SPN: Coffee Stains
Title: Coffee Stains
Author: legoline
Notes: PG, gen, teen!chesters, 1,000 words.
A big thank you to raynedanser for the beta.
Summary: Sam doesn’t care whether Dean meant to or not, he only cares that Dean did.
Coffee Stains
by Steffi
Sam smashes the front door shut with a loud bang, and it vibrates for a moment in the door frame before it goes still. The bang echoes in the house faintly, and the fact that there’s no smart-ass reply or an annoyed yell being thrown back at him tells Sam that neither Dean nor Dad is home. Thank God.
At the moment, he’d actually take having Dad around over Dean’s ugly face, but he doesn’t mind having the house to himself either.
He doesn’t know where Dad has gone to and he doesn’t care where Dean is and if it was a valid alternative and would get him into a decent college, he’d have run off and joined the circus yesterday.
The hair on his neck is damp and sticking to the skin, and Sam runs his hand over his brow quickly. Afternoon sun’s been particularly remorseless the last couple of weeks, and it’s a twenty minute walk home from high school. Usually Dean picks him up after class, but the last three days Sam’s chosen walking home over Dean doing him a favour.
It’s Dean’s fault anyway that Sam had to stay for detention and march the entire way home with the sun burning down from above. Walking alongside roads that had been exposed to the sun all day, and had generously reflected the heat back at Sam. Sam in his long jeans that covered up bruises from Dad’s training sessions.
Inside the house is cool though. He kicks his shoes off, throws his backpack on the ground and heads for the bathroom. The buzzing behind his forehead begins to fade away as Sam splashes water into his face, before he dives his head under completely. The water runs over his head, drips from the bangs now blocking Sam’s sight. After a minute, he turns off the tap, wraps his head in a towel and rubs his hair dry. Dry enough at least so he won’t leave a trail of water wherever he goes. His hair is still damp though, and refreshingly cool against his skin.
Give him a break, Dad had said, he didn’t mean to.
But Sam doesn’t care whether Dean meant to or not, he only cares that Dean did it.
The fucking paper Sam had worked on for a month, every day for hours after school until he went to bed or until Dad called them out for a training round, and which would probably be half his grade this year.
For a month all they’d ever talked in class was this paper, every day he’d heard about just how important it was going to be. Forgetting the deadline-impossible. Then showing up without the stupid paper because Dean had accidentally spilled coffee all over it? Because the idiot couldn’t drink his coffee in the kitchen or in the living room, nooo, it had to be their tiny bedroom? His teacher had not taken that well. She’d accused him of lying-which Sam didn’t really blame her for-and sent him to detention.
He can live with the detention but the ruined paper that will cost Sam his grade? No, he isn’t forgiving on that one. With Dad, Dean can get away with pretty much anything as long as he doesn’t screw up a hunt, but Sam isn’t going to come around soon. Blood still rushes in his ears only thinking about how careless and idiotic Dean acted, and what that stunt will cost Sam. Occasionally a voice whispers that maybe he shouldn’t have left the paper out there on the desk, but Sam tells it to shut up quickly. No, it is all Dean’s fault.
Once Dean realised just how furious Sam was, he started avoiding Sam and the few times their ways do cross, for dinner or in the mornings, Sam doesn’t talk to him. Whenever their eyes meet, Sam shoots his brother cold stares and presses his lips tight.
Dad pulled him aside one morning and asked him to be a little easier on Dean, but Sam just shrugged and Dad sighed.
It’s just a grade, Sam. Come on, Dad had told him.
Not for me, it’s not, Sam had answered.
He’s not quite sure how long he can keep this up and make Dean pay for what he did. The house sure feels weird quiet like this, with neither Dean nor Dad around. Usually when Sam gets home Dean’s waiting for him in the living room, asking Sam about his day with a remote control for the television in his hand. Sam tells him and Dean listens even though he doesn’t really care about school and homework. Sometimes Sam thinks that Dean just wants to give him an opportunity to talk because Dad doesn’t even pretend to be listening when Sam talks about school.
Sam’s stomach sinks at the thought. Okay, maybe he’d been overreacting but...
He pushes the door to their bedroom open and stops. For a second, he wonders whether he’s had a heat stroke after all or whether he’s losing it, because there’s something sitting on his bed that Sam swears is a soccer ball. He blinks, blinks again, and when the ball still hasn’t vanished into thin air after that, Sam steps closer and takes it into his hands carefully. It’s a real FIFA leather ball, none of the cheap fakes. No, this is the real thing. It must have cost a small fortune.
Sam weighs it in his hands and a sudden wave of affection swamps his body.
He knows that Dean must have put it here. He knows that it’s Dean’s way of apologising-without words, without making a big deal of it. Dean never puts apologies into words and that can be annoying but...Sam throws the ball up and catches it again.
Sam quit the soccer team a few years ago, but he still likes to play it. He remembers bragging to Dad about a real FIFA ball, but Dad never bought him one. Instead, Dean did. A couple of years too late but-does that last point really matter?
No, Sam decides, it doesn’t.
Dean’s probably in the garage cleaning weapons or working on new shotguns or trying to fix that broken CB radio Pastor Jim gave him three weeks ago.
Sam squeezes the soccor ball under his right arm and thinks that Dean doesn’t really like thank you’s either. Instead, Sam’s just going to ask him to join him for a round of soccer, and he’s pretty sure that Dean knows it’s Sam’s way of saying, Apology accepted.
