visionshadows: (dean cas apart)
[personal profile] visionshadows

Sam flung his duffel bag on Dean’s couch with a heavy sigh. It was one thing to visit Dean on the weekend when Dad was too drunk to care what Sam did. It was an entirely other thing to realize he was going to be living with Dean until he was at least eighteen. He hadn’t lived in the same house with Dean since he was eight and Dean was sixteen. Now he was sixteen and Dean was twenty-four and Dean was essentially his parent.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at Sam. “I figured we could go get you a bed next. I cleaned out the spare room.”

“I know you did,” Sam said wearily. “Child Services made you.”

Sam saw Dean’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye and he knew he had struck a nerve. He also knew that Dean wasn’t going to fight back, at least not now. “A bed would probably be good.”

“Sam,” Dean trailed off before giving a short, sharp nod. “I meant to have the bed here before you came.”

“Happened faster then you thought. Should have known that Dad couldn't get out of this one.” Sam sat on the couch. “Did you get internet in here yet?”

“They’re coming Friday.”

Sam slid his laptop back into his backpack at that, slumping with his arms crossed over his chest. “Great.”

“Right so we gotta go to the school tomorrow and get you registered for classes. I think you can start the next day,” Dean said, plowing ahead. “Basically we gotta get you all settled before next Tuesday when CPS comes to check out the place.”

“Dean I know all of this. I’m not stupid,” Sam glared up at him. “I’m just going to go call Meg, okay.”

“Yeah, you can use my room if you want. Until we get you a bed.” Dean paused. “And Sam, I’m glad you’re here for good.”

Sam grabbed his duffel and backpack, stomping out of the living room. He doesn’t look back, but he knows that Dean is watching him. He should feel worse about being mean to his brother when really, all Dean is doing is trying to help, trying to take care of him since Dad can’t. Dean’s been doing it for years after all.

The spare room was small, but clean. Dean used it to store books mostly. The ancient desktop that Dean used for his bills had been moved into a corner of the living room, but he’d left the desk. Now it was Sam’s, empty except for the desk and a dresser.

Sam’s shoulders slumped and he slid to the ground, leaning against the door. His eyes burned with tears, but he refused to let them fall. It could be a lot worse and he knew it. He could have ended up like Dean.

The bed they bought wasn’t bad, long enough for Sam to grow into and the mattress was comfortable. Dean’s ex-boyfriend Victor came to help them put it together and he brought pizza with him. Victor was the only boyfriend Sam had ever met and most likely the only one Dean actually still talked to. Probably because Victor was as big a dick as Dean so they enjoyed spending time together.

He didn’t sleep much though, the light coming in from the streetlight outside distracted him. He tossed and turned, fiddling with his cell phone and wishing Dean’s apartment had internet already. At around 3, he gave up and went to the living room, falling asleep on the couch.

The scent of coffee woke him up, the thick, rich smell wafting from the kitchen into the living room. Sam lifted his head and looked over blearily to where Dean was standing, watching him with a cup in his hand.

“Creepy when you watch people sleep,” Sam mumbled, getting up awkwardly, his arms stretched over his head as he yawned.

“What?” Dean seemed to shake himself out of whatever thought he was having and actually looked at Sam. “Sorry. Bed no good?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sam said as he slipped into the kitchen, getting his own cup of coffee. “Streetlight is kind of annoying.”

“We can get better shades,” Dean promised. “We have to get going soon. Go grab a shower and we’ll head out.”

“Can’t I eat first?”

“I’ll make you something,” Dean said, giving Sam a gentle shove. “Go shower.”

Breakfast turned out to be an egg sandwich with cheese and a travel mug of coffee. Sam ate on the drive, careful not to spill anything or get any crumbs in the Impala. Dean was a stickler about his baby.

The school was only about ten minutes away from Dean’s apartment and halfway to Dean’s library branch. It looked like any other school and Sam really, really didn’t want to go inside.

