By the way, little dude? LOVE the nickname.

Hummingfox: Who says it's gonna be John either ;) I have a few tricks up my sleeve coming! Only barely saw your review before posting so I guess it's a good thing I checked my email! Mr. Newman is an ass, I totally agree!

LeighAnnWallace, Caz21, TinTin11, Sparkiebunny, jennytork: Thanks guys! Hope you all enjoy this chapter just as much!