"So, how's school?" Dean finally asks a few hours later, when they're both seated on the warm sand, watching girls in too tiny bikinis run by and surfers face the waves.
"It's great." Sam lies, very little enthusiasm in his voice.
"Yeah?" Dean presses and instantly, his little brother seems to crumple. His shoulders slump and he leans forward, his hand making circles in the sand, a thing he used to do when he was three and scared. Dean places a hand on his baby brother's shoulder, "Sam, you can tell me anything. No judgement, okay?"
"School is hard." Sam finally confesses.
"Really?" Because that's the last thing Dean expected to hear. His brother is genius. That's how he managed to get a free ride here after all. College classes should be a breeze for him.
"I just . . . I feel like I'm always one step behind everyone."
"How so?"
Sam grimaces, "People go out to parties and have fun. I just stand there and feel awkward. Other than my roommate, I have no friends. I'm always working on an essay or a presentation and I just . . ." A tear snakes down his cheek and Dean finds himself wanting to wipe it away.
Sam's sad. It's his job to make him happy again, right?
"I miss you and Dad."
Dean lets out a shallow breath after that, "You do?"
"Of course I do," Sam practically hisses, "You think I wanted to just leave like that? No! I wanted you and Dad to come with me or at least visit. But Dad never answers my calls and I thought you were mad at me--"
"Hey," Dean interjects sharply, making his voice commanding, authoritative like John's, "I'm not mad at you. Dad isn't either. We just . . . I just didn't know what to say that night. I wanted us to stay together."
"I had to go, Dean. I'm not cut out to be a hunter. I never was."
"I know." Dean confesses, because deep down, he always knew. Ever since Sam could talk, all he would talk about were what other families he saw got to do. He'd ask so many questions about why they couldn't go to Disneyland or why they always had to move all over the place. And now, here Sam is, settled in one place and he's drowning in schoolwork and loneliness.
"Dad hates me."
"He loves you, Sam," Dean contradicts, because he knows it's true, even if John has a fucked up way of showing it. "And so do I."
Sam doesn't say anything. He just rests his head on Dean's shoulder and jeez, this takes the eldest Winchester back, back to when they both sat in the backseat of the Impala and Sam was five and he'd always fall asleep on his shoulder.
"Dean, I'm sorry."
"I know. So am I."
Silence. The roar of waves as they hit the sand. Seagulls calling out to each other.
"I can visit more." Dean begins quietly, not wanting to break the fragile peace they've made, "I'm not sure about Dad, but I can swing by once a month. More if you need me."
"You don't have to--" Sam immediately protests.
"I want to." He confesses. At least this way, sitting the empty Impala won't be so horrible if he has something to look forward to.
"Okay," Sam finally says, beaming, "Okay, that sounds good."
And together, they sit there until the sun begins to set.
RE: Filled: California Dreaming (2/2)
"It's great." Sam lies, very little enthusiasm in his voice.
"Yeah?" Dean presses and instantly, his little brother seems to crumple. His shoulders slump and he leans forward, his hand making circles in the sand, a thing he used to do when he was three and scared. Dean places a hand on his baby brother's shoulder, "Sam, you can tell me anything. No judgement, okay?"
"School is hard." Sam finally confesses.
"Really?" Because that's the last thing Dean expected to hear. His brother is genius. That's how he managed to get a free ride here after all. College classes should be a breeze for him.
"I just . . . I feel like I'm always one step behind everyone."
"How so?"
Sam grimaces, "People go out to parties and have fun. I just stand there and feel awkward. Other than my roommate, I have no friends. I'm always working on an essay or a presentation and I just . . ." A tear snakes down his cheek and Dean finds himself wanting to wipe it away.
Sam's sad. It's his job to make him happy again, right?
"I miss you and Dad."
Dean lets out a shallow breath after that, "You do?"
"Of course I do," Sam practically hisses, "You think I wanted to just leave like that? No! I wanted you and Dad to come with me or at least visit. But Dad never answers my calls and I thought you were mad at me--"
"Hey," Dean interjects sharply, making his voice commanding, authoritative like John's, "I'm not mad at you. Dad isn't either. We just . . . I just didn't know what to say that night. I wanted us to stay together."
"I had to go, Dean. I'm not cut out to be a hunter. I never was."
"I know." Dean confesses, because deep down, he always knew. Ever since Sam could talk, all he would talk about were what other families he saw got to do. He'd ask so many questions about why they couldn't go to Disneyland or why they always had to move all over the place. And now, here Sam is, settled in one place and he's drowning in schoolwork and loneliness.
"Dad hates me."
"He loves you, Sam," Dean contradicts, because he knows it's true, even if John has a fucked up way of showing it. "And so do I."
Sam doesn't say anything. He just rests his head on Dean's shoulder and jeez, this takes the eldest Winchester back, back to when they both sat in the backseat of the Impala and Sam was five and he'd always fall asleep on his shoulder.
"Dean, I'm sorry."
"I know. So am I."
Silence. The roar of waves as they hit the sand. Seagulls calling out to each other.
"I can visit more." Dean begins quietly, not wanting to break the fragile peace they've made, "I'm not sure about Dad, but I can swing by once a month. More if you need me."
"You don't have to--" Sam immediately protests.
"I want to." He confesses. At least this way, sitting the empty Impala won't be so horrible if he has something to look forward to.
"Okay," Sam finally says, beaming, "Okay, that sounds good."
And together, they sit there until the sun begins to set.