“Do we have to do this today?” Sam asked tiredly.

“Like ripping off a bandaid. Might as well do it quickly.”

“Great,” Sam slammed the car door shut, not waiting for Dean as he headed up the steps. Dean caught up quickly, but didn’t say anything as they walked to the office.

An older woman sat behind the desk, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear when they came in. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said easily, calmly. “We’re here to register Sam Winchester for classes. You should be expecting him.”

“Ah yes,” she said, rummaging around on her desk. “Mr. Singer is in his office. Let me just give him a buzz.”

“Thanks,” Dean flashed her a winning smile before turning back to Sam who was holding onto the strap of his bag and scowling a little. “I’ve been through this part before, Sam. It won’t take long.”

Sam felt a flash of guilt at that. Yeah, Dean had done this before - but for himself - and without anyone there to help him.

“Mr. Winchester?” A gruff looking man poked his head out of the office wearing a slightly rumpled suit and a crooked tie. “Come on back.”

Sam went first, Dean following him closely. The principal closed the door behind him, holding out his hand to Sam and then Dean. “Robert Singer. Welcome to Macall. We’re glad to have you join us, Sam.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, sitting down and not looking at the man. Dean sat down as well, settling in easier than Sam.

“I’ve got all your transcripts,” Mr. Singer said before handing over a piece of paper to Sam. “This is your schedule. The only class you had that we can’t replace is Russian. We don’t teach that here.”

“That’s fine,” Sam mumbled, looking at his schedule. It was normal, all the same classes he was taking at his old school.

“Now,” Mr. Singer turned his attention to Dean. “You are Sam’s legal guardian, correct?”

Dean nodded easily. “I’m his brother. I’ve got all of the requested forms filled out already.” He took a folder out of his messenger bag and handed over all the forms he and Sam had filled out with the social worker. “I work over at the Henderson branch of the library so I’m not far if there are any problems.”

“Good, good,” Mr. Singer said a little absently as he scanned the forms quickly. “Everything seems to be in order. Sam, you are welcome to join us today if you’d like.”

“We’ve got a few - ”

“Yeah,” Sam said quickly, interrupting Dean and getting to his feet. “I’d like to start now.” He waved his schedule a little. “I’ll just head out.”

“You sure, Sammy?” asked Dean, his voice low, concerned. Sam bristled at it, setting his shoulders.

“I don’t need to sit at home while you go through the checklist from CPS again. You can do that just fine on your own.”

Mr. Singer stood up with a little nod. “Let me take you to your homeroom. One of the students there is assigned to help you out the first few days.”

Sam nodded jerkily, not looking at Dean. “I’ll see you at 3?”

“I’ll be here,” Dean got to his feet as well. “Could I have a few words with you when you’re done taking Sam to his class, Mr. Singer?”

“Of course, I’ll be back shortly.”

Sam took a quick look at Dean once more before he followed the principal out. Dean gave him a small smile of encouragement which just made Sam feel inexplicably angry as he walked away.

“It says that you play soccer on your transcript,” Mr. Singer said conversationally as they walked. “What position?”

“Midfielder mostly,” Sam tried to keep his voice neutral, not let his anger bleed through. “Sometimes forward.”

“We have an excellent team here. I’m sure Mr. Novak would like to see if you’d be interested in playing. He’s your history teacher as well.”

Sam shrugged. He hadn’t given any thought to still playing soccer to be honest. It might be nice to have something to get him out of the apartment. “I guess I’ll ask him.”

Mr. Singer stopped in front of one of the classrooms. He gave Sam a warm smile which looked a little odd on his gruff, whiskered face. “Come by my office before you leave for the day. We’ll have all your books for you then.” He held out a hand to Sam. “It’s good to meet you, Sam. Please come to me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, shaking the principal’s hand. He straightened his shoulders as Mr. Singer opened the door to the classroom, motioning for the teacher to come outside. Sam heard her excuse herself before she stepped out.

