(no subject)
Trying to stay awake. Another few hours until I am to leave. Oh my. And of course very little is going on in the world of the internet while I have access to it - come on now, guys, amuse me while you still can! *flail*
Or, okay, I'll amuse myself. Fine, be that way.
-
Sam doesn’t understand why people thought it was a good idea to designate a day to set aside for mothers. Not that he has a problem with mothers, it’s just, well. He doesn’t have one. And he doesn’t remember her, and Dean won’t tell him anything, and any time Dad does tell him anything it turns into the revenge speech, and doesn’t actually help anything at all because he knows that part already. And why can’t people just appreciate them any other day?
Or maybe they should just not force you to make Mothers’ Day cards in class at school if you don’t have a mother to give it to, because at this point he’s staring at the pink and frilly decorations provided and hearing the teacher make complimentary remarks about the other students’ cards and wishing he could just play sick or go sit somewhere and read or something.
Ms Ross stops at his desk and glances down, frowns at him with that look teachers get when they realize (because Dad always tells them, or maybe it’s in his file, but they always know and forget and then they remember and feel horrible and it’s clear on their faces, that look people give stray puppies), and she puts a hand on his shoulder and she’s probably going to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t make one, she understands, and then she’ll let him read and it’ll be fine until he goes home (because he’ll see Dean, and his brother always looks like he’s barely holding himself together on these sorts of days, either he’s going to get angry and storm out or he’s going to disappear and come back with red eyes like he was crying except Dean doesn’t cry, and he’ll get this look like he’s remembering something and it hurts, and Sam doesn’t know what he remembers, doesn’t remember anything, and maybe he should try harder ‘cause there’s got to be something).
Except she leans down and nudges the blank white card at him. “You could make one for someone else, if you’d like to, Sam.”
He stares at the blank paper, glances at all the pink paper heart cut-outs and lace and ribbons and glitter scattered around on desks, and then tosses her a slightly skeptical look. “Who?”
“Whoever you want. Someone special, maybe someone who takes care of you? I’m sure you’ll think of someone.”
He nods slightly, and then smiles, and the teacher walks off after ruffling his hair lightly, and he picks through the provided decorations and tries to find something that isn’t horrible, something that he can make work in a card for Dean.
Because there’s already a Fathers’ Day he can do something for Dad on, and he doesn’t have a mother, but he has a brother and Dean takes care of him like he thinks Mom would have, and there isn’t a Brothers’ Day, and so he thinks maybe he can make this holiday work, after all. As long as Dean doesn’t mind. Which he might. It’s sort of hard to tell.
-
Dean’s waiting when Sam gets home, sitting outside on the step when he gets off the bus, and doesn’t move except his eyes until the bus is gone, turned the corner, and Sam is close. Then he stands up and flashes that smile that lies about how everything’s fine, pushes the screen door open and lets him pass before following, ruffling Sam’s hair and asking a couple questions, and if Sam didn’t know his brother so well he’d never know Dean was worrying about him, because he seems completely casual and fine now...
Except for the way he talks too much about nothing at all, and the way he can’t completely keep it out of his voice when he says the bus was five minutes late and it better not happen next time like it’s Sam’s fault, and the way he doesn’t mention that Dad’s not home yet even though Dad said he would be home yesterday, and the way he orders a pizza and has it delivered even though they could probably cook something because they still have groceries left.
Sam pulls out the card when they’re eating dinner later, slides it across the tiny table towards Dean and doesn’t say anything, just waits and watches as his brother’s eyes trace over the paper before him, and he reaches out to take it, then wipes pizza sauce off his fingers onto a napkin and tries again, opens it up and looks at it and Sam realizes he’s holding his breath but he can’t bring himself to correct that yet.
