Supernatural Fanfic: Twenty Questions (12/20)
Title: Twenty Questions
Author: poestheblackcat
Chapter rating: PG-13
Chapter characters/pairings: Sam, Dean
Chapter warning/spoilers: “Dead Man’s Blood”
Chapter summary: The “Sam leaves for Stanford” fic that every SPN author seems to inevitably do at some point in their career.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Darn you, Kripke. So, like I was saying, it’s almost my birthday…Okay, wishful thinking?
Chapter 12: Cutting Loose
They were at the bus station. Dean had played chauffeur for his brother as the last thing he could do for Sam before he went off on his own as an independent college student unhampered by the hunting life.
Dean unshouldered Sam’s beaten-up duffel and reluctantly handed it over. He didn’t trust his voice to not betray him, so he said nothing.
Sam seemed to be in the same quandary, until he suddenly burst out, “Why can’t you come with me, Dean? Away from Dad, away from this messed-up, crazy life?” Sam looked earnest, big paws waving in the air, trying to express his anger and his general our-lives-are-so-not-fair feelings.
Dean winced. “Sammy.”
He’d hoped they wouldn’t spend their last moments together in an argument like this would definitely turn out to be. It was bad enough that Sam had left Dad with “Fine!” and a slammed motel door, but he really didn’t want Sam to get on that bus mad at him too.
Still, Sam demanded, “Dean, wh?,” and Dean couldn’t help but answer. Call it a bad habit.
“Because,” he said reluctantly, “I belong here. With Dad. You…I can’t go with you. Dad’ll get himself killed if I leave too.” He swallowed and looked up into his beanpole little brother’s eyes, willing him to understand. Can’t have your cake and eat it too. “You know that.”
Sam’s eyes blazed green with anger. “Then let him!” He couldn’t care less about that selfish and controlling drill sergeant of a father. He didn’t even deserve to be called a father. He was never around enough to be called that. Too busy with his job hunting down monsters, helping other people not his family.
Dean got a hurt expression on his face. “You don’t mean that Sammy.”
Sam’s lips were in a tight line. “Well maybe I do.”
“No, you don’t, Sam. I know you better than anyone else. You don’t mean it.” Green eyes held the now more blue-than-green eyes in a steady gaze, reproving.
Sam’s bottom lip started to quiver, push out. He sniffed and deflated. “Dean…” he started. He didn’t end what he wanted to say, didn’t even know what he wanted to say himself, but his brother knew what he meant anyway. Dean was right; he did know Sam better than anyone else on this planet, Sam himself included.
Dean grabbed the back of his neck and pulled the big-brained noggin down to his level. “Hey,” he said roughly. “I…” He had to swallow a lump the size of an elephant in this throat before he could continue. “Just take care of yourself, dude.” He ruffled the back of Sammy’s hair and let go.
It was the closest the Winchesters ever got to ‘I love you.’
Sam clapped a hand on Dean’s chest, holding onto the brown leather as if it were a lifeline. “You too, Dean.” He tried to smile at him, but it was more of a grimace than a grin. Sam’s pain was reflected back to him in his brother’s face.
“And here. Take this,” said the older boy (no, not a boy, a man now). He dug in the pocket of his jacket. Sam watched the long eyelashes descend, hiding whatever emotions he knew would be lurking at the surface of the expressive green eyes. Dean could school his expressions and his body language like the best of them, but his eyes had a life of their own.
“It’s not much, but it’s all I can give you.” Dean held out a wad of cash. Sam saw a few fifties and at least two hundred dollar bills in there.
For a brief moment, he considered refusing it and insisting on earning his own way to normalcy, but the little brother part of him knew that to do so would break Dean worse than any words ever could. He didn’t want to hurt Dean any more than he already was by leaving.
He closed his hand over his brother’s. “I…” He shook his head through a huge sniff. His hair swung in his eyes. “No it’s not, Dean.” He used his superior height to pull the unresisting man into a tight hug and buried his face unabashed into Dean’s shoulder. “Thanks bro.” He really needed that hug.
Dean held on longer than was considered manly, but he didn’t want to let go. He’d raised the headstrong teen from a little baby not old enough to remember home-baked cookies and “Goodnight, love,” and he really just wanted to hog-tie the kid and drag him back home.
Finally pulling apart, Dean dragged a hand over his face. Not wet. Yet. He’d save the tears for when he was in the close seclusion of his car. “I’m proud of you, Sammy.” He smiled a real smile for his brother.
Sammy, for the young Winchester was more like a boy at the moment than a man, twitched and looked hopeful. A small flame of happiness flickered in his stomach. “Really, Dean?”
Dean nodded at him. “Yeah, Sammy.” And he was. He was prouder than anything that his baby brother had made it into a prestigious school and had snagged a full ride there too, all on his own steam. “For real. I mean it.”
An announcement over the PA system pierced the air and made the brothers tense. Sam glanced at his bus. Most of its passengers had already found their seats. He didn’t want to miss it. “I gotta go,” he said, sharing one last lingering look with his brother. “I-I’ll call you.” With that, he took his first step forward into his new life without a backward glance.
Dean watched the Greyhound pull away, taking all the good parts of his life with it. “No you won’t,” he whispered into the wind.
Sammy was much too stubborn to look back at his sordid past. Not even if Dean was a part of it, or maybe because of it. Sam wouldn’t want to remember what he was missing. It might pull him back into the life he hated if he risked a peek into the past.
Maybe he’d helped shape his brother to be this way, but Dean knew deep in his gut that Sam wouldn’t call.
He was right. He was always right in all things Sammy.
Chapter 13: Hair like the Sun Burning in My Dreams