Fic: A Moment Of Normalcy (In Our Life Of Chaos). SPN. Gen. PG
Took me like four hours, ripping my hair out, trying to come up with a title for this and it still sucks. *sighs*
Title: A Moment of Normalcy (In Our Life of Chaos)
Author: felisblanco
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC
Rating: Gen. PG?
Word count: ca. 10.000
Summary: It's junior prom and Sam's got a date. What the hell does he do now?
Author’s note: This was written for crazyjoyfulgirl as a birthday present and even if it was almost two months ago I hope she still wants it. It’s gen but the way it feels in my head it’s more of a pre-Wincest. See, this was supposed to be a stand-alone but somehow in my head it started to tie in with The Weirdness of Normal, and even more another story I’m writing that is like a branch from that one. So I guess this means I’ve created a verse but I have no idea what to call it. Anyway, none of that really matters for this fic. Just… enjoy.
Beta’d by candygramme. Thank you, darling!
Sam hadn’t really planned to go to the prom. This new school… Well, it sucks. Three months, and he still hasn’t made a single friend, which is just weird for him. Usually he makes friends on his first day, something that Dean rolls his eyes at since his way of dealing with his schoolmates is to piss off the guys, usually by sleeping with their girlfriends. Or it was. Dean’s been out of school three years now and is showing no signs of wanting anything more to do with it. It’s all just about the hunt now, and man is Sam sick of it. Plus he… well, he misses his brother. For all his faults at least with Dean around Sam wasn’t this damn lonely. And even if he hates to admit it, Dean was probably a big part of why some people were drawn to Sam in the first place. Especially the girls.
But not in this school. Here he’s still a nobody, a geek, a teacher’s pet - if anything. He knows half the students in the school by their names, but not even the teachers seem to remember his. For once Sam can’t wait for them to move on.
But then there is this. Prom. Tonight. And despite everything he really wants to go. Trouble is, the only girl he’s interested in is Brooke Tanner, and she already has a boyfriend. Wayne Allen, a big jerk jock, and she deserves so much better, because she’s the most beautiful girl Sam has ever seen. Blond hair, slim waist, and a radiant smile that makes his heart flutter. So far out of his league he hardly even dares to look at her. And if he can’t have her… Well, he’s not going.
Except when he got to school this morning it was vibrating with the news of Brooke and Wayne’s break-up. The story went he’d accidentally sent her text messages he’d been writing to some other girl, about a blowjob of all things. It was like a soap drama, and if Sam wasn’t so relieved Wayne was out of the picture he’d be shaking his head and laughing his ass off. So yeah, he kinda feels sorry for Brooke, but Wayne is an asshole, and it was bound to happen anyway, sooner or later. In fact, the timing couldn’t have been better.
So Sam’s been lurking around all day, waiting for an opportunity to approach her, but until now it’s been impossible. She’s always with her group of girlfriends, usually giggling and talking about whatever it is girls talk about. Make-up probably, although today they’ve spent most of their time hugging and wiping tears, eyes glaring at any guy that comes within a five mile radius. They’re like a swarm of wasps, hissing their anger at the male population as a whole, and Sam has dealt with enough angry creatures to know not to poke that particular nest with a stick.
But her friends just left, and she’s standing there, as usual waiting for her mother to pick her up. Her shoulders are hunched, and she’s pouting adorably. It’s now or never. Sam’s only got this one chance, because Dean’s going to be here any minute, and if she turns him down… Well, Sam’s not having big brother witnessing that.
Sam takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
She looks up as he comes closer, a frown creasing her pretty face when she sees that he’s heading her way. Two feet away he stops and gives her the most innocent smile he can master. Dean says he can charm the wig off old ladies, (not that he ever would!) and even if that’s an exaggeration, he knows he has a way with people, making them trust him.
Teenage girls don’t seem much like real people though.
“Hey.”