Then Dean just pushes away from the table and leaves, goes outside, and Sam… isn’t really sure what he should do, or if he did something wrong, or what, because he’d just wanted to do something for Dean. He knows how this day (and Mom’s birthday and the day of the fire and even his and Sam’s birthdays) upsets Dean, even if Dad doesn’t notice, and he just thought maybe he could help.
But apparently not, and Dean’s outside and the pizza will probably be getting cold, but he doesn’t want to eat right now, anyway, so he follows his brother out after a few minutes of sitting and trying to decide what to do.
Dean’s sitting on the steps again, the card is beside him on the right, and he doesn’t say anything when Sam sits down to the left, a step higher than him (force of habit, he’s tired of being short and this way he’s tall as Dean is).
“Miss Ross said since….” He trails off, not really wanting to say “since Mom’s dead” or anything of that nature, because he knows how Dean gets about that subject, and that’s the last thing he needs right now, so he tries again, “She said I should make one for someone who takes care of me. And that’s you.”
Dean doesn’t say a word or move or do anything at all, and all Sam can see of his brother is the back of him, so he doesn’t know what Dean’s face looks like right now. He shifts uneasily in the silence, waits for his brother to say something. He doesn’t.
“’M sorry if you don’t like it,” he says after he can’t wait longer, it’s too quiet and he has to break the silence.
“It’s great, Sammy,” Dean sounds like he’s doing that thing where he stares at things and looks like he’s about to fly apart into a million pieces (but he never does), and Sam scoots down a step so he’s at his brother’s side, and yeah, he’s definitely staring, maybe at the fading purple-green-blue light on the street, the orange streetlights farther up the street that have come on, or maybe he doesn’t see any of it at all.
Sam doesn’t say anything, just smiles and leans against his brother’s side. Dean’s arm comes up to drape over his shoulders, and they just sit there for a moment, and then Dean stands and flashes a casual, collected sort of smile that says he’s fine again, over whatever was bothering him.
“C’mon, pizza’s gettin’ cold,” he says, picks up the card and heads inside, and Sam tosses one last glance out into the fading light, the nearest, final streetlight flickering on as the light finally fades enough for it to kick in, and then he follows his big brother inside.
----
There’s no return address on the little white envelope that arrives at the mail drop, just his own name (his real name) and the address to the box, but it doesn’t have to have anything more than that on it for Dean to know exactly who sent it. He knows that handwriting, even though he didn’t expect to see it. Doesn't need a return address to know how to reach his brother (he knows full well where Sam is).
Still, he assumes it’s some kind of letter or something, a late attempt to explain why he left, to apologize for something, to ask if he’s still alive, since Dean still won’t (can’t) call, and rarely brings himself to pick up when Sam calls (when Sam remembers to call) because what can he say?
Inside is a card, though, not a letter; pink flowers and cutesy little birds and butterflies on it, and he wouldn’t be caught dead in possession of anything of this nature except. Except he knows exactly what it is, and it makes him feel sick for a different reason entirely that has nothing to do with the femininity of the object in his hand.
“Happy Mothers’ Day!!!!!!” across the front in loopy, girly silver writing with like a billion exclamation points, all dotted with hearts, like Sam made an effort to find the most girlish card imaginable for him (he did, he knows he did it intentionally, the last few years it was sort of the thing to do and Dean still has them all from that first one on even though he doesn’t keep many things he just. He keeps them, okay?), and inside is just “miss you, jerk,” and a familiar phone number (like maybe Sam thinks he doesn’t know it or forgot it, or maybe just a reminder that he hasn’t changed it) in his brother’s neat handwriting.
He should call.
He can’t.
He sends a text later that just says “miss you too bitch” and then turns his phone off and puts the card away with the rest of them and goes to sleep and pretends he doesn’t wish Sam was here with him because he’s fine on his own, Dad’s working faster without either of them to slow him down, and Sam’s happy, doing what he wants to do and living his life, so it’s all okay.
-----
Of course I couldn't go an entire anything without bringing up Dean's Stanford-era issues, because apparently they are my favorite issues that he has ever.
