Cap and Gown - Supernatural, PG, gen.
Title: Cap and Gown
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Length: 1660 words.
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John.
Summary: A tale of two graduations.
Notes: This is a combination graduation/Christmas present for my mom (really!). The biggest thanks in the world to puchuupoet for the beta work; you continue to be a superstar.
Also on AO3 and DW.
Cap and Gown
When Dad told Sam that they were leaving before graduation, Dean was stretched out in the backseat behind them both. He'd been napping just minutes before, and he really, really wished he was still napping.
He couldn't see Sam's face unless he looked in the mirror, and he didn't want to, so he watched his shoulders. Which were almost as expressive as his face would've been, come to it; they started down and kind of loose, but the more Dad spoke in quiet words that barely reached Sam's ears, the more they tensed, drew up next to his body. Dean didn't need to look over the seat to see Sam's hands clenched, or glance up to see the line of his jaw tighten.
Sam's quiet protests cut off before Dean could make them out fully. Sam looked out the window, and Dean let his eyes close again. Maybe, just once, Sam would let it drop.
-
By the time Dean had dropped out, it was obvious to everyone that he didn't give a shit about school. After all, being eighteen and a good dozen credits behind where he needed to be wasn't really a good sign. Dad nodded curtly when Dean promised he'd keep an eye out for Sam and get his GED, and that had been that.
Sam, on the other hand.
"You're smarter than this!" He'd been sprouting like a weed at that point, and he was almost eye-to-eye with Dean. "What happens after we find what killed Mom?"
"Other things need killing," Dean said evenly, studying Sam's face.
Sam stepped closer. "But what if I..."
"What, Sam?"
It was a long second of quiet, a second where all of Sam's pissy energy drained out of his face. Something stabbed in Dean's gut, but he ignored it.
Sam looked away and blinked hard. "I'll help you study. For the GED."
It wasn't what Sam was going to say, but Dean hadn't wanted to hear it, so it was fine by him.
-
The day Sam was supposed to graduate, he was quiet. Too quiet.
Okay, sure, getting rid of ghosts wasn't exactly noisy work. But Sam usually made pissed-off sounds when he lost the dig-up-the-grave coin toss, or when Dad ordered him to the library for research. Dean kept looking in his direction, but it was almost like Sam was trying to fade in the background or stop existing entirely.
Finally, when they'd made it back to the motel room, Dean couldn't take it anymore. "Is it really that big a deal?"
And Sam's eyes had flashed, and his fists had clenched again, but Dad slammed something in the room next door, and Sam deflated again.
"Yes," he said tightly. "It is a big deal."
And then he got quiet again, walked briskly into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him.
-
Dad had been out of town when Dean got his GED in the mail, but Sam was Sam, so even though they were tight on the cash Dad had left - not that it was a big deal, Dean just hadn't gotten to a pool hall recently - they went out in shirts and ties to Biggerson's. Sam might've pushed for fancier a couple years before, and really, Dean had been surprised he hadn't this time.
"I know you," Sam had said as Dean gave a token glance of his menu. "It wouldn't have been much of a celebration for you if you couldn't unbutton your pants halfway through dinner."
Dean had smirked, and sure enough, he'd taken off the necktie and unlatched his belt long before the pie had come out. Sam had rolled his eyes, but he grinned over his salad, and that's what counted.
-
Dean spent the next day in the thrift store. It was nice not being Sasquatch, like certain still-growing brothers - and man, was Sam going to have it hard when he outgrew the motel beds. There was almost always something that fit when Dean looked for it. Considering how often asshole spirits and monsters trashed his clothes, it was pretty much the only break he got.
This time, he was looking for shoes; running in the mud last night had trashed his old boots. There were only sneakers in his size here, but that was okay. There were usually a couple thrift stores in towns big enough to have a McDonald's, and Dean had spotted Golden Arches some three or four times.
Just before he made his way to the door, Dean skidded to a stop. There was a rack of old caps and gowns, in orange and white, of all things. Freaking Creamsicle town. Dean pushed through them for a second, and...