She’s still frowning, chewing her gum slowly. The sun bounces off her blond hair, and she smells like cherries and spring. “Hey.”
He gives her another smile, heart hammering in his chest. “So, I was wondering. Are you… I mean, wouldyouliketocometothepromwithme?” The words rush out, and he can feel himself blushing. God, she must think he’s a moron.
She raises her eyebrows and snaps her gum. “Do I know you?”
Wha-? His world plummets into darkness. “Er… It’s Sam. Sam Winchester. We have physics together. I was your lab partner that one time…”
His voice trails off as her eyes wander away, disinterested. Dammit!
“Anyway, thought I’d just ask. No problem.” He studies the toes of his sneakers for a moment then nods awkwardly. “Ok. I’ll just…”
“Is that your ride?”
His head snaps up at her words to find the Impala parked by the curb, Dean watching him with a smug smile on his face. Damn. How could he not have heard him coming, with all the rumbling that engine does? “Yeah. Listen, I gotta go so-”
“Nice car.”
Of course. He can hardly keep from rolling his eyes. Why does he even bother trying anything when Dean is around, or even within a thirty miles radius? “Yeah, sure. It’s an Impala. 1967.” And that’s Dean. 1979. Isn’t that what you’re really after?
“You get to drive it?”
“What are you doing? Slow down. You’re abusing the damn stick. It’s not a fucking video game, Sam! Dude, watch the road! Oh c’mon! If you wreck her I swear to God I will kill you and salt and burn your body before the fucking engine cools off. Christ! You call that driving? Earth to Sammy, the light is green. It’s gre- Ok, now it’s red, and then you wanna go? Jesus! Are you trying to get us killed?”
Sam shrugs. “It happens.”
She nods, snapping her gum once again. “Okay then. Pick me up at seven.” She opens her schoolbag and rips a page out of her notebook before scribbling down her address. When she hands it to him she looks him over, scrunching her nose slightly. “You’ve got a tux, right?”
“Of course.” He’s numb, not sure whether he’s happy or insulted. He’s got a date but it’s pretty obvious it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the car. Which is weird because she didn’t even mention Dean.
“All right. See you.” She bounces down the steps to her mother’s BMW as it swings in to the curb, and Sam is left standing in the school lot, his palms suddenly sweaty, his stomach lurching.
He has nothing to wear, Dean will never ever lend him the car, and to top it all off he just remembers he can’t dance. At all.
He’s so dead.
He makes his way slowly down the steps and over to the passenger side of the Impala where he slides in, ignoring Dean’s smirk.
“Sammmyyyy…” Dean whistles appreciatively. “Dude, you pick ‘em right. That one’s a real looker.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh come on, I’m paying you a compliment.” Dean slaps Sam’s thigh and just laughs when Sam pushes him away. He starts the car, checking the side mirror before swinging away from the curb. “So what was that all about? She steal your homework or something?”
His first instinct is to growl, “No, it was nothing,” but he stops himself at the last minute, looking over at Dean. He seems genuinely interested for once. Of course there’s a girl involved, and girls are pretty much all Dean thinks about, besides hunting. But he’s been busting Sam’s balls about staying home or at the library all nights, urging him to go out and ‘live a little,’ so maybe he’ll be willing to help after all.
“It’s the prom. Tonight. And I kinda asked her.”
Dean blinks in surprise and then his face splits in a big grin. “Sam! Ro-me-o!” He chuckles. “She’s so out of your league, bro. How on earth did you pull that one?”
God, he knew this would happen. Dean can be such an asshole. “Forget it.” Sam turns to stare out the window, shoulders hunched up to his ears.
“Hey, I’m just yanking your chain.” Dean reaches over to ruffle Sam’s hair, and for once he doesn’t duck. “Dude, this is great. Prom, man. They always put out at prom.”
“You’re such a perv, Dean.” Sam smiles, but his smile soon slips away. “And I’m not going.”
“Why? She turn you down?”