“Good morning, Mr. Singer,” she said with a smile. Sam swallowed nervously. She was really pretty, big blue eyes and a wide smile and bright red hair.

“Ms. Milton, I have a new student for you. This is Sam Winchester.”

Sam held out his hand, hoping it wasn’t too sweaty. She shook his hand firmly, giving him the same warm smile she had given to the principal. “Very nice to meet you, Sam. Why don’t you come on in and we’ll get you situated.”

“Ava should be able to take him around today,” Mr. Singer said. “Her schedule is pretty much the same as his.”

“Sounds good.” Ms. Milton gestured for Sam to follow her into the classroom which fell silent as he stood in front. “Hey everyone, this is Sam Winchester. He’ll be joining our homeroom this year. Ava, give me a wave.”

A girl near the back with red-blonde hair waved her hand in the air as requested. “Go have a seat next to Ava, Sam. She’ll be taking you around to your classes today.”

Sam gave Ms. Milton a little nod and threaded his way through the desks to the back of the classroom. Ava smiled sweetly at him as he sat.

“I’m Ava,” she said holding out her hand. Sam took it, shaking it gently. “And you’re Sam. So let me see your schedule.”

Sam handed her over the piece of paper without a word. She looked it over with a nod. “Okay, we’ve got all but two classes together and I can drop you off and pick you up at your classroom for those. We’ve got the same lunch as well so you can eat with us.”

“Okay,” Sam said, taking back his schedule. He set his backpack on the ground, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked at the front. Ms. Milton had sat back down and was going over some papers. “So now what?”

“Now we wait until the bell rings. Homeroom is just for announcements and stuff,” Ava said as she started to play with her phone. “Oh and it’s the only time you can use your phone.”

“I left mine at home,” Sam admitted. “I wasn’t allowed to have it at all at my old school.”

Ava made a face. “That sucks. So where did you used to go?”

“Parker,” answered Sam quietly. He liked his old school. All his friends were there. Now he lived almost an hour away from all of them. “In Milltown.”

“My aunt lives in Milltown.” Ava offered. “So how did you end up here?”

Sam felt his face heat up. There was no way he was telling her the truth and he hadn’t really thought of what he was going to say. Oh, well my father is in jail so instead of ending up in the foster system my brother who I haven’t lived with since I was eight decided to take me in. That sounded like a great way to break the ice.

“New job. You know how it is.”

Ava nodded and the bell rang. She grabbed her bag. “C’mon Sam. Off to Geometry.”

Sam was exhausted by the time the final bell rang. He ran his hand through his hair, pressing at his temples to push back the headache that had formed. Ava got up and gave him a smile. “You okay getting out of here?”

“Yeah, I have a ride,” Sam said, standing up. “Mr. Singer mentioned that Mr. Novak was the soccer coach. I thought I would talk to him about playing.”

Ava gave a quick peek up at Mr. Novak then grinned. “He’s nice. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam. How about I meet you out front at 7:40 so I can show you to your locker and how to get to homeroom without having to go past Mr. Singer’s office?”

“Thanks,” Sam said gratefully. “I appreciate all the help today.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Ava said before heading out of the classroom after the other students. Sam took another deep breath before grabbing his bag and heading up to the front. Mr. Novak was busy erasing the chalkboard, whistling a little.

“Mr. Novak?”

Mr. Novak turned immediately, putting down the eraser. “Hello Sam. I hope everything went well for you today.”

“It was fine. A little overwhelming I guess.” Sam rubbed his wrist. “Mr. Singer said you coach the soccer team.”

“I do. Do you play?”

Mr. Novak had really blue eyes and for some reason Sam thought they looked familiar. He had no idea why. “Yeah, I do. I’d like to keep playing if you’d let me try out.”

“What positions do you play?” asked Mr. Novak, rummaging around in his desk for a datebook. “I really need another sweeper.”

“Midfielder and forward, but I know how to play sweeper,” Sam said quickly even though he really, really didn’t. He crossed his fingers behind his back. “I played at Parker. We were number two in the State last year.”

