Dinner at 3 (Destiel AU)

IX

  Dean strummed his long, rough fingers along my spine while I lay on his bed.  I decided to skip school that day. Well- it’s not like I had any choice, Dean was nagging me out the door, and he gave me these puppy eyes that could make an adult cry. There wasn't much point in going any way.  We decided to skip home coming too.  There wasn't much point in going; I hadn't bought the tickets, and neither of us had gotten our suits.  Sam wasn't going either.  He was sulking around in his room because his date left him the day before.  Anne and his' break up was a 'mutual decision'.  Anne seemed like a nice girl.  She wore preppy clothes and smiled at people in the halls.  Sam and her had been going out for a whole week (quite a long time for a high schooler) and decided to break up because Anne was moving away in a month.  Sam said she and him didn't want their entire relationship to be one big count down, but I think she really just wanted to go to the dance with Connor Mills.   He was the cutest boy in school, well besides me. Dean felt bad for his brother and being the big sweet heart he is, made us have a movie night.  It was fantastic.  We watched ‘The Outsiders’ and Dean made heaping bowls of popcorn for us.  I of course played my part and provided plenty of Pepsi from the corner store down the road.  We forgot about the things that worried us most and got lost in the cinematic experience, plump yellow puffs of popcorn, and the bubbling fizz of our drinks.  The outside world became something in the distance, a fuzzy thought, and in that moment we were the only things that existed.

      The next day was Saturday (obviously).  There’s not much point in going to school on Saturday, probably because there isn't class on Saturday. So I tried writing, but failed.  Dean came over when he woke up (which was at like 12, seeing that he's a typical teenage boy in the sense that he stays awake till 3 doing lord knows what, then wakes up at the latest point in the afternoon as possible.) and spent his free afternoon watching 'The Benchwarmers' with me, a movie best described as a motion picture masterpiece. I doodled little terrible drawings on the backs of the home work I avoided doing till last minute.  Half way through a sketch of one of the characters terrible hair, Dean’s phone started to vibrate, sending tremors through the class of my coffee table.  He grabbed it quickly and pressed the talk button, urgency filling his eyes.  I tried to assume it was his work, telling him to come in early.  But by the look on his face I knew it wasn’t.  No matter how much I tried to lie to my self, to construct a fantasy world where we spent our days lazily eating and watching the TV, in a world which Dean and Sam and I never experienced pain, I knew deep down this would never happen.  I had about as much luck as well… I don’t know.

Just assume that my luck was a dwindling by the second.

"Dad?"  He questioned leaning forward slightly on the couch.  I sat up giving him a concerned look.  Dean rarely talked to his father, and definitely not in front of me.  "What!? Where?"  He stood up and grabbed his

keys off the table.  "I'm on my way."  He said passively, and then shut the phone.  He turned to me his green eyes glossed over and red, as if he were going to cry.  This scared me.  Dean's the strong one, Dean doesn't cry.   Dean was the rock in the storm, the sails of the ship.  He was invincible.  But this- this was a lie I'd constructed inside my brain, to keep him out of harms way.  To convince myself he wouldn't be getting hurt if something ever happened to me.  To conceive the notion that nothing bad could ever happen to us and that we’d live happily

ever after.  Because sometimes when we love people we make up lies to protect ourselves and hurt them, even though we were intending the opposite.

"My Dad's in the hospital."  He explained.  He said it as if he were saying a fact in a class.  No emotion.  I guess he knew if he let loose one sliver of how he felt out into the world, the entire dam would come loose.  And so would he.

"Let’s go." I said swiftly standing up.  I could feel fear pulsating off of him and knew that'd be good for him to have me there.  I was in the same position several months ago.  I remember it clearly as if it had happened seconds

ago.

My brother, Gabe had crashed his bike, flipped it really.  My sister rushed us to the hospital where I stayed in the emergency room till 3.  He wouldn't let the doctors let me see him ‘cause he didn't want me to see him like that or something.

But I was panicking, crying.  I wanted to rip the paper off the walls.  I was so angry at him for being so dumb but it turned out he was fine.  His girl friend at the time picked him up and they left.

I still think about it

everyday.  The fact that I could have lost my brother rips me to shreds.   I can never help the thought that it was my

fault.

It creeps into my brain late at night like a thick, choking fog.

We hopped in his car and drove straight to the hospital.  We didn’t pick up his brother though.  Dean didn't want to worry Sam, and I didn't argue even though I thought it was a terrible idea. When we got there Dean ran straight to the check in desk.  His hands flurried through the paperwork the lady at the desk gave him, and he quickly skimmed out his signature.  Mid initial he was stopped by a little boy clearing his throat.  He looked about eight or nine; he had pale skin and beautiful eyes.  His eyes were a pale blue, swelled up and red, tears running out of them.  His dirty blonde hair was parted down the side, framing his slim face, sunken in eyes and prominent cheek bones.

"Umm, excuse me?"  He looked as though he was in pain as he spoke.  "Do either of you happen to be Dean Winchester?"

Dean turned to him softly and knelt down so he was eye to eye with the young boy. Even though he was in

extreme emotional pain, he saw a kid who seemed to be going through the same thing, and he threw out all of his emotions.  

"Yea? That's me."  He sniffled.  The little boy looked down at his red little sneakers and sniffled too, his breathing a bit ragged.

"I'm Adam." He said, as if Dean would instantly know what that would mean.  

"Ok... Buddy, where's your parents?"  Dean put his hand on the little kids small boney shoulder.  Adam's head shot up and tears started to pool out his eyes, uncontrollable sobs racking his tiny body.  A tall woman ran up to the boy,                 her short heels clacking against the tile. Her long brown skirt flowed behind her in rhythm with her fast paced steps. She placed her dark aged hands on Adam's shoulder from behind him.

"Hi, I'm Patricia Nunez from social services."  She said extending on of her hands out to Dean, “I'm working Adam's case."

"Ok... Well that's all fine and dandy but what's that got to do with me?"  Dean shook a bit, trying to keep his cool.

"I thought you knew..."  She said, taken aback and clicking her tongue softly.  Her wiry raven-black hair flung to her side in its braid. "Adam's your half brother."

Dean swallowed.  The little lump in his mouth bobbed up and down like the branches of trees in the wind.