More boringtime now. Do something cool now, internetpeople. Entertain me!
Or, okay, I'll amuse myself. Fine, be that way.
-
Sam doesn’t understand why people thought it was a good idea to designate a day to set aside for mothers. Not that he has a problem with mothers, it’s just, well. He doesn’t have one. And he doesn’t remember her, and Dean won’t tell him anything, and any time Dad does tell him anything it turns into the revenge speech, and doesn’t actually help anything at all because he knows that part already. And why can’t people just appreciate them any other day?
Or maybe they should just not force you to make Mothers’ Day cards in class at school if you don’t have a mother to give it to, because at this point he’s staring at the pink and frilly decorations provided and hearing the teacher make complimentary remarks about the other students’ cards and wishing he could just play sick or go sit somewhere and read or something.
Ms Ross stops at his desk and glances down, frowns at him with that look teachers get when they realize (because Dad always tells them, or maybe it’s in his file, but they always know and forget and then they remember and feel horrible and it’s clear on their faces, that look people give stray puppies), and she puts a hand on his shoulder and she’s probably going to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t make one, she understands, and then she’ll let him read and it’ll be fine until he goes home (because he’ll see Dean, and his brother always looks like he’s barely holding himself together on these sorts of days, either he’s going to get angry and storm out or he’s going to disappear and come back with red eyes like he was crying except Dean doesn’t cry, and he’ll get this look like he’s remembering something and it hurts, and Sam doesn’t know what he remembers, doesn’t remember anything, and maybe he should try harder ‘cause there’s got to be something).
Except she leans down and nudges the blank white card at him. “You could make one for someone else, if you’d like to, Sam.”
He stares at the blank paper, glances at all the pink paper heart cut-outs and lace and ribbons and glitter scattered around on desks, and then tosses her a slightly skeptical look. “Who?”
“Whoever you want. Someone special, maybe someone who takes care of you? I’m sure you’ll think of someone.”
He nods slightly, and then smiles, and the teacher walks off after ruffling his hair lightly, and he picks through the provided decorations and tries to find something that isn’t horrible, something that he can make work in a card for Dean.
Because there’s already a Fathers’ Day he can do something for Dad on, and he doesn’t have a mother, but he has a brother and Dean takes care of him like he thinks Mom would have, and there isn’t a Brothers’ Day, and so he thinks maybe he can make this holiday work, after all. As long as Dean doesn’t mind. Which he might. It’s sort of hard to tell.
-
Dean’s waiting when Sam gets home, sitting outside on the step when he gets off the bus, and doesn’t move except his eyes until the bus is gone, turned the corner, and Sam is close. Then he stands up and flashes that smile that lies about how everything’s fine, pushes the screen door open and lets him pass before following, ruffling Sam’s hair and asking a couple questions, and if Sam didn’t know his brother so well he’d never know Dean was worrying about him, because he seems completely casual and fine now...
Except for the way he talks too much about nothing at all, and the way he can’t completely keep it out of his voice when he says the bus was five minutes late and it better not happen next time like it’s Sam’s fault, and the way he doesn’t mention that Dad’s not home yet even though Dad said he would be home yesterday, and the way he orders a pizza and has it delivered even though they could probably cook something because they still have groceries left.
Sam pulls out the card when they’re eating dinner later, slides it across the tiny table towards Dean and doesn’t say anything, just waits and watches as his brother’s eyes trace over the paper before him, and he reaches out to take it, then wipes pizza sauce off his fingers onto a napkin and tries again, opens it up and looks at it and Sam realizes he’s holding his breath but he can’t bring himself to correct that yet.
Then Dean just pushes away from the table and leaves, goes outside, and Sam… isn’t really sure what he should do, or if he did something wrong, or what, because he’d just wanted to do something for Dean. He knows how this day (and Mom’s birthday and the day of the fire and even his and Sam’s birthdays) upsets Dean, even if Dad doesn’t notice, and he just thought maybe he could help.