Sam snorts. “No. She said yes.”
“Go Sammy. So what’s the problem?”
Sam turns to his brother, the frustration making him angry. “I’ve got nothing to wear, Dean. What am I supposed to wear? This? Or the shirt with the bloodstains on the sleeve? Or your old pants that are too damn short? Or… Oh! I know! The jacket dad gave me for my birthday that smells like an old hobo died in it. Bet she’ll love that.”
“Hey, at least you got a birthday present! All I got was-”
“And know what?” Sam goes on, too frustrated to listen. “The only reason she said yes was because she thinks I’m picking her up in the Impala. Which-”
“Ok.”
That gets his attention. He frowns and leans back, staring at Dean. “What?”
“You can have the car.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’ expression. “Dude, ‘course I’ll lend you the car. What, you really think I’d say no?”
“Uh… Well, I thought…” Sam has the decency to look chastened. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Sammy, my boy, don’t I always look out for you?” Dean almost sounds hurt. “And we’ll get you something to wear. Don’t worry.” He glances over at Sam and smiles. “It’s your prom, Sam. It’s a big thing. And you’re going with a girl which... hey! Who would have guessed?”
“Shut up.” But Sam’s smiling, the ten pound rock in his stomach suddenly replaced by butterflies.
Dean swings the car around at the next turnoff, and they head into town. Sam figures they’re going to the Goodwill store where they buy most of their clothes, but Dean doesn’t even glance at it, just drives on, finally parking outside the mall.
“Dean?”
Sam gives him a worried look, but Dean ignores him and just exits the car, tapping the roof impatiently. “Come on.”
They can’t afford this. Sam knows they can’t afford it, but he follows Dean into the mall anyway. He’s never been here before, but Dean seems to know his way, which makes Sam wonder what the hell his brother gets up to while he’s at school.
When he sees where they’re heading he grabs Dean’s arm, hissing “Dean!” into his ear, and Dean gives him a frown. “What?”
“We can’t! Dad will kill us.” Even if they rent the cheapest one it’s still going to cost them over a hundred dollars.
Dean’s eyes harden, lips straightening into a line. “My money, not his.”
He shrugs free of Sam’s grip, and before Sam can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Dean’s in the store, looking around with interest. All Sam can do is follow him, feeling completely out of place in his torn jeans and shabby sneakers. A clerk who looks like he belongs in a James Bond movie suddenly pops up by their side, a frown of disdain on his face.
“Can I help you? Sirs.” The last word drips with sarcasm, and Sam cringes, but Dean just gives the clerk a hard look and nods toward Sam.
“The boy here needs a monkey suit for prom. Think you can manage that?”
The man lets his gaze run over Sam and then back to Dean before tilting his head. “And how will you be paying, sir?”
Dean gives him a glare that so far Sam has only seen used on ghosts that have really pissed him off. “With money. What are you implying?” And to Sam’s horror Dean cocks his eyebrow, stance almost obscene when he shifts his hips. “Didn’t think this was that kind of establishment.”
The man pales and steps back. “I beg your pardon!”
“Pardon accepted.” Dean shrugs and fishes a bundle of notes out of the pocket of his jeans, smiling coldly. “Now how about that tuxedo?”
The man looks like he swallowed a lemon, but he gives Sam a nod to the inner part of the store, and Sam smiles awkwardly at him before following him toward the selection of formal wear.
Twenty minutes later he’s staring at a complete stranger in the mirror. The shirt and jacket actually fit his long arm and the pants brush the tops of his shoes perfectly. The vest is black and makes his scrawny frame look muscular and grown up. He’s wearing shoes so black and shiny he can see his own reflection in them. He’s not sure if he feels embarrassed or giddy.
The curtain rustles, and he jumps as Dean’s deep voice brings him back to the real world, “Sammy? You still in there?”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
God, what are they doing? Dean can’t have enough money for this. Where did he get all that money anyway? He just walks around with that amount of cash on him? Something’s not right.