“Yeah, you guys crushed us,” Mr. Novak said with a laugh. “Eight nothing.”

Sam winced a little, remembering that game. “Yeah. If it helps, I only scored once.”

Mr. Novak laughed again at that. “No hard feelings. How about you come to practice on Thursday and we’ll see what you’ve got?”

Sam smiled brightly at that, holding out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Novak. I really appreciate it.” He turned to go before stopping. “Um where is practice?”

“Come to the gym so you can change first and I’ll show you where we play.” Mr. Novak had picked up the eraser again, going back to cleaning off the chalkboard.

“Thank you,” Sam said again before hurrying out and standing in the hall, a little lost.

“Where do you need to go?” asked Mr. Novak, watching him.

“Mr. Singer’s office,” Sam said sheepishly. “I need to get my books.”

“Take the steps on the left to the first floor and it’ll be at the end of the hall.” Mr. Novak smiled at him. “Have a nice evening, Sam.”

“You too. Thanks.” Sam rushed down the steps and hurried to Mr. Singer’s office. The secretary, Janet, gave him his books and directed him to the entrance of the school. He shoved them all in his bag, wincing a little under the weight as he headed to the front. Dean was already there, the car idling at the curb.

Sam wrenched open the back door, dropping his bag on the seat before sitting in the passenger side. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dean said, waiting until he was buckled in before pulling away from the curb. “How was the first day?”

“Fine,” Sam said, looking out the window as they drove away from the school. “I’m going to try out for the soccer team after school Thursday.”

“Any idea when that gets out?” asked Dean.

“No, I didn’t ask. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out if I can pick you up or not. Victor can if I can’t.”

“I’m sixteen, not six.” Sam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can take the bus.”

“Actually there’s not a stop near us,” Dean admitted. “Not for Macall at least.”

“Then why am I going here instead of the school that I can take the bus to?”

“This is a better school and it’s on my way to work.” Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove. “I don’t mind dropping you off and picking you up. It’s just a late lunch break for me.”

“What if you’re off or sick? Are you still going to want to drive me to school then?” Sam knew he was picking a fight, but Dean was making decisions for him without asking. Dad did crap like that all the time. “Or is Victor going to do it?”

“Sammy,” Dean said, trying to sound calm. “I know you’re pissed off and angry about pretty much everything right now, but you think you could maybe believe I’m trying to do the right thing by you here?”

“The right thing for you maybe,” Sam shot back. “I never asked to come here.”

“I wasn’t letting you go into the system. Not when I’m capable of taking care of you,” Dean said decidedly not calm this time. “I know what kind of shit goes on in there and you don’t need to be a part of it.”

“I’m not you, Dean. Dad didn’t kick me out!”

“That’s right he didn’t,” Dean shouted back. “He got himself arrested for drug possession and intent to sell instead. He didn’t give enough of a shit about you to stay straight long enough for you to graduate high school so instead you get me! So deal with it.”

Sam slumped down in his seat, turning his face away from Dean. His face was hot and he could feel tears welling up, his throat tight. Dean swore softly and reached out a hand, squeezing Sam’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. Dad loves you. He just messed up.”

“He always messes up,” Sam said, his voice thick. He wiped a hand over his burning eyes, clenching his other hand into a fist. He was too old to cry over this. “He just got caught this time.”

“I should have taken you out of there years ago.” Dean’s voice was full of regret and guilt.

“And what? Stuck me with Chuck?”

Dean laughed a little, the sound hollow and sharp. “I never would have subjected you to living with Chuck.”

The car fell silent after that, neither of them willing to keep talking. Sam played with the hem of his shirt and watched the houses go by.

“Did Dad ever tell you why he did it?” asked Sam softly. “The drinking and the drugs?”

“Dad and I didn’t talk much before...” Dean trailed off. “He started after Mom died. Uncle Jim took care of us a lot when you were little because Dad couldn’t deal.”

