Dinner at 3 (Destiel AU)

V

        The next couple weeks kind of carried out like that.  I would go to his work a few hours before his shift would end and talk to him.  When he finally would get off we'd drive to a park somewhere and talk and stuff.  It was nice.  Sam suspected something was going on but didn't talk about it after that day.  Things were getting better.  I was happier and my mom was spending more time at Ralph's.  Stress seemed to start rolling off my shoulders easily now.  Instead of bottling things up I would vent them out to Dean, I trusted him.  I was against co dependent relationships and the whole “You need some one to fix you” thing, but Dean made it easier to fix my self.  To repair myself.

        One Thursday morning I woke up at 5 AM as usual and started to get ready, but stopped, realizing that today was some stupid teacher planning day.  This could only mean one thing in the world of a freshman in high school.  7 extra hours of pure, concentrate, freedom from the binding chains of school.  I didn't really have any friends in the area to hang out with and I could only think of two things to do: Call Sam, or smoke and lay in bed writing/crying for 7 seven hours.  Surprisingly this was a hard decision to make; I honestly was leaning to the later choice.  I made a smart choice though and called Sam.  We talked a little and he asked if I'd come over.  I obliged but told him that it'd be an hour because of the long hilly walk.  He said that was ok because he had to do some stuff anyways.  Quickly, I packed my bag with my camera and my cigarettes and started the long hike to Sam's house.  I'd only been there once before, to drop Sam off from school (he went to art club once with me and needed a ride) and he was pretty shady about it then.  So it took me by a great surprise that he'd willingly invited me to his and his brother's dwelling.  It was several miles away, but I didn't mind; the sun was hidden behind a thick curtain of grey, yet it still wasn't too cold.  I hummed to a melody in my head as I strolled up a side walk a few streets from his house, trying to remember exactly where it was.  After a few good minutes I made my way up his gravel drive way to a shabby, ramshackle, dirt brown house.  The shutters hung loosely, and the window frames sagged.  Dean's impala sat almost awkwardly, misplaced, in front of the garage.  It was like a marble statue in the middle of ruins, its black hood glistening even in the fog.  I quietly knocked on the grey door.  Steps approached then cracked the wooden fixture on its rusty hinges.  Sam stood with an abashed look on his face, which I didn't get.  I found it stupid that he’d be embarrassed of something he couldn’t control.  Humans are strange creatures like that though, aren’t we?  We concentrate whether or not we have a nice house or not, rather than concentrating on whether we have a nice personality or not.  Not saying Sam didn’t have a great personality.  No, he had a great one, but sometimes his heart wasn’t in the right place.

"So you gonna invite me in?" I laughed.  He nodded and backed away from the frame.  The inside of the house was the opposite of the out side; well kept and clean.  From what I'd heard from Dean Sam did most of the cleaning in the house.  He spent most of his time trying to make it look like a clean and welcoming home.  . To make it his own, to make it seem normal.  ‘Cause really truly that’s all Sam wanted, normal.  Some day he'd give up on that dream, Dean would tell me.  But for now he allowed him to slip into his dream of a peaceful reality.    He shuffled to the kitchen, I followed closely behind

"Want some food?"  He asked hopping up on the tile counter.  

"Nah I'm good."  I smiled "Your house is really nice." I complemented with a genuine voice.  He smiled.

"Dwahh.  I don’t think so."  

"You should!  It's way cleaner than mine, and my mom has OCD."  I tried to comfort him.  But I was bad at that.  I was bad with people.

He hopped off the counter with a loud thump, and motioned for me to follow him.  I followed him out of the cramped kitchen and down a short hallway; past a bathroom, then Dean's room (which was a mess with posters and such hanging every where and a sleeping Dean in the center of a queen mattress on the ground), and into Sam’s room.  We sat on his bed and played the Nintendo 64 for like 2 hours until Dean knocked on the door frame, his chiseled body leaning against it.  I couldn't help but to take in his features; his grey sweat pants hung loosely on his hip bones and his abs were exposed because of his lack of upper garments.  I sighed a little taking in his God like body.