RE: Tell Me You Understand (Excerpt) 3/5broken_cindersNovember 9 2017, 17:23:28 UTC
The next morning, Dean woke with a resolve to get down to business. No more distractions. He got up and had oatmeal ready by the time Sam stumbled out of his room. Sam grunted a greeting at him and dug into his food while Dean nursed his coffee.
Finally, Dean worked up his courage to say, “We need to talk.”
“Huh?” Sam glanced up at him, sleep still thick in his eyes.
“We need to have a chat, Sam.”
Sam seemed a lot more awake when he spoke again. “What? Why? Did something happen?”
Dean leaned back a little. “You tell me.”
Sam gave him a bewildered look. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I swear. I’ve been studying all week.”
Dean frowned. “Whoah. Back up. You’re not in trouble. But things have been hard lately and you’ve been really distant.”
Sam shrugged. “Just a lot going on with school and stuff.”
“Yeah, I get that. But you’ve been ignoring me and Dad. Brushing us off. It’s not like you.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“And the other day with dinner was what?”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I told you, I wasn’t hungry.”
Dean plowed on. “I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to me about whatever.”
Sam shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dean felt his temper beginning to rise. “Don’t lie to me Sam. Something’s going on.”
Sam jumped to his feet. “I told you. I’m starting another school and I’m behind already and I just want to be left alone so I can get this work done!”
“And that’s why you’ve been giving us the cold shoulder for months? Are you really that pissed off at us?”
“What? I’m not pissed at anyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fine, don’t believe me. I’ve got work to do.” With that, he snatched his bowl up and fled back to his bedroom, but Dean wasn’t done.
He stormed to Sam’s door. “Sam, open up!” He pounded on the flimsy wood and, when he tried the knob, found it was locked. He considered digging out his picks, but recognized that might be a little crazy.
Dean didn’t see Sam for the rest of the day. Not for food. Not for anything. The next day was Friday, and Sam’s first day of school. Sam came out, fully dressed with his backpack slung over a shoulder and a determined look on his face. He stalked towards the front door, but Dean intercepted him. “You can be mad at me if you want, but I did promise you a ride.” Sam frowned but waited while Dean collected his keys and jacket.
The drive to the local high school was downright frigid. The only sound to be heard was the Metallica Dean had cranked up to cover the silence. Sam seemed perfectly content to stare out the window, finger thumping against the speaker in the door in time with the music.
Dean, realizing this wasn’t exactly an auspicious way to start at a new school, reached forward to turn the volume down. Sam’s eyes followed the movement, but he didn’t say anything, just sighed as the music dropped to a more manageable volume and turned back to stare out the window again, dropping his head against the glass.
“If you get your greasy face print on that window, you’ll be washing the whole inside of my car,” Dean said hoping to lighten the mood, but he sounded waspish even to himself. Sam ignored the threat, pressing his face more squarely against the glass.
Dean managed not to sigh. Barely.
“Listen, squirt. I know it’s a new school and all that jazz, but you’ve got this,” Dean said as they pulled up to the front of the school. “You’ve done this before. You’ll go in and make friends in like three seconds and have all the teachers eating out of your hand.”
Sam tilted his head ever so slightly and frowned up at Dean. Finally he just shrugged and said, “See you after school.”
Maybe it wasn’t the most uplifting or original pep talk he’d ever given, and maybe Sam was still pissed, but he’d hoped to at least get a little acknowledgement. He dropped his head back against the seat and watched Sam make his way into the building, head down, wondering if there was any way to get through to the new surly Sam.
Finally, Dean worked up his courage to say, “We need to talk.”
“Huh?” Sam glanced up at him, sleep still thick in his eyes.
“We need to have a chat, Sam.”
Sam seemed a lot more awake when he spoke again. “What? Why? Did something happen?”
Dean leaned back a little. “You tell me.”
Sam gave him a bewildered look. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. I swear. I’ve been studying all week.”
Dean frowned. “Whoah. Back up. You’re not in trouble. But things have been hard lately and you’ve been really distant.”
Sam shrugged. “Just a lot going on with school and stuff.”
“Yeah, I get that. But you’ve been ignoring me and Dad. Brushing us off. It’s not like you.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“And the other day with dinner was what?”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I told you, I wasn’t hungry.”
Dean plowed on. “I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to me about whatever.”
Sam shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dean felt his temper beginning to rise. “Don’t lie to me Sam. Something’s going on.”
Sam jumped to his feet. “I told you. I’m starting another school and I’m behind already and I just want to be left alone so I can get this work done!”
“And that’s why you’ve been giving us the cold shoulder for months? Are you really that pissed off at us?”
“What? I’m not pissed at anyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fine, don’t believe me. I’ve got work to do.” With that, he snatched his bowl up and fled back to his bedroom, but Dean wasn’t done.
He stormed to Sam’s door. “Sam, open up!” He pounded on the flimsy wood and, when he tried the knob, found it was locked. He considered digging out his picks, but recognized that might be a little crazy.
Dean didn’t see Sam for the rest of the day. Not for food. Not for anything. The next day was Friday, and Sam’s first day of school. Sam came out, fully dressed with his backpack slung over a shoulder and a determined look on his face. He stalked towards the front door, but Dean intercepted him. “You can be mad at me if you want, but I did promise you a ride.” Sam frowned but waited while Dean collected his keys and jacket.
The drive to the local high school was downright frigid. The only sound to be heard was the Metallica Dean had cranked up to cover the silence. Sam seemed perfectly content to stare out the window, finger thumping against the speaker in the door in time with the music.
Dean, realizing this wasn’t exactly an auspicious way to start at a new school, reached forward to turn the volume down. Sam’s eyes followed the movement, but he didn’t say anything, just sighed as the music dropped to a more manageable volume and turned back to stare out the window again, dropping his head against the glass.
“If you get your greasy face print on that window, you’ll be washing the whole inside of my car,” Dean said hoping to lighten the mood, but he sounded waspish even to himself. Sam ignored the threat, pressing his face more squarely against the glass.
Dean managed not to sigh. Barely.
“Listen, squirt. I know it’s a new school and all that jazz, but you’ve got this,” Dean said as they pulled up to the front of the school. “You’ve done this before. You’ll go in and make friends in like three seconds and have all the teachers eating out of your hand.”
Sam tilted his head ever so slightly and frowned up at Dean. Finally he just shrugged and said, “See you after school.”
Maybe it wasn’t the most uplifting or original pep talk he’d ever given, and maybe Sam was still pissed, but he’d hoped to at least get a little acknowledgement. He dropped his head back against the seat and watched Sam make his way into the building, head down, wondering if there was any way to get through to the new surly Sam.
Reply
Leave a comment