I Want You to Want Me

“Dean,” a thirteen year old Sam Winchester began, “I can go by myself,” he pleaded despite knowing his words were meaningless to his sixteen year old brother. He didn’t doubt that Dean’s mind was probably processing his words as a long string of blahs.

“Relax, Sammy-”

“It’s Sam,” the younger boy interrupted. He was finally growing out of – what his brother affectionately called – his chubby stage and he didn’t need to be reminded of it right now. Not when they just moved to San Gabriel and Sam had the opportunity to leave the aforementioned name behind.

“-and enjoy life,” Dean said, not paying his brother much attention as he grabbed him by the neck and began ruffling his hair. Having already gotten out of classes earlier and able to drop his school things at their place – what little he decided to carry – he came back to walk with Sam, who had to drop off a few books with his tutor, which Dean learned was actually just a means for Sam to study more advanced material not offered in middle school. Though, Dean did admit – not to Sam, of course – that his intentions were purely based on meeting Linda Haywood out back by the bleachers…after cheerleading practice.

“This where you’re supposed to meet?” Dean asked, stopping to rest at the side of the main building to the entrance of the high school. He crossed his arms, leaning against the brick wall.

“Yeah,” Sam answered while checking his watch, the time a quarter after three. Lifting his head, he opened his mouth to tell Dean the time, when he heard his brother give a low whistle; the older boy now attentive as he removed himself from the wall.

Dean tilted his head slightly; eyebrows rising in approval as he spotted someone coming out of the building and heading in their direction. Maybe waiting for his brother’s tutor wouldn’t be such a bad thing now that he had something to occupy his time.

“…Dean…” Sam sighed petulantly, although he would deny the gesture as being so. He knew what his brother was doing; being on the stands one too many times and left to watch his brother attempt to flirt with girls and in the rare – but certainly not implausible – occasion with a few males. And as easy as it would be to ignore Dean’s special forms of communication, he knew for a fact his older brother’s attempts would fall flat; especially when it came to the guy Dean now had his eyes on.

“Dean,” Sam tried again, going against the vindictive side of him wanting to see his older brother embarrassed for a change. Because regardless of what happened, Dean was still his brother (not to mention the only means of conciliation between Sam and their father), but if Dean would rather push him aside and not heed to his warning, Sam wasn’t going to get in his way.

He shrugged as he allowed Dean to push him away once more, making it appear as though Dean was alone and had nothing to do with the gangly little boy standing suspiciously close to him.

Dean licked his lips in anticipation as he persuaded his brother to move to the side. He knew Sam could wait to the meet his tutor without him; one of the good things about the middle school being so close by: he could keep a close eye on Sam without actually having to keep a close eye on Sam.

Because now he could only hope Sam was well out of sight as he stalked toward the person lucky enough to be in his line of view. It was Greg Sanders – sickeningly and boyishly cute Greg Sanders – whose looks weren’t underappreciated by Dean. Normally, Dean preferred his share of ladies with whom he could make his exploits, but every so often there came a guy who would actually hold Dean’s attention.

The fact that Greg was Greg was the only reasoning Dean needed for it to make any kind of sense.

Only a couple of weeks into their newest relocation to California, Dean hadn’t really had a chance to become familiar with the place; more focused on helping his dad with tracking a renegade banshee that was haunting some old hotel. Since they travelled around different social circles – and in Dean’s case it was limited to easy dates with chicks…and Sammy – he only encountered Greg once (more like passed him in the hall actually) and saw him laughing with a few other people, humming a song from Bad Company.

When other kids their age were listening to ill produced pop songs furthering the problems of America’s youth by permeating recycled music, Dean thought it was nice to know that the Classics hadn’t all but died out. It was hard enough trying to mould Sam, who preferred the silence over listening to what he referred to as “noise”.

Blasphemy, really.

Though, it wasn’t hard to rid his mind of such heinous thoughts when he saw Greg coming closer. Dean couldn’t help the smirk that graced his lips; only slightly faltering when he thought of the Impala back at their transitory home (which was in walking distance of the school) and how it would have probably been easier to impress Greg with a muscle car behind him instead of standing somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk.

But any misgivings and brief – reasonably brief – lapses of self-confidence were tucked safely in the back of Dean’s mind; collecting in a small pile of things that happened to people other than himself. Because Greg was now well within distance, faded jeans fitting comfortably over what Dean knew from experience to be long legs; the hems of the jeans folding over red Converse shoes. It wasn’t Dean’s particular style choice, yet it was something easily overlooked when Dean noticed the Cheap Trick t-shirt Greg was wearing, which only seemed to sweeten the prospect of having entanglements with Greg. And though the band was on the more mellow side of Dean’s tastes, it did little to deter the fact that Cheap Trick was still a good band and Dean’s assumption that Greg would be something in the sack.

The only stipulation – that Dean knew of – seemed to be the fact that Greg was a senior and Dean was only a sophomore, a mere sixteen years old due to what it said on his birth certificate. And of course a piece of paper didn’t account for his emotional maturity, which he concluded put him at around the age of twenty...more or less. But Dean had never really let something as insignificant as age get in the way before.

Especially when someone like Greg Sanders was giving him a smile that even made Dean a little wobbly in the knees and forget all the clichéd pick-up lines he could muster; mind blank for a fleeting moment for the sake of relishing in the older boy’s features and the fact that he was walking straight toward Dean.

So, Dean couldn’t help but stagger when Greg stopped and looked right by him, that bright smile directed at no one else other than his little brother, who Dean had forgotten was still behind him.

“Hey, Greg,” Dean heard Sam say, waving at Greg with one hand and trying to gather his books in the other. Dean wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the fact that Sam’s tutor was Greg or the fact that Sam knew Greg. And though it was essentially the same thing, it was the subtle technicality that made all the difference and the reality that Dean was still too surprised to realise the difference didn’t really matter.

Sam deposited the two large textbooks he was fumbling with earlier into Greg’s waiting hands. “I didn’t know they’d get heavier over time,” Sam said, grunting when the books were finally out of his hands.

“That’s because when you go through it, you realise it’s just full of stuff you really don’t need to know,” Greg answered as he put the books in a dark, blue messenger bag, indulging in a light laughter that Sam joined in and made Dean feel as if he’d missed the punch line to a joke. “Thanks for being able to give the books back, though. I know I said you could borrow them over the weekend, but-”

“That’s all right,” Sam said, easily shrugging off Greg’s apology; the entire situation strange in Dean’s opinion.

“And you must be Dean,” Greg said, turning to the younger boy and shaking Dean out of his stupor.

“Huh?” Dean responded absently, mouth uncooperatively opening slightly without his consent. It wasn’t exactly the impression he wanted to make on Greg, but he was surprised the older boy knew him. “You know-” he began, coughing as he caught his voice rising precariously high.

Damn hormones.

“I mean,” he tried again in what he hoped to be a much lower voice, ignoring Sam rolling his eyes on the side. “You know me?”

“Yeah,” Greg said, his tone of voice suggesting that it was something Dean should have already known. “Sam talks about you all the time. Told me you liked Metallica. And I thought I was the only one who did around here.”

Maybe there is a God, Dean thought silently, his esteem for Greg only growing by the minute and his annoyance for Sam lessening just a little.

“He makes me listen to that same noise during tutoring,” Sam admitted.

“What can I say?” Greg said unapologetically as he shrugged his shoulders, “good music helps me study.”

A true smile beginning to form on his lips, Dean was ready to engross himself in a full-fledge conversation concerning the natural benefits of listening to real music when another voice alerted him to a presence around the corner.

“Hey, Greggo.” The voice came from a male who didn’t look the least bit familiar to Dean, who – despite not knowing the school and the area that well – had at least a good idea of who the students were.

“Hey,” Greg said more than just a little happily (in Dean’s opinion) as he gestured to the guy coming over.

Dean didn’t really have time to form an honest opinion about the newcomer, only knowing that he wasn’t Greg and he didn’t like the way said newcomer’s arm made its way around Greg’s shoulder.

“Guys, meet Nick Stokes. He’s-”

“The one who needs his books back,” Nick interrupted, looking pointedly at Greg, who simply rolled his eyes and whispered something in Nick’s ear...something Dean couldn’t hear.

“Anyway, this is Sam and Dean,” Greg introduced, his hand gesturing at the two brothers before turning to the male beside him; this time not lowering his voice. “Sam’s the one I tutor and Dean is his older brother.”

“Greg didn’t tell me he got them from you,” Sam said, looking at Nick with a newfound respect, the admiration in his voice painfully evident. “College books from an actual college student...”

Nick laughed, cheeks slightly reddening. “I’m only a freshman.”

Which explained why he hadn’t seen Nick around the high school, Dean inferred. He knew Sam’s tutor – now revealed to be Greg – took a couple of college courses, but he didn’t think about the possibility of him knowing people who went to the college nearby.

“Sorry,” Sam said, though the awe in his voice still lingered.

“It’s okay...I’ll make sure to give some of my old ones to Greg for you,” Nick offered, noticing how Sam’s eyes seemed to widen, “I know I won’t want to see them after exams.”

But before Sam could reply, Greg intervened, much to the relief of Dean, who was afraid his brother would ask for an autograph. “So, Monday at four, right, Sam?” Greg asked. “I would stay, but Nick’s dragging me to his football practice and that’s miles away.” Greg groaned although he didn’t appear too bothered by the prospect. And Dean couldn't help but notice that he didn’t seem too bothered by the fact that Nick’s arm was still around his shoulder, either.

“Right,” Sam said, nodding as he returned Greg’s smile; catching his brother’s thwarted expression in his peripheral vision, an expression on his face Sam hadn’t really had the chance to witness too often, if at all.

“Nice meeting you, Dean,” Greg said as he waved to Sam and Dean; Nick trying to guide him away while mumbling his own good-bye, “we’ll have to get together to trade music some time. Sam has my number.”

Thoughts of Linda Haywood now long forgotten, Dean only nodded, waving half-heartedly back at Greg. He sucked his teeth, placing his hands in his pockets as he turned around; not bothering to watch the older boys leave in the opposite direction and the arm that was now draped across Greg’s waist. Greg and that Vick – Rick – whoever guy – hadn’t said it in so many words, but their body language and behaviour around each other was all the proof he needed. That and the growing smile on his brother’s face which only made the whole affair seem like a not so roundabout slap in the face.

It would have probably been more bearable if he knew Sam’s annoying laughter wouldn’t be following him all the way home.