Chapter Text
He should have done this before now. Maybe he was stubborn. Maybe he was a coward. He was ashamed to think it might be the latter.
Dean hadn’t been truly angry with Sam. Hell, he’d been proud of him. Things had gotten out of hand that night when the news broke. When the family broke. When Dean’s heart broke. John had been unyieldingly resentful. As always, Dean had been immediately torn between the two, and his attempts at peacemaking had done nothing but drive him apart from them both. Dean would never understand his brother. But he wanted him to be happy. Unfortunately, Dean had never had much ability to stand up to their father, and when Sam had turned to him for support, he had faltered. It was unforgivable. Sam had looked at him with those pleading, puppy eyes, and John had looked at him with that hard, dark stare, and Dean had buckled.
Unforgivable.
His head was pounding. It had been a two day drive, and he hadn’t been able to sleep much on the way. He just kept running that last night through his head.
“It isn’t going to cost-”
“That’s not the point!” John had roared.
Dean’s stomach was churning by this point, the way it always did when the other two were yelling. He had been blown back by Sam’s revelation. Sam had worn a Washburn hoodie for so long, it was threadbare. He had assumed...He had convinced himself that Sam would be happy being a half hour away in Topeka, studying pre-law and coming home every weekend. Maybe even living at home and commuting for his freshman and sophomore years, and then the two of them could find an apartment to share, and Dean could find work in an auto shop, and…
And clearly that was Dean’s design, not Sam’s. It turned out that Dean’s dream was Sam’s backup plan. The realization had shattered his heart, and nearly made him throw up.
If only Sam had told him when it was just the two of them. If Sam had given him time to get used to the idea, maybe he would have been ready for John’s arguments, and he could have been more supportive. But he had been blindsided.
“Didn’t...didn’t even know...you were applying so far away,” he choked out beneath the shouts of the other men.
They didn’t even seem to hear him. “For one thing,” John had pointed out, “there are plenty of expenses involved in you being out there that have nothing to do with tuition!”
“Room, books and board, Dad!” Sam had shouted back. “That means they cover the meal plan, the housing-”
“And another thing!” John never waited for Sam to finish his arguments if he could help it. Dean suspected that was why Sam wanted to go into law, so that he could at last make an entire argument without someone interrupting him. “You have no car! How are you getting there?”
“I’ll fly out. I’ve got some money saved-”
“Dammit, Sam, you are not leaving the family like this! We are all that’s left; don’t you understand that? You have always been selfish!”
Dean had flinched. “Dad…”
“Selfish! Because I want the best goddamn education I can get? Because I want to get out of this city, and live my own life? Because unlike Dean, I don’t plan to live under your thumb forever?”
It felt like a slap in the face, but Dean knew it was just the anger talking. It hurt, but it was instantly forgiven. “Sammy, you don’t have to-”
John’s nostrils were flaring, and his voice got dangerously quiet. “Sam, you are not going to California. That’s final. I’d sooner see you not go to school at all.”
The older son was trembling. There was no way to make it stop. He just hoped no one could see it.
“I have done everything, been everything, you have ever asked of me! I will not give this up now.”
“You think you’re better than us,” John hissed. “You always have. You think you’re too good for this life.”
Sam was too good for this life, Dean knew. His chest was tight, and tears were burning his eyes and closing his throat.
“That’s not true!” Sam insisted. “But I want more! I can be more! Don’t you get it? Dad, this can’t be what you want for me!”
“It’s good enough for your brother!”
Sam shook his head, almost sadly. “No, Dad. It’s not. But...but I guess it’s what he wants. I want something different, and I’m going to get it. I worked my ass off for this. I’m going. I’m not asking permission. I’m just informing you of my decision.”
Something in John had snapped then. “If you leave now, you better never come back.”
Vomit rose in Dean’s mouth, and he choked it down. He watched the horror, the hurt, fill Sam’s eyes, and it devastated him. Slowly, Sam turned to him, and stared into Dean’s face. “Come with me,” he whispered hoarsely. Tears slid down his red cheeks. “Get out of here. I’m going, Dean. Come with me.”
