Little Boy Blue
Title: Little Boy Blue
Summary: This is based on a prompt from reannablue over on ff.net: I wonder if you could write an AU where Sam and Dean do talk regularly when Sam is at Stanford. Sam is under stress to make deadlines/expenses and somehow Dean and John come through for him.
Word Count: 4,588
Author's Note: There's a little OOC-ness from John and some canon details have been changed, this is an AU after all. This can be found on FF.net.
It's the beginning of winter but it's still hot as the devil's ass crack in Palo Alto. Dean is driving behind his dad's truck with both front windows down, his leather jacket is tossed onto the empty passenger seat and it draws his eye more than usual. He misses his brother, worries about him just as much, and he's been looking forward to their surprise visit ever since his dad suggested it offhandedly about a month ago.
He slows the car as his dad stops up ahead in traffic and he blows out an annoyed breath. They would have been there by now if the roads hadn't been so packed, where the hell were people going anyway? What's so important at the beginning of December that everyone has to cram the highway?
Dean leans out of his window, hoping to catch a message from his dad, but there is none. He leans back inside and inserts a cassette tape. He plays it obnoxiously loudly, something he was never allowed to do with Sam, and a middle-aged dude in the car next to him flips Dean the bird. Dean just smiles back at him before turning the music up louder. He takes way too much pleasure in the gradual reddening of the guy's face, and he waves to him before he sets off again when the roads get moving.
By the time he's onto the streets of Palo Alto he can already see hordes of students bustling around, there are even more around campus but not one of them is the 6'4 sasquatch he's looking for. Dean trails behind his dad's truck, pulling in to park by the sidewalk just outside of Sam's building. Sam's got his own apartment now that he's in his second year, Dean sends cash to his brother when he can to help with any expenses that the scholarship doesn't cover, his dad too, but recently he's been knee deep in cases that he doesn't have any to spare.
Sam should be fine, though. He has a job and the scholarship covers most of what he needs. Dad's already hopped out of his truck and he's grabbing his duffel out of the back, Dean follows suit and they make their way over to the apartment complex's entrance. He glances down the list and finds Winchester in 3b on the third floor. They pass more students on their way up, most of them look like they want to hit the beach with their surf shorts and blonde hair.
Dad knocks three times, hard and quick. They wait for three minutes before trying again. No answer. Dean steps forward and bangs on the wood like he's warning about a fire.
"Sammy! Open up!"
Finally, he hears shuffling, then the latch, then the door creaks open and Sam peaks out. He takes a second to realize who's on his front step and his eyes blow wide, along with the door.
"Dad!" he exclaims, "Dean! What the hell are you doing here?"
"Can't visit my little brother at college?" Dean quirks, already pushing past a bewildered Sam. Sam steps back to let their dad in, who gives his son a pat on the shoulder as he goes by.
The apartment is small, one room with the living room and the kitchen, three other doors lead off to the bathroom and two bedrooms. The place is oddly decorated; the furniture is bare, obviously came with the place, and there's nothing else except for the mounds of books and papers that cover most surfaces. The kitchen benches are piled with unwashed dishes and empty beer cans. Dean turns around and notices that Sam isn't much different, he's wearing sweat pants and one of Dean's old Metallica shirts, he doesn't look tanned like every other kid, there are even shadows under his eyes, and his hair looks unwashed and messy.
"You look like shit," Dean tells him.
"Thanks," Sam snorts, moving the clear a space for Dean and John to sit down. "Sorry about the…" he gestures around the room, "If I'd known you were coming…"
"Nah, it's cool," Dean assures him, "Just get me a beer and we're good."
Sam rolls his eyes tiredly when Dean winks at him and makes his way over to the kitchen. "I guess you guys want dinner too?" he says, Dean hears the fridge door open and the pause that follows, "I, er, should buy groceries."
He comes back to the living room empty-handed and drops into the armchair next to the couch, he shuffles a bit a pulls a small text book out from under him. He sets it on the ground next to his feet and pastes on a grin.
"So, how's things?" he asks.
"Peachy," Dean answers, "I took out a Rawhead last week."
"Cool," Sam comments, not really paying attention, his eyes are glancing anxiously around the room.
"Sam?" John grabs his attention.
"Yeah," Sam scratches the back of his head, "Sorry… I'll go take a shower."