“I don’t really remember Uncle Jim,” Sam admitted. “He wasn’t around after everything happened.”

“Yeah because he thought Dad was wrong to kick me out,” Dean sighed. “And Dad wouldn’t talk to him anymore because of that.”

“You know I don’t care, right? I mean, I’ve never said anything, but I don’t. Care that is.”

Dean chuckled dryly. “Yeah I figured that out when you would sneak over here on the weekends to hang out. I really should have just made the spare room yours when I moved in.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” asked Sam for the first time ever, letting the room comment go. He didn’t care about that. He just wanted to be with Dean when he came over. “Because he can come over. I don’t care.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Dean assured him. “It’s pretty much just me and Jo hanging out. Sometimes Victor.”

Sam had never met Jo but he had heard a lot about her. She was Dean’s best friend in college and had stayed that way after they graduated. Dean said that her mom made a mean apple pie which was high praise from him.

“Are you dating anyone?” asked Dean.

Sam thought about Meg and how they had fooled around a few times, but they weren’t dating. Not really. He shook his head. “Nah. Just me and Meg.”

“I thought you liked Meg.”

“I do,” Sam said, wrinkling his nose. “Do we have to talk about this? You’re my brother.”

“Who are you going to talk to about it?” asked Dean with a laugh. “I know stuff about girls.”

Sam gave him a sideways look. “Really. Like what?”

“Well I don’t know anything that involves taking off clothes,” Dean said quickly. “I just know how you want to treat them. What they like.”

“Dad gave me this talk already. I have to treat them like a lady and not pressure them about anything. And you know, listen when they talk.”

“Well at least he did that,” Dean said as he pulled into the apartment complex. “And yeah, do that stuff. You can ask Jo what you do when you take off their clothes. She knows. She’s a lesbian.”

“Do you have any straight friends?” asked Sam with a sigh.

“Chuck,” Dean offered. “But I would not take advice about women from him. I don’t think he knows what to do with a woman he doesn’t have to call an 800 number for.”

“Chuck is weird,” Sam commented as he got out, hauling his bag over his shoulder. “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m making lasagna.”

“You can cook?” Sam looked at him skeptically.

“Yes I can cook. How do you think I survived the last six years living with Chuck and then on my own?” asked Dean. He unlocked the door, reaching down to push Edgar inside with his hand.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the cat. The cat looked back at him and immediately disappeared, high-tailing it out of the room like Sam was out to kill him.

“He’ll get used to you eventually. He almost lets Jo pet him now.”

“After how many years?” asked Sam. He toed off his shoes, leaving them by the front door.

“Well four,” Dean conceded. “Go throw your stuff in the bedroom. I’ll get you a snack.”

Sam grinned at him, idly thinking that maybe things are okay. Then he thought back to the fight in the car and the smile slipped off his face as he thought about Dad and Dean. He unpacked his books on the desk, lining them up before setting his notepad down.

There was homework to do and Dean was getting him a snack and he probably should be social with his brother. But Sam was tired, really tired from his thoughts. He flopped down on the bed instead and tried not to think of anything but the feel of Meg’s breasts in his hands.

“Good hustle guys!” Mr. Novak called out from the sideline. “Sweepers, I need a little more coverage. Try to stay alert to the location of the ball.”

Sam blew out a huff of frustration. He had made the team partially because Mr. Novak knew what he had done at Parker and partially because Mr. Novak really did need another sweeper. Except Sam really stunk as a sweeper.

He pushed his hair back with his hand and decided that he either had to cut his hair or get a sports headband. Soccer players wore them. It was totally okay.

Mr. Novak blew a whistle and the next play began. Sam kept his eyes on the ball and followed the coverage as best he could, falling back into place to play defense. And the ball sailed past him again and the goalie made a dive to catch it.

“Fuck,” Sam swore softly, staring at the goalie who gave him a glare. This was not working out well at all.