Okay, it was stupid. But for a second, he could picture it: putting their camera on a timer, standing next to Sam as he failed to get the mortar board to stay on his mop, grinning and giving Sam bunny ears as the flash went off. Then they could leave them on and go somewhere that Sam liked, not quite to the point where the menu would be in French or whatever, but better than Biggerson's. Dean could keep his normal clothes on underneath, Sam could dress however the hell he wanted, and they'd both be happy. Or close to it, anyway.
Dean snorted. Sam had stopped thinking crap like that was cute years ago, and it wasn't like they could give Dad the slip anyway. Dad definitely wouldn't appreciate a stunt like that.
When he left the store, he didn't give it another thought. But just before he left, he let the sleeve of the gown he was holding slide through his fingers as he waited for a reason to talk himself back into it.
-
After summer had ended, and when Dean wasn't helping Dad with jobs, he was outside whatever school Sam was going to.
If he'd lurked in the Impala, it would've looked creepy. As it was, he hopped fast-food joints, spending his day in a different one each time. He even took reading material, which Sam would've found freaking hilarious if he'd known about it. But all he knew was that Dean was there as soon as the last bell rang, and most days, he was happy to see him. And that's what counted.
-
They'd swapped towns, and Dean had gone on a dinner run. So, of course, that was when the blowout happened.
"--going, and you can't stop me."
"You don't think I can?" Dad's voice was deep and growly, and damn it, Dean hadn't heard him this pissed in a long time. He froze outside the cabin door, bag in one hand, drinks in the other.
"I'm eighteen now! You're not giving me any money...what kind of hold do you think you have?"
"We're family." For a brief second, Dean's hand loosened on the bag, and it was only when it started to drop that he realized he wanted to go for his gun. But Dad wouldn't hurt Sam. He couldn't.
Sam laughed, once and short, and he turned.
"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back."
"No, Sam," Dean whispered. "Don't, don't..."
But the door swung open, and Sam came out. He came out smiling, of all things. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and his eyes flickered to Dean like he knew he'd be standing there. Sam nodded once and walked toward the street.
Dean dropped the food on the hood of the Impala and ran after him.
"What the hell, Sam?"
Sam held up something in his hand. Dean took it from him and read.
"Stanford? Really?"
"Really," Sam said, eyes bright. "I got a scholarship, and...Dean, it's everything I've ever wanted."
"But what about..." Dean's lips formed the 'm' in 'me', but he couldn't spit it out. "Dad, what about the hunt, and--"
Sam was shaking his head. "I've gotta do this, Dean. And you can come with me."
If Dean was being completely honest with himself, he'd known this day was coming. He'd known it the second he'd seen Sam's face when he'd dropped out, probably before. But this. This was... "What?"
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. Damn, but the kid was tall. "You and me, Dean. You don't have to stay here. You could get a job, or apply for a college in the area, or...I don't know, sleep on my couch or something."
"Dorms don't have couches."
Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We'll figure something out. I just...you could be so much more."
"I..." He wasn't more. He didn't know what Sam saw, but it wasn't anything. "No. I can't."
The smile faded off Sam's face. "Can't? Or won't?"
"Whatever makes you feel better, Sammy." Dean smirked a little. It was easier than trying to loosen the lump in his throat.
"No, Dean." Sam's voice was tight. "Don't do that."
Dean let the smirk drop. But he said, "We're family, Sammy. He needs us."
"He doesn't need anything but the job. We're just the dead weight holding him down."
Dean blinked. "Do you really believe that?"
Sam huffed a breath. He adjusted the bag on his back, and this was it, this was the moment Sam was going to turn away from them and never come back. It was Dean's turn to clench his fists because if he didn't...it didn't matter because his hands were clenched.
"'Bye, Dean," Sam said.
If Dean could've talked, he would've said something like, "Go." Or "Get the hell out of here and don't look back". But instead, he forced out a "'Bye" back, and Sam turned and walked into the darkness.
Dean stood in the street and watched him disappear. When he was out of sight, he went to the car, grabbed the bags of food, and squared his shoulders.