"Good idea," Dean says.
"Bite me," Sam snaps, getting up, he pauses to glance around the room. "Don't, er, touch anything. All my notes are in order."
Dean raises an eyebrow which Sam doesn't pay notice to as he heads to the bathroom. Dean waits until the water is running when he turns to his dad.
"What the hell?"
John sighs. "That's what I was thinking."
"The kid's a freaking mess," Dean says, rubbing a hand through his hair, "He's lost weight, did you see?"
"I saw."
"What do you think is wrong?"
John shrugs helplessly. "No idea. This isn't like Sammy at all."
Dean casts a glance over to the closed bathroom door. "Maybe once he's showered and fed he'll be fine."
"It's probably just exam stress."
Dean nods his agreement but he can't help that coil of worry that twists in his belly. When Sam comes back out of the bathroom he's redressed in the same clothes, but at least his hair is clean, and he walks to his bedroom without a glance for his family, like he's forgotten they're there.
Dean is pleased to see Sam re-emerge in fresh clothes and it looks like he's brushed his hair, it's long enough now to fall into his eyes. He's hopping a little in the doorway, trying to shove a shoe on his foot.
"I'm going to the store," he says, "I'll be back in, like, half an hour. Uh, make yourself comfortable… but don't touch anything, okay?"
"Okay," Dean answers, biting the inside of his cheek. He glances around the tiny TV-less room where there's barely anywhere to sit because papers and books seem to rule the joint, "We'll have a blast."
John pats his shoulder a little too hard and says, "Sam, we'll come with you. Maybe you can show us some of the sights, huh?"
Sam looks like he doesn't really know what to do, like debating who you go to the grocery store with is the biggest decision in the world. His shoe is still half-on his foot.
"Earth to Sam," Dean calls. Sam blinks and resumes putting his shoes on, nodding.
"Right," he mumbles, "Sorry, got distracted. Let's go."
"Awesome," Dean jumps to his feet.
Sam doesn't show them the sights, in fact, he's mostly silent when he isn't directing Dean to the store from the back seat. Dean looks at him through the rear-view mirror, Sam is looking down, that ridiculous mop of hair blocks half of his face.
"So, what's with all the empty bottles back at your place?" Dean decides to break the silence. Sam doesn't look up.
"Not mine. They're Brady's."
"Your roommate, right?" Dad asks.
"He's not really around much," is Sam's answer. He doesn't say much after that.
Dean goes straight to grab a couple of six-packs once they reach the store. Sam has already wandered off on his own with a shopping cart and Dean spends about ten minutes wandering around the store trying to find him before he bumps into his dad.
"Jesus!" Dean yelps, the beers nearly topple out of his grip. He manages to get a hold of them and turns to John. "Where's Sammy?"
His dad sighs. "He's been staring at all the different types of pasta for the last five minutes."
Dean glances over his dad's shoulder, Sam is in the middle of the aisle, staring and staring, shoulders slumped, and God he really looks like shit under the fluorescent lighting. He watches as he finally bends down and picks up a packet of spaghetti, Sam stares at it for about a minute before he puts it back. Dean groans and makes his way down the aisle, he dumps the beers in the cart and pushes past Sam to grab a bag of fusilli.
Sam blinks at him for a second then nods slightly, grabbing the cart and pushing it down the aisle and around the corner. Dean stays and watches him go.
"Something's seriously wrong," John says. Dean nods.
"Do you think… could it be our kind of thing?" he asks.
John ponders a moment. "You thinking about looking for a hex bag?"
Dean shrugs. "Worth a try," he says.
By the time Sam gets to the checkout he only has five items in the cart: bread, milk, pasta, bananas and beer. Dean shares a look with his dad what the hell? Dean knows that Sam had fuck all in his kitchen. What are they having for dinner, toast?
Sam spends a while fishing out cash from his wallet, he's glancing around nervously, purposely avoiding looking at his family. They wait even longer as the girl behind the checkout counts every note and penny. She looks up at him a little uncomfortably.
"You're $2.94 short," she tells him. Sam blinks at her, almost uncomprehendingly, then tries to look through his wallet like there might be a stash of money that he didn't see the first time. Dean gently pushes him aside and hands her the money and she hands him the receipt. When he turns to look at Sam, the kid is already heading for the exit with grocery bags in hand. Dean jogs after him.