Those eyes. God, those eyes.
Dean never should have looked back at his father.
John frowned severely. “Dean,” he breathed in that tone Dean had never been able to disobey.
He had stumbled backward two steps. “I’ll…” He swallowed hard. “I’ll help you pack.”
The betrayal in both sets of eyes was enough to tear his heart asunder. With four words, he had managed to shock and fail them both. No one could disappoint quite like Dean Winchester.
Sam’s last words to him were filled with hurt. “Don’t bother. I’m already gone.”
The door had slammed behind him, and he hadn’t seen his brother again.
The school refused to give him any information about Sam. They would not even confirm that he was a student there. He had scoured the internet for his brother for months, before finding a social media site that listed a Sam Wesson located in Palo Alto. He had become convinced that was his brother, though no photographs were posted. It was clearly a Stanford pre-law student. But Dean did not have the courage to contact him.
So here he was, in the beginning of December, standing lost in a campus cafe at Stanford University, feeling every bit the uneducated, stupid, dirty, poor white trash boy that he was and always would be.
But he gave the young man behind the counter a gorgeous grin, because he was Dean Winchester, and he had no intentions of letting the world see anything but his disarming charisma and charm. He was ninety percent crap. But he could hide that when he wanted to.
“So, to be clear...You want me to find a kid named Sam, and deliver him coffee every day during finals...but you don’t want me to tell him who it’s from.”
Dean’s head was throbbing, and his heart was racing, but he gave the guy a slow, easy smile. In his sweetest Kansan accent, he replied, “That all right?”
“Yeah, I mean…” The guy was blushing a bit, and it took just a moment for Dean to realize he was getting the same reaction from this man that he tended to get from women. Huh. A good looking gay guy. Even better. “We don't normally…”
“Look,” he said, leaning across the counter lazily, treating the man to his most handsome smile. He pulled a picture from his wallet to show Sam's senior photo. “Sam's kind of a nerd. And he's pretty much alone. Now that he's broken up with his boyfriend.” A little fib to press the issue home couldn't hurt.
The man stared at the picture. “Wow. I mean…” He cleared his throat.
“So I know the guy. He's going to be a wreck for finals week. He always was in high school. And I remember how he chugged coffee, vanilla latte crap, every day during his senior finals, and…” He was beginning to falter now. “I don't know. I just thought...He doesn't need his big brother bothering him. But I want him to have what he needs, and know somebody's pulling for him, you know? That somebody cares about him.”
“Well...I'm Cas. And I'm a sophomore, so I remember how freaking scary first year finals are. So...I mean, yeah, okay. Give me his name again, and I'll do what I can.”
Dean grinned sincerely this time. He caught the guy sneak another look down at the photo before he put it away. He had never noticed his brother was that attractive, but he guessed that and stubbornness were the most dominant of the Winchester genes. “Thanks, man. Really.” He pulled his cash from the wallet, then put it away. “I'm just taking it on faith that you're not going to take my money for nothing.” He handed him six twenties.
Cas shrugged. “No problem.” He handed back three of the bills. “It doesn't cost that much to drive to the dorms with a latte every morning. You want a message delivered with the coffees?”
He sighed. “You're a good guy, Cas,” he murmured. Then he frowned. “Yeah, okay. Give me a minute. Let me think.”
The young man smiled at him. “Tell you what. You write on six cups, and I'll deliver one a day to this Sam kid. That work?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”
Cas rummaged behind the counter, then handed Dean a permanent marker and a stack of cups. He pointed to the tables nearby. “When you're done, come on back. You drink coffee yourself?”
“Uh...Uh, yeah. Black.” Dean tried to juggle the cups and pen while taking out his wallet again.
“Dude. I can do a black coffee on the house. What kind of roast?”
Dean blinked. “Um...normal kind.”
Cas laughed, but not unkindly. “Yeah, okay. I'll bring it out to you.”
He stared at the back of the guy's head for a moment, then retreated to the nearest table. He bit into his lip, took a deep breath, and began to write.