By the time he went into Dad's room, it looked like nothing was wrong at all.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Length: 1660 words.
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John.
Summary: A tale of two graduations.
Notes: This is a combination graduation/Christmas present for my mom (really!). The biggest thanks in the world to puchuupoet for the beta work; you continue to be a superstar.
Also on AO3 and DW.
Cap and Gown
When Dad told Sam that they were leaving before graduation, Dean was stretched out in the backseat behind them both. He'd been napping just minutes before, and he really, really wished he was still napping.
He couldn't see Sam's face unless he looked in the mirror, and he didn't want to, so he watched his shoulders. Which were almost as expressive as his face would've been, come to it; they started down and kind of loose, but the more Dad spoke in quiet words that barely reached Sam's ears, the more they tensed, drew up next to his body. Dean didn't need to look over the seat to see Sam's hands clenched, or glance up to see the line of his jaw tighten.
Sam's quiet protests cut off before Dean could make them out fully. Sam looked out the window, and Dean let his eyes close again. Maybe, just once, Sam would let it drop.
-
By the time Dean had dropped out, it was obvious to everyone that he didn't give a shit about school. After all, being eighteen and a good dozen credits behind where he needed to be wasn't really a good sign. Dad nodded curtly when Dean promised he'd keep an eye out for Sam and get his GED, and that had been that.
Sam, on the other hand.
"You're smarter than this!" He'd been sprouting like a weed at that point, and he was almost eye-to-eye with Dean. "What happens after we find what killed Mom?"
"Other things need killing," Dean said evenly, studying Sam's face.
Sam stepped closer. "But what if I..."
"What, Sam?"
It was a long second of quiet, a second where all of Sam's pissy energy drained out of his face. Something stabbed in Dean's gut, but he ignored it.
Sam looked away and blinked hard. "I'll help you study. For the GED."
It wasn't what Sam was going to say, but Dean hadn't wanted to hear it, so it was fine by him.
-
The day Sam was supposed to graduate, he was quiet. Too quiet.
Okay, sure, getting rid of ghosts wasn't exactly noisy work. But Sam usually made pissed-off sounds when he lost the dig-up-the-grave coin toss, or when Dad ordered him to the library for research. Dean kept looking in his direction, but it was almost like Sam was trying to fade in the background or stop existing entirely.
Finally, when they'd made it back to the motel room, Dean couldn't take it anymore. "Is it really that big a deal?"
And Sam's eyes had flashed, and his fists had clenched again, but Dad slammed something in the room next door, and Sam deflated again.
"Yes," he said tightly. "It is a big deal."
And then he got quiet again, walked briskly into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him.
-
Dad had been out of town when Dean got his GED in the mail, but Sam was Sam, so even though they were tight on the cash Dad had left - not that it was a big deal, Dean just hadn't gotten to a pool hall recently - they went out in shirts and ties to Biggerson's. Sam might've pushed for fancier a couple years before, and really, Dean had been surprised he hadn't this time.
"I know you," Sam had said as Dean gave a token glance of his menu. "It wouldn't have been much of a celebration for you if you couldn't unbutton your pants halfway through dinner."
Dean had smirked, and sure enough, he'd taken off the necktie and unlatched his belt long before the pie had come out. Sam had rolled his eyes, but he grinned over his salad, and that's what counted.
-
Dean spent the next day in the thrift store. It was nice not being Sasquatch, like certain still-growing brothers - and man, was Sam going to have it hard when he outgrew the motel beds. There was almost always something that fit when Dean looked for it. Considering how often asshole spirits and monsters trashed his clothes, it was pretty much the only break he got.
This time, he was looking for shoes; running in the mud last night had trashed his old boots. There were only sneakers in his size here, but that was okay. There were usually a couple thrift stores in towns big enough to have a McDonald's, and Dean had spotted Golden Arches some three or four times.
Just before he made his way to the door, Dean skidded to a stop. There was a rack of old caps and gowns, in orange and white, of all things. Freaking Creamsicle town. Dean pushed through them for a second, and...