"What was that about?" he demands once he's caught up. Sam just shakes his head and walks right past the Impala.
"Sam!" Dean calls.
"I'm walking home," Sam yells back, already turning around the block. John shrugs at Dean and climbs into the passenger seat.
They get back to the apartment before Sam does and, of course, they don't have a key, so Dean picks the lock and they let themselves in, coming face to face with Sam's fucking flaky roommate. The kid's got that California tanned-blonde thing going on. He's leaning on the kitchen counter, lighting up a cigarette. He waves when he sees them and says, "Who are you?" mostly out of curiosity, not afraid like a normal person would be if some strangers broke into their apartment.
"I'm Dean, Sam's brother."
"Cool," Brady says.
Dean eyes him critically. "Are you allowed to smoke in here?"
"Nope," Brady shrugs, taking another drag. "So, you come to take the stick out of Sammy's ass?"
Dean's really tempted to shove a fist in the kid's face but instead he asks, "He's been acting weird with you, then?"
Brady smirks. "Oh yeah," he says, "All he does is work, barely leaves the apartment. He's not much fun anymore. I would hang out with him but he's sort of having a love affair with school," he gestures to all the papers that are stacked around the room.
"But he wasn't always like this with you?" John asks, always a man on the case.
"Nah," Brady shakes his head, blowing out a puff of smoke. "Kid used to party, wasn't always so damn stressy… anyway, it was nice to meet you fellas but I've got a keg party to go to."
He brushes past them and almost has his hand on the door when it opens and Sam steps through. He stares at them all like he wishes the room was empty and says, "I guess you met Brady," in the most unenthusiastic voice ever.
Brady completely talks right over him saying, "Speak of the devil. Your dad and brother were just telling me how they're going to try to remove the stick from your ass."
Sam's jaw visibly clenches and he drops the grocery bags not-so-gently on the floor. He looks like he's about to say something but Brady talks over him again.
"So, I know what the answer will probably be but do you want to come to Matt's party?"
"Sure," Sam says, glaring at John and Dean.
"Seriously?" Dean and Brady say at once, though Brady sounds far more delighted than Dean.
"Seriously," Sam repeats, already opening the door, "Come on, Brady."
Brady grins at John and Dean again and ducks out into the hallway after Sam, letting the door swing shut behind them.
"Hex bag?" Dean suggests.
"Hex bag," John agrees.
After tearing the place apart, they find no hex bag, which is just damn annoying because it means it's not something supernatural that's wrong with Sam and therefore Dean hasn't got a clue how to fix the problem. John's nursing a beer on the couch, watching as Dean double-checks the place.
"Fucking fuck!" Dean growls when he doesn't find a thing. He drops down into the armchair and gladly accepts a beer from his dad. "So I guess this just means he's being an asshole, huh?"
"Stress can make you irritable," John points out.
Dean scoffs. "Stress? I get stressed, but at least I shower and actually go outside."
"We'll talk to him."
"He walked out," Dean growls, "He doesn't want us around. Why do you think he left for college in the first place…" he trails of, looking at his watch, "He's been gone for two hours. Do you think we should look for him?"
"Dean," John says, smiling a little to himself, "Maybe you should give him some space. We'll check into a motel and come back in the morning."
"I don't - "
"We'll come back in the morning," John repeats clearly.
Dean shrugs but settles on crossing his arms firmly over his chest. "No. I'm staying right here."
John nods tiredly. "Alright, but I'm taking his bed," he says.
Dean has been sitting on Sam's couch all night, flicking through one of Sam's textbooks. His dad is snoring in the next room and the noise is starting to drill itself into Dean's skull. At 5am he begins to contemplate giving up on waiting on Sammy and going to sleep but the door rattles a little like something heavy has fallen against it. He can hear clinking in the lock then something small and metallic clangs to the floor with a soft whistle, followed by another thump, heavier this time.
He gets up and opens the door, only to look down. Sam is sprawled in the hallway. He looks up at Dean with unfocused eyes and smiles.
"I dropped m'key," he says, pointing to where is lies by Dean's feet. Dean scoops it up and places it on a table inside by the door, then quickly turns back to Sam.
"You're drunk," he says.