-end-
Author: legoline
Notes: PG, gen, teen!chesters, 1,000 words.
A big thank you to raynedanser for the beta.
Summary: Sam doesn’t care whether Dean meant to or not, he only cares that Dean did.
Coffee Stains
by Steffi
Sam smashes the front door shut with a loud bang, and it vibrates for a moment in the door frame before it goes still. The bang echoes in the house faintly, and the fact that there’s no smart-ass reply or an annoyed yell being thrown back at him tells Sam that neither Dean nor Dad is home. Thank God.
At the moment, he’d actually take having Dad around over Dean’s ugly face, but he doesn’t mind having the house to himself either.
He doesn’t know where Dad has gone to and he doesn’t care where Dean is and if it was a valid alternative and would get him into a decent college, he’d have run off and joined the circus yesterday.
The hair on his neck is damp and sticking to the skin, and Sam runs his hand over his brow quickly. Afternoon sun’s been particularly remorseless the last couple of weeks, and it’s a twenty minute walk home from high school. Usually Dean picks him up after class, but the last three days Sam’s chosen walking home over Dean doing him a favour.
It’s Dean’s fault anyway that Sam had to stay for detention and march the entire way home with the sun burning down from above. Walking alongside roads that had been exposed to the sun all day, and had generously reflected the heat back at Sam. Sam in his long jeans that covered up bruises from Dad’s training sessions.
Inside the house is cool though. He kicks his shoes off, throws his backpack on the ground and heads for the bathroom. The buzzing behind his forehead begins to fade away as Sam splashes water into his face, before he dives his head under completely. The water runs over his head, drips from the bangs now blocking Sam’s sight. After a minute, he turns off the tap, wraps his head in a towel and rubs his hair dry. Dry enough at least so he won’t leave a trail of water wherever he goes. His hair is still damp though, and refreshingly cool against his skin.
Give him a break, Dad had said, he didn’t mean to.
But Sam doesn’t care whether Dean meant to or not, he only cares that Dean did it.
The fucking paper Sam had worked on for a month, every day for hours after school until he went to bed or until Dad called them out for a training round, and which would probably be half his grade this year.
For a month all they’d ever talked in class was this paper, every day he’d heard about just how important it was going to be. Forgetting the deadline-impossible. Then showing up without the stupid paper because Dean had accidentally spilled coffee all over it? Because the idiot couldn’t drink his coffee in the kitchen or in the living room, nooo, it had to be their tiny bedroom? His teacher had not taken that well. She’d accused him of lying-which Sam didn’t really blame her for-and sent him to detention.
He can live with the detention but the ruined paper that will cost Sam his grade? No, he isn’t forgiving on that one. With Dad, Dean can get away with pretty much anything as long as he doesn’t screw up a hunt, but Sam isn’t going to come around soon. Blood still rushes in his ears only thinking about how careless and idiotic Dean acted, and what that stunt will cost Sam. Occasionally a voice whispers that maybe he shouldn’t have left the paper out there on the desk, but Sam tells it to shut up quickly. No, it is all Dean’s fault.
Once Dean realised just how furious Sam was, he started avoiding Sam and the few times their ways do cross, for dinner or in the mornings, Sam doesn’t talk to him. Whenever their eyes meet, Sam shoots his brother cold stares and presses his lips tight.
Dad pulled him aside one morning and asked him to be a little easier on Dean, but Sam just shrugged and Dad sighed.
It’s just a grade, Sam. Come on, Dad had told him.
Not for me, it’s not, Sam had answered.
He’s not quite sure how long he can keep this up and make Dean pay for what he did. The house sure feels weird quiet like this, with neither Dean nor Dad around. Usually when Sam gets home Dean’s waiting for him in the living room, asking Sam about his day with a remote control for the television in his hand. Sam tells him and Dean listens even though he doesn’t really care about school and homework. Sometimes Sam thinks that Dean just wants to give him an opportunity to talk because Dad doesn’t even pretend to be listening when Sam talks about school.
Sam’s stomach sinks at the thought. Okay, maybe he’d been overreacting but...
He pushes the door to their bedroom open and stops. For a second, he wonders whether he’s had a heat stroke after all or whether he’s losing it, because there’s something sitting on his bed that Sam swears is a soccer ball. He blinks, blinks again, and when the ball still hasn’t vanished into thin air after that, Sam steps closer and takes it into his hands carefully. It’s a real FIFA leather ball, none of the cheap fakes. No, this is the real thing. It must have cost a small fortune.
Sam weighs it in his hands and a sudden wave of affection swamps his body.
He knows that Dean must have put it here. He knows that it’s Dean’s way of apologising-without words, without making a big deal of it. Dean never puts apologies into words and that can be annoying but...Sam throws the ball up and catches it again.
Sam quit the soccer team a few years ago, but he still likes to play it. He remembers bragging to Dad about a real FIFA ball, but Dad never bought him one. Instead, Dean did. A couple of years too late but-does that last point really matter?
No, Sam decides, it doesn’t.
Dean’s probably in the garage cleaning weapons or working on new shotguns or trying to fix that broken CB radio Pastor Jim gave him three weeks ago.
Sam squeezes the soccor ball under his right arm and thinks that Dean doesn’t really like thank you’s either. Instead, Sam’s just going to ask him to join him for a round of soccer, and he’s pretty sure that Dean knows it’s Sam’s way of saying, Apology accepted.
-end-