“Okay, we’re done for the day,” Mr. Novak said with a smile. “Good practice today, guys. I’ll see you on Thursday to go over the game plan for Saturday. Sam, could I see you for a moment?”

Sam dragged his feet but made his way over to the coach. He gave him a tight smile. “Yeah coach?”

“You’re really not a sweeper,” Mr. Novak said bluntly. “I’m sorry, Sam, but that’s not working. Why did you tell me you could play the position?”

“I really wanted to play.” Sam admitted. He pushed back his hair again and felt guilty and nauseated and really worried that he was going to be cut.

“I’m going to move you to midfielder as a reserve. We’ll work on your skills at sweeper when we can.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, feeling incredibly grateful and relieved. “I really didn’t want to be cut.”

“Next time tell the truth,” Mr. Novak urged him gently. “It usually works out better in the end for everyone.” He reached up to squeeze Sam’s shoulder. “Go shower. You have a history paper due tomorrow.”

Sam snorted. “That’s been done for a week.”

“Wow a teenager who does their homework ahead of time,” Mr. Novak said dryly. “Will wonders never cease.”

“You’re kind of a smart ass.” Sam flushed red immediately even though Mr. Novak was laughing. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“It’s okay, Sam. Just try to remember that I’m your teacher when other people are around.”

“Sam! There you are,” Dean called out from the gym door before jogging over. His steps faltered and he stopped dead, staring at Mr. Novak.

Sam looked over at his coach who had also stopped walking, his face suddenly pale like he’d seen a ghost.

“Cas,” Dean said softly, his voice pained.

O...kay. Sam looked between the two of them, at Dean’s strange expression and Mr. Novak’s stricken one. Dean squared his shoulders and stepped forward again, walking to Mr. Novak and standing in front of him.

“I didn’t know you worked at Macall,” Dean said softly. He reached out for Sam, putting an arm around his shoulders. Sam was even more confused. Dean was kind of clinging to him while trying to appear nonchalant.

“Four years now,” Mr. Novak said just as softly. “I guess your brother would be sixteen. I never put it together - Sam Winchester.”

“He lives with me now.”

“Good. How’s Edgar?”

“Still hates everyone except me.”

And then they stopped talking and just looked and Sam was so done with this. He squirmed out of under Dean’s arm. “I gotta shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes, Dean. See you tomorrow, Mr. Novak.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Novak said absently before stepping forward and hugging Dean who returned the hug just as fiercely. Sam gave them both a skeptical look before jogging inside.

Obviously Dean knew Mr. Novak - Cas. Sam had no idea who Mr. Novak was to Dean, but he would hazard a guess that they knew each other pretty well. No one looked that hurt seeing someone they barely knew.

Sam showered, trying to think if he had heard Dean ever talk about someone named Cas. If it was at least four years ago, he would have been eleven or twelve, and yeah. When he saw Dean, usually by pretending that he was going to play at Andy’s and instead going to Chuck’s when he knew Dean was there and not in class, they didn’t exactly talk about Dean’s friends. Mostly Dean asked about him and he was just so happy to see Dean he never thought about asking about him.

So yeah, he was kind of a self-centered kid at that age. And maybe a little now. Dean had been nothing but helpful and supportive since Sam had moved in. Sam was kind of a jerk about things even when he didn’t mean to be.

Dean was sitting on the hood of his car when Sam came out, Mr. Novak nowhere in sight. Dean looked lost, his expression faraway.

“So you know Mr. Novak,” Sam said, tossing his bags in the backseat.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Dean said as he started the car. Sam felt his frustration rise and he sat back in the seat heavily.

“Yeah. Cause it obviously doesn’t affect me at all.”

Dean’s fingers were clenched around the steering wheel. “You’re right. It doesn’t. So let it go, Sam.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, staring out the window. Nothing new then. Dean still wouldn’t talk about stuff that was important to him. Status quo.

Master Post


visionshadows: (Default)

January 2013


Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 05:29 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios