Brother's Keeper
Written for Challenge #05: Father's Day over at writerverse. Concrit welcome!
Summary: Sam tries to cheer Dean up without killing him first.
Whenever Dean outdid himself in the jerk big brother department, Sam knew something had to be bugging the guy.
Dean was in stellar form that June day. He dropped Sam's laptop, blared Stone Age rock on the radio till the couple next door yelled, and damaged half the lamps in the motel room--all before they checked out in search of breakfast.
After they left town, Sam was silent for most of the drive, ignoring Dean's acting out like a teenager breaking curfew. Dean had been more or less like this ever since Sam reminded him May was over.
Why did Dean lock himself in a fortress of bloated ego whenever he felt low? Ticking people off wasn't exactly balm to the troubled soul.
But then, Dean only operated on cold logic when monsters were involved. Erase those from the equation, and the guy was a basketcase of volatile passions, with a smug grin on top.
The idea of a hunter facing horrors in the night without blinking, only to flinch at the sensitive little boy inside him by day, would have appealed to Sam's sympathy under normal circumstances.
But circumstances with Dean were never normal.
When Dean ordered Sam a burger drenched in mayo for lunch, after Sam's careful instructions to go easy on the stuff, Sam ran out of saintly feelings.
He broke the ice by throwing the untouched burger out the window as Dean revved up to speed on the highway.
"Sammy--"
"Dude, chill."
"Chill yourself."
"Yeah? Remind me, which of us has been the Grinch lately?"
"What are you getting at?" Dean shifted his grip on the wheel.
"I'm saying, chill. Something has you riled up, and since you've decided to keep it to yourself, you do that. Stop taking it out on the world in general."
Dean's jaw clenched.
Sam started to go on, then stopped. Dean was staring at a sign on the road ahead. At that high speed, Sam glimpsed one word only before they passed: Chelseaville.
The name seemed familiar, though he knew they hadn't been here before. Maybe another Chelseaville, back in the days when they moved from place to place with Dad.
Dad. June. Father's Day.
That was it! Dean had realized this would be their first Father's Day without Dad.
Why couldn't Dean make it easy and say, yo, I'm going to be a mess for a while, so I think I'll just zombie out until it's over, okay? No, the toughest person Sam knew had to go all drama-queen-that-listens-to-endless-guitar-solos on him.
There were still a few more days to go till Father's Day. Sam had to get his brother through this, without killing him first.
"Dean?"
"No, my name's Frodo now."
"Well, then, when we get further into town, why don't you drink a pint at the Green Dragon, while I wash the Impala? She's looking a little dusty."
Dean's eyes left the road for a second. Sam always called the Impala "the car" or "it"--never "she," as Dean always did with a fond reverence. Sam could almost hear him asking himself what was going on.
"Come on, Dean. You need time alone to distract yourself from the upcoming holiday, right? So have fun doing it!"
Dean's jaw relaxed. Sam couldn't see his brother's eyes, but he knew they were taking on that wells-of-sorrow look. Dean always looked that way during the rare moments when he realized what a jerk he really was.
"No, Sammy. I'll wash the car. You go grab a mayo-deprived burger."
Sam grinned triumphantly. "Only if you're paying."
"Shut up!" said Dean.
Summary: Sam tries to cheer Dean up without killing him first.
Whenever Dean outdid himself in the jerk big brother department, Sam knew something had to be bugging the guy.
Dean was in stellar form that June day. He dropped Sam's laptop, blared Stone Age rock on the radio till the couple next door yelled, and damaged half the lamps in the motel room--all before they checked out in search of breakfast.
After they left town, Sam was silent for most of the drive, ignoring Dean's acting out like a teenager breaking curfew. Dean had been more or less like this ever since Sam reminded him May was over.
Why did Dean lock himself in a fortress of bloated ego whenever he felt low? Ticking people off wasn't exactly balm to the troubled soul.
But then, Dean only operated on cold logic when monsters were involved. Erase those from the equation, and the guy was a basketcase of volatile passions, with a smug grin on top.
The idea of a hunter facing horrors in the night without blinking, only to flinch at the sensitive little boy inside him by day, would have appealed to Sam's sympathy under normal circumstances.
But circumstances with Dean were never normal.
When Dean ordered Sam a burger drenched in mayo for lunch, after Sam's careful instructions to go easy on the stuff, Sam ran out of saintly feelings.
He broke the ice by throwing the untouched burger out the window as Dean revved up to speed on the highway.
"Sammy--"
"Dude, chill."
"Chill yourself."
"Yeah? Remind me, which of us has been the Grinch lately?"
"What are you getting at?" Dean shifted his grip on the wheel.
"I'm saying, chill. Something has you riled up, and since you've decided to keep it to yourself, you do that. Stop taking it out on the world in general."
Dean's jaw clenched.
Sam started to go on, then stopped. Dean was staring at a sign on the road ahead. At that high speed, Sam glimpsed one word only before they passed: Chelseaville.
The name seemed familiar, though he knew they hadn't been here before. Maybe another Chelseaville, back in the days when they moved from place to place with Dad.
Dad. June. Father's Day.
That was it! Dean had realized this would be their first Father's Day without Dad.
Why couldn't Dean make it easy and say, yo, I'm going to be a mess for a while, so I think I'll just zombie out until it's over, okay? No, the toughest person Sam knew had to go all drama-queen-that-listens-to-endless-guitar-solos on him.
There were still a few more days to go till Father's Day. Sam had to get his brother through this, without killing him first.
"Dean?"
"No, my name's Frodo now."
"Well, then, when we get further into town, why don't you drink a pint at the Green Dragon, while I wash the Impala? She's looking a little dusty."
Dean's eyes left the road for a second. Sam always called the Impala "the car" or "it"--never "she," as Dean always did with a fond reverence. Sam could almost hear him asking himself what was going on.
"Come on, Dean. You need time alone to distract yourself from the upcoming holiday, right? So have fun doing it!"
Dean's jaw relaxed. Sam couldn't see his brother's eyes, but he knew they were taking on that wells-of-sorrow look. Dean always looked that way during the rare moments when he realized what a jerk he really was.
"No, Sammy. I'll wash the car. You go grab a mayo-deprived burger."
Sam grinned triumphantly. "Only if you're paying."
"Shut up!" said Dean.