Round and Round
Title: Round and Round
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing and am making no profit whatsoever. It’s all Eric Kripke’s and the CW’s and blah blah blah. We all know who the real braintrust is around here.
Rating: PG-13 (for language and angst)
Spoilers: None. Set during Sam’s first year at Stanford.
Summary: Sam’s always wanted everything he can’t have.
Acknowledgments: First and always to hiyacynth who not only cheerleaded but was kind enough to cast a beta eye over this as well. Also to shanghai_jim whose enthusiasm for the previous story made this one possible. And, always and forever, to the baylorsrs for letting me camp out on their couch whenever I need to.
Author’s Note: This takes place after On the Run Driving In the Sun and while it mentions events in that story it stands on its own.
Sam ended the conversation with a vicious jab of his finger. He’d known something like this would happen. The minute Dean showed up outside of his last Friday class Sam had been sure that things would only go from bad to worse. He tossed the phone behind him, hardly registering the dull thump it made on impact with his mattress. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and made the break from his family absolute. There’d never been any hope, not really, that Dean would wise up and live his own life.
Before Sam could open his mouth, could even process the paradox that was his past appearing in his future, Dean had already smugly dismissed Sam’s friends and yanked him out of the flowing stream of co-eds. Dean had smiled-an old familiar smile that tied Sam’s stomach into knots for a multitude of reasons-and told him something about a hunt. The next thing Sam knew he was running from the cops, grave dirt caked in his jeans and wedged under his fingernails.
Of course Dean, the jackass, had gotten himself caught. Sam dug the heel of his palm into his forehead and sighed, a tension headache already banging away deep in his sinuses. How the hell was he going to get his damn fool brother away from the cops?
He pulled out his wallet. Without any help from the wan light filtering in from the street he fished out a battered business card. He’d carried it around for years, ever since those awful months they’d spent in Orange County. Dad had been hunting werewolves and Dean had been thrown in juvie leaving Sam alone in that craphole apartment. He’d had nothing to do but wait and worry and dismally watch sitcoms. He would’ve killed for Theo Huxtable’s problems.
After they’d finally met up with Dad and hightailed it across the country he hadn’t been able to throw the business card out. He could remember lying in bed on dark nights when Dad and Dean were off hunting, shadows dancing on the ceiling and the walls closing in. He would flick the stiff paperboard back and forth between his fingers and contemplate what ifs: what if they never came home, what if Mom had never died, what if, what if, what if. The future would stretch before him dark and terrifying, one hunt after another, town after town after town until neither of them ever came back. It had been those long, dark nights that had convinced him that he had to get out of that life, no matter the cost.
He stared at the business card now, its battered familiarity somehow comforting. He flipped it over and visually traced the time-worn phone number. His fingers twitched. The urge to pick up the phone and dial was stronger than it had been in years. Maybe this time Mr. Cohen really could help. Maybe they could finally let someone else solve their problems. Maybe they didn’t have to run anymore.
He shoved the card back in its place and tossed his wallet over to join his phone on the bed behind him. He knew the rule as well as he knew his own name, ‘We do what we do and we shut up about it.’ The only people they’d ever had were each other.
He needed to get Dean out of custody. He needed to finish the hunt they’d started. He needed to protect his own future, whatever the cost.
Sam propped his forehead in his hand and viciously searched for a way to make everything work. His mind rolled and bubbled while panic gnawed at his stomach but nothing, less than nothing, would come out.
He heard the scratching at the lock long before the door opened. As it creaked inward Sam was already resigned to what lay on its other side.
“Have fun escaping from police custody?” Sam couldn’t keep the sarcasm and exhaustion out of his voice, head still pillowed on his hand. Dean was never, ever going to change.
“You know it, little brother.” Sam looked up in time to catch a flash of that same old insufferable grin. “Easy cheesey.”
Sam stood, stretched upwards until he loomed over his brother. He hadn’t used his height this way since that last fight with Dad. He hadn’t been this pissed off since then, either. Anger strummed through his veins at the tone in Dean’s voice and the cocky smirk on his face. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wouldn’t. “You can’t come here anymore, Dean.”
Something flashed over Dean’s face too quickly for Sam to catch in the shadowed room before it was covered up with the insouciant quirk of an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Sammy?”
