Chapter Six
6.)Chapter Six
By the time Sam and Caroline (who had managed to climb out of her crib earlier that morning, and found her way into bed between the two of them) came yawning down the stairs, Dean had taken over. He holds a towel over his shoulder, a spatula in his hand and the handle of a pan in his other. The inside sizzles against the bacon and the vegetables ( added per Liz’s insistence).
Behind him, Liz is leaning back in her chair, her bathrobe open slightly as it drapes against the legs. An amused smirk sparkles in her eyes as she watches Dean. She hides her almost-laughter by pressing her lips against the glass. Dean has seen this before, but his good mood allows him to ignore it. Then again, maybe it was just the practice. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Vague memories of his mother put a step in his cheer and he isn’t going to let it go so easily.
Sam sputters for a moment, and his uncertainty makes Dean frown. It lasts a split second before Dean turns around to smile at his brother. “Hi Sammy. Come on, I’m making bacon. It’s going to be awesome.” He animates his words with the spatula in hand and a grin on his face.
Sam blinks. Once, twice, then a third time before he pulls Caroline with him to the counter. He lifts the girl up on the chair with some help from Liz as she pulls Carline by the wrists, and proceeds to finds his own chair to climb on.
“I didn’t know you knew how to cook.” Sam says finally.
Dean shrugs. “Neither did I.” He’s seen shows about it though. When there’s nothing else to do and noone else around, Dean clicks to the food channel and dreams about all the things his mother will never make. Whoever said you can’t learn a thing sitting at the television was wrong because the amount of recipies Dean knows is almost scary.
Liz shakes her head in amazement. “I always seem to find the cooks.” She muses. Dean grins.
“Your food is burning.” Sam observes and grins when Dean swears. He swirls around in an instant, trained reflexes making the movement quick and graceful. The food is fine, though, much to Deans relief and he grunts a complainant at Sam’s false accusation.
“So listen,” Liz said after a few peaceful moments pass. She set her cup down with a distinctive clatter. “I’ve been thinking. Your father said it’d be a while before he came back. He didn’t say anything about your school.”
Sam is silent. Dean can barely hear the soft sound of his breathing. There is a beat, like Liz doesn’t know how to go on. We can take it, Dean thinks to himself, you want to send us to your crappy home-town school. He already knows what’ll come of it. Skipped classes and angry teachers were his forte. Sam, though…
“We don’t have to go.” Sam suggests softly. “Dad home-schooled us, sometimes.” Dean rolls his eyes. He prefers his fathers teachings to the government-run education that taught them useless things, but the man doesn’t exactly have a good track record for taking his time with them. When he does, it’s all about hunting and survival. Sam usually prefers school over Dad’s plan, and the desire to forego it this time made Dean wonder what he missed at the old school.
He can hear the smile in Liz’s voice as she replies. “I know, but I’ve got a job that doesn’t give a lot of time for things like teaching. Besides, you wouldn’t want me as a teacher. I’m lousy with show and tell.” Dean grins at what it implies, casually flipping the bacon over with the spatula. “Listen, the school isn’t that bad. There’s sports to play in, and the kids are alright. How about you give it a try? Dean?”
Dean glances back at her from the corner of his eye. All he sees is Sam’s dropped shoulders and miserable features. “Come on Sammy,” He says helpfully, “You like school, remember?”
Sam shifts but he doesn’t say anything. “I guess.” He murmurs. Dean sets the food down to walk over the counter and ruffle his hair. “It’ll be better this time,” He says. And he adds mentally, if you don’t like it, I‘ll teach you more boxing. The words don’t registered in his mind - not until Dean is shoving the meat and veggies onto separate plates.
I didn’t forget, he tells himself, I’m just doing this for Sammy.
The siren doesn’t wail on the way to school on the following Monday. It’s a relief to Dean, but Sam is still fidgeting in the car. Dean rolls his eyes, and reaches around from the front seat to smack his brother on the head. “If that’s what you look like when you get inside, Sammy, I’m surprised the little dipshits” - Dean glances at Liz apologetically but she’s pretending to be too focused on the road to hear them - “don’t eat you alive.”
Sam has always had trouble fitting in. Dean isn’t blind to the bullie fights and calls from teachers. Dad never gets them, though but then, what else is new? Dean has always been the one to bail Sam out of whatever trouble happened to find him. Someone strikes at the nine year old, Dean strikes back.
Sam gives a helpless shrug, his gaze never leaving the window. Dean rolls his eyes again, shakes his head and turns to the front seat. Sam doesn’t want to hear him, and he won’t. The little brat has always been good at ignoring him.
When they approach the school, it’s smaller than most. Exactly what Dean expected. He’s the one who insists on walking Sam into class, letting Liz wait in the car. ‘Trust me,’ he’d said, and given her Sam’s bug-eyed look. Surprisingly, she does but how much, Dean doesn’t know. He does know that he doesn’t like how fast he’s earned that trust.
Dean pats Sam on the back, a grin on his lips as she shoves the boy inside the doors and takes off without a word. Sam knows the routine. He nods at a couple of the middle school girls as they pass by, his lips twitching as they giggle and rush past him.
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