But apparently not, and Dean’s outside and the pizza will probably be getting cold, but he doesn’t want to eat right now, anyway, so he follows his brother out after a few minutes of sitting and trying to decide what to do.
Dean’s sitting on the steps again, the card is beside him on the right, and he doesn’t say anything when Sam sits down to the left, a step higher than him (force of habit, he’s tired of being short and this way he’s tall as Dean is).
“Miss Ross said since….” He trails off, not really wanting to say “since Mom’s dead” or anything of that nature, because he knows how Dean gets about that subject, and that’s the last thing he needs right now, so he tries again, “She said I should make one for someone who takes care of me. And that’s you.”
Dean doesn’t say a word or move or do anything at all, and all Sam can see of his brother is the back of him, so he doesn’t know what Dean’s face looks like right now. He shifts uneasily in the silence, waits for his brother to say something. He doesn’t.
“’M sorry if you don’t like it,” he says after he can’t wait longer, it’s too quiet and he has to break the silence.
“It’s great, Sammy,” Dean sounds like he’s doing that thing where he stares at things and looks like he’s about to fly apart into a million pieces (but he never does), and Sam scoots down a step so he’s at his brother’s side, and yeah, he’s definitely staring, maybe at the fading purple-green-blue light on the street, the orange streetlights farther up the street that have come on, or maybe he doesn’t see any of it at all.
Sam doesn’t say anything, just smiles and leans against his brother’s side. Dean’s arm comes up to drape over his shoulders, and they just sit there for a moment, and then Dean stands and flashes a casual, collected sort of smile that says he’s fine again, over whatever was bothering him.
“C’mon, pizza’s gettin’ cold,” he says, picks up the card and heads inside, and Sam tosses one last glance out into the fading light, the nearest, final streetlight flickering on as the light finally fades enough for it to kick in, and then he follows his big brother inside.
----
There’s no return address on the little white envelope that arrives at the mail drop, just his own name (his real name) and the address to the box, but it doesn’t have to have anything more than that on it for Dean to know exactly who sent it. He knows that handwriting, even though he didn’t expect to see it. Doesn't need a return address to know how to reach his brother (he knows full well where Sam is).
Still, he assumes it’s some kind of letter or something, a late attempt to explain why he left, to apologize for something, to ask if he’s still alive, since Dean still won’t (can’t) call, and rarely brings himself to pick up when Sam calls (when Sam remembers to call) because what can he say?
Inside is a card, though, not a letter; pink flowers and cutesy little birds and butterflies on it, and he wouldn’t be caught dead in possession of anything of this nature except. Except he knows exactly what it is, and it makes him feel sick for a different reason entirely that has nothing to do with the femininity of the object in his hand.
“Happy Mothers’ Day!!!!!!” across the front in loopy, girly silver writing with like a billion exclamation points, all dotted with hearts, like Sam made an effort to find the most girlish card imaginable for him (he did, he knows he did it intentionally, the last few years it was sort of the thing to do and Dean still has them all from that first one on even though he doesn’t keep many things he just. He keeps them, okay?), and inside is just “miss you, jerk,” and a familiar phone number (like maybe Sam thinks he doesn’t know it or forgot it, or maybe just a reminder that he hasn’t changed it) in his brother’s neat handwriting.
He should call.
He can’t.
He sends a text later that just says “miss you too bitch” and then turns his phone off and puts the card away with the rest of them and goes to sleep and pretends he doesn’t wish Sam was here with him because he’s fine on his own, Dad’s working faster without either of them to slow him down, and Sam’s happy, doing what he wants to do and living his life, so it’s all okay.
-----
Of course I couldn't go an entire anything without bringing up Dean's Stanford-era issues, because apparently they are my favorite issues that he has ever.
More boringtime now. Do something cool now, internetpeople. Entertain me!