The deliberate use of the nickname only strengthened Sam’s resolve. “I can’t keep doing this. If I’d been picked up by the cops tonight that could’ve been the end of everything I’ve done here.”
Dean rolled his eyes, the tightness in his neck belying the breeziness of his tone. “Don’t be such a pussy. We saved some lives tonight. That’s worth the risk to your preppy reputation.”
Sam snarled. Dean just refused to get it. “One mark, one tiny little blemish on my record could ruin everything I’ve worked for, everything. This is my future on the line here, Dean.”
“This is your future?” Dean sneered. “This bunch of tight-assed, know-it-all snobs is your future?” Dean’s eyes narrowed and he stepped forward. “What about your family, Sam? Doesn’t that rate a notch in your ten-year fucking plan?”
“What did you think I was doing here? Going to summer camp?” Enough was enough. Sam was tired of dealing with this bullshit, sick to death of fighting for the safety and stability that everyone else took for granted. “I want something better for my life than Dad’s eternal, insane quest. I’m not going to waste anymore of myself on it than I already have.”
He wanted to say that he didn’t want Dean to waste anymore of his life either. He wanted to tell him that he lived every day with the fear that he was going to turn around and find out that Dean was dead and burned, everything he was quietly thrown away in some shitty backwater. He wanted to ask Dean to stay there, with him.
He didn’t open his mouth, the words wouldn’t come. Dean had already made his choice and it hadn’t been Sam.
Dean was suddenly very still, Sam couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. He took a step back, his jaw clenched and rigid. Sam knew that he had won. Sometimes winning left him feeling nothing but hollow.
“So that’s it.” Dean’s voice was low and tense, Sam could hardly hear it over the pounding in his ears. A hard grin broke over Dean’s face. It was the worst thing Sam had ever seen. “All right, then. I won’t stick around and inconvenience your life any longer. Take care of yourself, kiddo.” And then he was gone, the door shutting with a weary slam behind him.
Sam wilted. He stood there, stuck in that place, his head bowed, and pulled in deep breaths around the beating of his heart. He’d gotten what he wanted. He had to let Dean go, it was the only possible solution.
It might feel like he was cutting off a piece of himself now but he was sure it would pass. It was all for the best.
~~~
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing and am making no profit whatsoever. It’s all Eric Kripke’s and the CW’s and blah blah blah. We all know who the real braintrust is around here.
Rating: PG-13 (for language and angst)
Spoilers: None. Set during Sam’s first year at Stanford.
Summary: Sam’s always wanted everything he can’t have.
Acknowledgments: First and always to hiyacynth who not only cheerleaded but was kind enough to cast a beta eye over this as well. Also to shanghai_jim whose enthusiasm for the previous story made this one possible. And, always and forever, to the baylorsrs for letting me camp out on their couch whenever I need to.
Author’s Note: This takes place after On the Run Driving In the Sun and while it mentions events in that story it stands on its own.
Sam ended the conversation with a vicious jab of his finger. He’d known something like this would happen. The minute Dean showed up outside of his last Friday class Sam had been sure that things would only go from bad to worse. He tossed the phone behind him, hardly registering the dull thump it made on impact with his mattress. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and made the break from his family absolute. There’d never been any hope, not really, that Dean would wise up and live his own life.
Before Sam could open his mouth, could even process the paradox that was his past appearing in his future, Dean had already smugly dismissed Sam’s friends and yanked him out of the flowing stream of co-eds. Dean had smiled-an old familiar smile that tied Sam’s stomach into knots for a multitude of reasons-and told him something about a hunt. The next thing Sam knew he was running from the cops, grave dirt caked in his jeans and wedged under his fingernails.
Of course Dean, the jackass, had gotten himself caught. Sam dug the heel of his palm into his forehead and sighed, a tension headache already banging away deep in his sinuses. How the hell was he going to get his damn fool brother away from the cops?
He pulled out his wallet. Without any help from the wan light filtering in from the street he fished out a battered business card. He’d carried it around for years, ever since those awful months they’d spent in Orange County. Dad had been hunting werewolves and Dean had been thrown in juvie leaving Sam alone in that craphole apartment. He’d had nothing to do but wait and worry and dismally watch sitcoms. He would’ve killed for Theo Huxtable’s problems.