“Come on out. Let me have a look at you.”
Sam’s eyes widen in the mirror, and he has this ridiculous urge to cover himself. “No. I look weird.”
There’s a short pause, and then Dean’s voice comes back sounding increasingly annoyed. “What do you mean you look weird? They don’t fit? I told him…”
The curtain is suddenly swept aside, and Sam turns around to find his brother staring at him, mouth falling slightly open.
Damn. He knew it. He looks stupid, and weird, and everyone’s gonna laugh at him. He can feel himself blushing, tears prickling behind his eyes. “Dean! Get out!”
“Man.” Dean just stands there, blinking dazedly. Then his gaze travels slowly down before shifting up again. His eyes shine with something akin to reverence. “Sammy.”
Sam bites his lip, and turns around to stare at himself in the mirror, tugging at the sleeves of the starched shirt. “I know! I look stupid,”
“No. You look…” Dean laughs suddenly, a shaky laugh filled with wonder. “You look great, Sam. I just...” Dean’s voice trails off, and when Sam meets his eyes in the mirror they look almost sad. “Guess you’re growing up, little brother.”
Sam stills, not sure how to respond. He’s confused why him growing up is a bad thing. Isn’t dad constantly telling him he should grow up and be more like Dean? “I’m seventeen, Dean. I’m taller than you.”
“Are not,” Dean answers automatically but without feeling, his eyes still roaming Sam’s reflection in the mirror. It’s becoming uncomfortable, and Sam’s skin prickles from the unusual attention he’s getting. He’s always catching both Dean and dad watching him, but this is different. This has nothing to do with how well he’s handling a gun or if his movements are fluid enough when they’re sparring. This is more like being stared at like a freak in a cage, and it’s making him twitch.
“What’s wrong?”
Dean seems to jerk awake, eyes snapping from the mirror, and he takes a step back. “Nothing.” He turns around and slips out of the small change room, pulling the curtain tight. “Get changed. We gotta go.”
“Dean, wait.”
His brother’s head pops back in, frowning. “What?”
Sam bites his lip, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. “This is too much, Dean. We can’t afford this.”
Dean just rolls his eyes at him and snorts. “I told you, I’ve got it covered.” He gives Sam another look over, then winks. “Now get out of the monkey suit, before that little weasel makes a move on your handsome ass.”
“Huh?” Sam frowns in confusion.
“You know. The clerk? He…” Dean rolls his eyes. “Nevermind. Hurry up.”
By the time he’s dressed, Dean’s already waiting by the door, and the clerk hurriedly scoops the clothes and shoes into a large bag, handing it to Sam with a cold smile. Sam doesn’t even bother to smile back just follows Dean out of the store and through the mall, feeling oddly relieved when they’re once again in the car.
He’s just about to question Dean further when Dean says, “What color dress is she wearing?”
Sam blinks, the question catching him completely off guard. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Samsamsam.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to give her one of those flower things, dude. A corsage. Girls expect that.”
Ok, when did his brother turn into Martha Stewart? “Dean, you never went to your prom. How do you know all this stuff?”
Dean shoots him a glare. “What? You think I’m a Neanderthal or something? If there’s one thing I know it’s dating.”
Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, right. You don’t date, Dean. You hook up, sleep with the girl and then ‘forget’ to call her.”
“I’m spending hundreds of dollars on you,” Dean growls, without looking at him. “So reel in the attitude, Sam.”
Sam’s mouth falls open, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “What? Are you insane?”
“Nope. I’m the awesomest big brother ever.” Dean shoots him a grin. “And don’t you forget it.” At Sam’s incredulous look Dean raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Sam, what did you think this would cost? You’ve got to pay for dinner too. Where you taking her?”
“Di-what? Dinner?” Oh God. He’s never going to make it through this.
Dean sighs. “All right. I’ll make a few calls. Don’t worry.”