Sam scowls, pouting like a child. "No. M'not," he tells Dean seriously before bursting into a fit of giggles. He smiles to himself and leans his head back, closing his eyes.
"Nuh-uh," Dean scolds, moving over to haul Sam upright by the shoulders, "No sleeping in the corridor."
Sam's head rolls a little on his shoulders and he stares at Dean, confused. "Where're we going?" he asks as Dean tries and fails to get him to his feet.
"Inside," Dean says clearly, like he's talking to someone half-deaf, "You know, the place you live that has a bed for you to sleep in."
Sam just nods like it was a genuinely intelligent answer to a seriously hard question. Dean tugs again but Sam doesn't seem like he's getting to his feet even with someone helping. "How the hell did you get home?" Dean wonders.
"Brady drove me," Sam says, but it all slurs out in one word. He turns his face right into Dean and Dean can smell the insane cocktail of alcohol on his breath. Sam cups his cheek, brow furrowed sincerely. "He's such a good friend," Sam tells him.
Dean turns his head away. "1) you should brush your teeth, and 2) Brady seems like a shitty friend."
Sam just laughs and Dean has no idea why.
"He wasn't always my friend," Sam tells him in a stage-whisper like it's some big secret.
"Well, you've only known him a couple years, so yeah I'm sure he wasn't always your friend," Dean says.
Sam laughs again but shushes himself with a finger to his lips. "No, Dean. No. He was a good kisser."
Then Dean's arms have forgotten what they were doing and Sam goes back to the ground again in a fit of laughter. John appears in the doorway, taking in the scene before him but giving little away with in expression. Dean has no idea if their dad heard what Sam just said.
"Let's get him inside," is all he says. The two of them haul Sam into his room with little problem other than the fact that Sam keeps complaining that he's lost his key, no matter how many times Dean assures him that it's on the table in the living room.
"I won't be able to get in," Sam moans.
"You're already in, dumbass," Dean says, pulling the bedsheets over him.
"Not now," Sam says, as if it's obvious, "But now I can't get out if I can't get back in."
Dean sighs. "Just get some sleep, Sammy."
Sam closes his eyes and it's the first time he's actually listened to what Dean has said to him.
Dean wakes up with gritty eyes and a stiff neck. He's lying on the hardwood of Sam's apartment and every inch of him hurts. Someone places a hot mug of coffee onto the floor next to him and Dean looks up at his father thankfully before taking a long and appreciative sip. He drops himself onto the couch.
"Sleep well?" John asks with a small, amused smile.
Dean glares at him. "I've slept better in a forest with a Wendigo running wild."
John snorts a laugh, then takes a long drink of coffee. "Sam's still passed out. He'll be up and hugging the toilet in no time, I think."
Dean rubs the back of his hand across his forehead. "What the hell is going on with him?"
"Have you considered that maybe Sam isn't happy?" John suggests.
Dean would have laughed if his dad didn't look so serious. "What? But this is Sam's dream school. He's been yapping on about it since he was fourteen years old."
"Dean," John says it gently, "People can be unhappy even when they everything they want. That's what depression does, it makes it hard for you to see the good in your life."
Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "Depression? Sammy isn't depressed."
"The signs are all there. He's tired, he's not hungry, he doesn't seem to enjoy anything, he spends most of his time inside by himself. Getting hammered last night was him trying to get away from it all."
"But-but how?"
"Moving away from your family can be stressful, learning to be independent can be stressful, and sometimes it can be too much to take. He'll be fine, Dean. We're here to make sure he gets some help."
Dean nods and he's about to say something because he has about a million questions, the main one being how his dad knows all of this, but Sam's door opens.
"Hey," Dean calls softly but Sam is making a quick run for the bathroom. Dean hears the toilet seat slam up and the following noises of Sam spewing his guts up. The two of them sit in silence, John is probably trying to drown out the sound of Sam heaving as much as Dean is. After God-knows-how-long, the toilet flushes and Sam stumbles out of the bathroom. His eyes are barely open as he navigates his way with one hand, the other is occupied by the bathroom's metal trash can.
"Sam," Dean tries again, but Sam barely looks in his direction, just says, "Going back to bed."