After they’d finally met up with Dad and hightailed it across the country he hadn’t been able to throw the business card out. He could remember lying in bed on dark nights when Dad and Dean were off hunting, shadows dancing on the ceiling and the walls closing in. He would flick the stiff paperboard back and forth between his fingers and contemplate what ifs: what if they never came home, what if Mom had never died, what if, what if, what if. The future would stretch before him dark and terrifying, one hunt after another, town after town after town until neither of them ever came back. It had been those long, dark nights that had convinced him that he had to get out of that life, no matter the cost.
He stared at the business card now, its battered familiarity somehow comforting. He flipped it over and visually traced the time-worn phone number. His fingers twitched. The urge to pick up the phone and dial was stronger than it had been in years. Maybe this time Mr. Cohen really could help. Maybe they could finally let someone else solve their problems. Maybe they didn’t have to run anymore.
He shoved the card back in its place and tossed his wallet over to join his phone on the bed behind him. He knew the rule as well as he knew his own name, ‘We do what we do and we shut up about it.’ The only people they’d ever had were each other.
He needed to get Dean out of custody. He needed to finish the hunt they’d started. He needed to protect his own future, whatever the cost.
Sam propped his forehead in his hand and viciously searched for a way to make everything work. His mind rolled and bubbled while panic gnawed at his stomach but nothing, less than nothing, would come out.
He heard the scratching at the lock long before the door opened. As it creaked inward Sam was already resigned to what lay on its other side.
“Have fun escaping from police custody?” Sam couldn’t keep the sarcasm and exhaustion out of his voice, head still pillowed on his hand. Dean was never, ever going to change.
“You know it, little brother.” Sam looked up in time to catch a flash of that same old insufferable grin. “Easy cheesey.”
Sam stood, stretched upwards until he loomed over his brother. He hadn’t used his height this way since that last fight with Dad. He hadn’t been this pissed off since then, either. Anger strummed through his veins at the tone in Dean’s voice and the cocky smirk on his face. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wouldn’t. “You can’t come here anymore, Dean.”
Something flashed over Dean’s face too quickly for Sam to catch in the shadowed room before it was covered up with the insouciant quirk of an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Sammy?”
The deliberate use of the nickname only strengthened Sam’s resolve. “I can’t keep doing this. If I’d been picked up by the cops tonight that could’ve been the end of everything I’ve done here.”
Dean rolled his eyes, the tightness in his neck belying the breeziness of his tone. “Don’t be such a pussy. We saved some lives tonight. That’s worth the risk to your preppy reputation.”
Sam snarled. Dean just refused to get it. “One mark, one tiny little blemish on my record could ruin everything I’ve worked for, everything. This is my future on the line here, Dean.”
“This is your future?” Dean sneered. “This bunch of tight-assed, know-it-all snobs is your future?” Dean’s eyes narrowed and he stepped forward. “What about your family, Sam? Doesn’t that rate a notch in your ten-year fucking plan?”
“What did you think I was doing here? Going to summer camp?” Enough was enough. Sam was tired of dealing with this bullshit, sick to death of fighting for the safety and stability that everyone else took for granted. “I want something better for my life than Dad’s eternal, insane quest. I’m not going to waste anymore of myself on it than I already have.”
He wanted to say that he didn’t want Dean to waste anymore of his life either. He wanted to tell him that he lived every day with the fear that he was going to turn around and find out that Dean was dead and burned, everything he was quietly thrown away in some shitty backwater. He wanted to ask Dean to stay there, with him.
He didn’t open his mouth, the words wouldn’t come. Dean had already made his choice and it hadn’t been Sam.
Dean was suddenly very still, Sam couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. He took a step back, his jaw clenched and rigid. Sam knew that he had won. Sometimes winning left him feeling nothing but hollow.
“So that’s it.” Dean’s voice was low and tense, Sam could hardly hear it over the pounding in his ears. A hard grin broke over Dean’s face. It was the worst thing Sam had ever seen. “All right, then. I won’t stick around and inconvenience your life any longer. Take care of yourself, kiddo.” And then he was gone, the door shutting with a weary slam behind him.
Sam wilted. He stood there, stuck in that place, his head bowed, and pulled in deep breaths around the beating of his heart. He’d gotten what he wanted. He had to let Dean go, it was the only possible solution.
It might feel like he was cutting off a piece of himself now but he was sure it would pass. It was all for the best.
~~~