Okay, it was stupid. But for a second, he could picture it: putting their camera on a timer, standing next to Sam as he failed to get the mortar board to stay on his mop, grinning and giving Sam bunny ears as the flash went off. Then they could leave them on and go somewhere that Sam liked, not quite to the point where the menu would be in French or whatever, but better than Biggerson's. Dean could keep his normal clothes on underneath, Sam could dress however the hell he wanted, and they'd both be happy. Or close to it, anyway.
Dean snorted. Sam had stopped thinking crap like that was cute years ago, and it wasn't like they could give Dad the slip anyway. Dad definitely wouldn't appreciate a stunt like that.
When he left the store, he didn't give it another thought. But just before he left, he let the sleeve of the gown he was holding slide through his fingers as he waited for a reason to talk himself back into it.
-
After summer had ended, and when Dean wasn't helping Dad with jobs, he was outside whatever school Sam was going to.
If he'd lurked in the Impala, it would've looked creepy. As it was, he hopped fast-food joints, spending his day in a different one each time. He even took reading material, which Sam would've found freaking hilarious if he'd known about it. But all he knew was that Dean was there as soon as the last bell rang, and most days, he was happy to see him. And that's what counted.
-
They'd swapped towns, and Dean had gone on a dinner run. So, of course, that was when the blowout happened.
"--going, and you can't stop me."
"You don't think I can?" Dad's voice was deep and growly, and damn it, Dean hadn't heard him this pissed in a long time. He froze outside the cabin door, bag in one hand, drinks in the other.
"I'm eighteen now! You're not giving me any money...what kind of hold do you think you have?"
"We're family." For a brief second, Dean's hand loosened on the bag, and it was only when it started to drop that he realized he wanted to go for his gun. But Dad wouldn't hurt Sam. He couldn't.
Sam laughed, once and short, and he turned.
"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back."
"No, Sam," Dean whispered. "Don't, don't..."
But the door swung open, and Sam came out. He came out smiling, of all things. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and his eyes flickered to Dean like he knew he'd be standing there. Sam nodded once and walked toward the street.
Dean dropped the food on the hood of the Impala and ran after him.
"What the hell, Sam?"
Sam held up something in his hand. Dean took it from him and read.
"Stanford? Really?"
"Really," Sam said, eyes bright. "I got a scholarship, and...Dean, it's everything I've ever wanted."
"But what about..." Dean's lips formed the 'm' in 'me', but he couldn't spit it out. "Dad, what about the hunt, and--"
Sam was shaking his head. "I've gotta do this, Dean. And you can come with me."
If Dean was being completely honest with himself, he'd known this day was coming. He'd known it the second he'd seen Sam's face when he'd dropped out, probably before. But this. This was... "What?"
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. Damn, but the kid was tall. "You and me, Dean. You don't have to stay here. You could get a job, or apply for a college in the area, or...I don't know, sleep on my couch or something."
"Dorms don't have couches."
Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We'll figure something out. I just...you could be so much more."
"I..." He wasn't more. He didn't know what Sam saw, but it wasn't anything. "No. I can't."
The smile faded off Sam's face. "Can't? Or won't?"
"Whatever makes you feel better, Sammy." Dean smirked a little. It was easier than trying to loosen the lump in his throat.
"No, Dean." Sam's voice was tight. "Don't do that."
Dean let the smirk drop. But he said, "We're family, Sammy. He needs us."
"He doesn't need anything but the job. We're just the dead weight holding him down."
Dean blinked. "Do you really believe that?"
Sam huffed a breath. He adjusted the bag on his back, and this was it, this was the moment Sam was going to turn away from them and never come back. It was Dean's turn to clench his fists because if he didn't...it didn't matter because his hands were clenched.
"'Bye, Dean," Sam said.
If Dean could've talked, he would've said something like, "Go." Or "Get the hell out of here and don't look back". But instead, he forced out a "'Bye" back, and Sam turned and walked into the darkness.
Dean stood in the street and watched him disappear. When he was out of sight, he went to the car, grabbed the bags of food, and squared his shoulders.
By the time he went into Dad's room, it looked like nothing was wrong at all.