And Sam stays there until late afternoon. In that time, John and Dean buy Sam some groceries, real groceries. They rent out a motel room, guessing they'll be staying a little longer than expected. Dean manages to sneak off to the student union to grab some leaflets on mental health. Flipping through one, he finds that he can tick almost every box concerning his little brother.
The two of them meet back at Sam's place to find the kid sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee. Brady has made a reappearance, talking animatedly and blowing smoke everywhere, barely seeming to notice that it makes Sam turn a little greener.
"Yo!" Brady greets them.
Dean can't help the look of distaste that crosses his face. Brady barely seems to notice. "Uh… yo back at you," Dean says.
"Well, I've got places to be," Brady says abruptly, hopping off his stool, striding past John and Dean to the door, "Later, dudes."
He slams the door shut without waiting for a reply. "I don't like that kid," Dean says. Sam shrugs, like he doesn't have much of an argument.
"Good to see you alive," John says, he takes Brady's vacated seat and pats Sam gently on the arm. He eyes Sam's beverage critically. "You should be drinking water."
Sam nods and pushes the mug away. "Brady made it… I didn't want to say no."
Dean places a large glass of water in front of him and says, "Drink." Once Sam has downed half the glass he says, "Now talk."
Sam frowns at them both with confusion. "About what?"
"You were pretty smashed last night," John says, raising a brow. "That's not like you."
Sam shrugs and takes another sip of water. "Felt like drinking."
"And everything else?" John prompts. Sam looks a little clueless.
"Sammy, you've dropped a few pounds. It seems like you spend most of your time sleeping or doing work," Dean points out.
Sam lets out a small laugh which takes both of them by surprise. "You're seriously worried about all that? Have you met a college student before?"
Dean blinks. Sam seriously doesn't think there's anything wrong. Dean knows what it looks like when Sam lies and this isn't it. Sam really doesn't think anything is the matter.
"Look," Sam says firmly, "I've been a little stressed lately, that's all."
Sam is slipping out of the space between them, trying to make a break for his room. But John says, "How stressed?" and Sam stops. He drops his head and runs a hand through his hair, then he makes his way over to the couch where he drops into it and buries his head in his hands.
"Tell us, Sammy."
And Sam tells them. He tells them everything. He tells them how it wasn't so bad at first, he was nervous but excited to be at college. But then he realized just how different it was to live a civilized life, how hard it was to make friends after spending most of his childhood with too little time at one school to learn how to really socialize. He told them about how things got easier when he became good friends with Brady, how friends started to become something more, and the relationship was good and happy until Brady came back from Thanksgiving vacation acting like a completely different person.
And the relationship had ended messily but Sam being Sam had made an effort to remain friends. But Brady was his only friend and Sam couldn't afford to live by himself. And as much as the scholarship helped, it didn't cover everything, and Sam had to take up a job on top of his studies. With school all day and work all night there wasn't much time for sleeping or eating properly. And with Brady spending most of his time out partying or screwing people in the next room, Sam was getting lonelier and sadder.
By the end of it Sam is trying really hard not to cry. He seems so overwhelmed by the whole thing that Dean wonders if he's noticed that he actually just came out to his father. But John doesn't look shocked or angry, he doesn't even look confused. He looks completely sympathetic, even lets Sam sob into his shirt. Maybe he knew about the Sam-likes-boys thing all along. He definitely knew before Dean found out by accident last night.
"Why didn't you call us?" John asks.
"I was supposed to be able to do it on my own," Sam says, wiping his eyes self-consciously.
"No one can do everything on their own," John says, "There's no shame in it."
Sam looks completely bewildered, like he never even thought such a thing was possible, let alone that those words would come from his father.
"Look, we got you some groceries," Dean gestures to the kitchen, "So that problem is out of the way. We'll stay with you as long as you need."
Sam shakes his head. "There's always a hunt."
Dean doesn't have the answer Sam wants, but both of them are surprised when John says, "We'll pass it on to someone else."
"Yeah, we'll do that," Dean agrees, but he's feeling a little dazed by what his dad just said.
Sam laughs wetly. "God, this isn't what I wanted when you came to visit," he says, "We were supposed to - "
"And we will," John promises. "But first you need to shower and get dressed. Then, we're going out for lunch. Then, we're going to look into you getting a different roommate."
Sam hesitates, looking like he wants to protest, but in the end he agrees.