Sam falls back in his seat, staring at his brother. He feels suddenly nauseous, his stomach clenching into a knot. “How we gonna explain this to dad?”
“We’re not. None of his business.” Dean shifts in his seat, refusing to look at Sam. “He won’t be home until next weekend anyway.”
Sam sits silent for a while, the knot in his stomach tightening. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“This why you didn’t go to your prom? Because dad wouldn’t…?”
“Dude! Like I would be caught dead wearing one of those.”
Dean snorts but there’s a hard look in his eyes that makes Sam wonder. Even though, yes, a tux on Dean would be totally lethal, but, he gathers, more to the town’s female population than to Dean’s cool.
“’Kay, there’s a florist.” Dean swings the car into the small parking lot and gets out. “We’ll buy a white one. Goes with everything.”
Yep, Dean’s thought way too much about this for a guy who wouldn’t be ‘caught dead’ at a high school prom. Four years ago… wasn’t that the spring dad left Sam with Pastor Jim for close to a month while he and Dean chased a werewolf across three states? Dean almost missed his graduation.
“Dean…”
“You coming?”
Sam sighs and follows Dean into the small shop. The girl’s eyes light up as they approach, and Sam spends the next twenty minutes studying ten different types of roses, while she explains the language of flowers to a suddenly horticultural enthusiastic Dean. They leave with a white corsage in a plastic box, and the girl’s phone number nestling in Dean’s jeans pocket.
Half past six, Sam feels like he’s about to throw up, he’s so nervous. Dean is sitting on the bed, calmly cleaning his guns, glancing up every now and then to watch Sam tug at the collar of his shirt and adjust the waist of his pants. He can’t remember ever wearing clothes that actually fit him before. Through the years they’ve been hand-me-downs from Dean, too big and already worn to the thread, but after his latest growth spurt dad’s been forced to buy him clothes of his own. They’re still always used, and either the sleeves are too short, or the waistband of the pants too wide. Apparently Goodwill doesn’t stock up on clothes in his size.
He sits down on the other bed to put on the shoes. The leather squeaks as he moves his toes experimentally. It feels weird wearing shoes that aren’t sneakers or boots, and he just hopes he won’t trip in them. When he looks up he catches Dean watching him with a strange look in his eyes. Sam raises his eyebrows, daring his brother to laugh, but Dean only puts the shotgun aside and stands up.
“Come on, give me the tie.”
Sam stands up and pulls the bowtie from the pocket of the dinner jacket, handing it over to Dean. He stands still, chin held high as Dean loops the tie around his neck, tying the bow with expert confidence, like he does this every day. When Dean’s fingers still, resting lightly on the skin above the collar of Sam’s shirt, he looks down, again catching that strange look in Dean’s eyes. Dean’s fingers linger on Sam’s neck, the tips warm and smelling of gun oil.
“Is it straight?”
Dean blinks and then slowly pulls his hand away. “Yeah. Not too tight, right?”
Sam reaches up and tugs experimentally on his collar. “Dunno. Am I supposed to be able to breathe?”
Dean’s eyes widen, and he swats Sam’s hand away to untie the bow, but Sam laughs and grabs Dean’s wrists, pulling them away. “I’m kidding. It’s fine.”
“Funny boy, Sammy.” Dean gives him a glare and steps back, looking him over. “Okay. I think you’re ready.”
“Yeah?” Sam swallows, the tie suddenly feeling way too tight. “What time is it? I don’t want to be too early.”
“Don’t wanna be too late either. You got her address?”
Sam pulls out the ripped off sheet of paper. Not that he really needs it. He’s followed her home once or twice without her knowing. Just because it was dark, and a girl like that shouldn’t be walking home alone late at night. That’s all. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Dean nods, lips pursed. “Good.” He turns around and fishes his wallet out of his jacket pocket, pulling three twenty-dollar bills out and thrusting them into Sam’s hand despite his protests. “This is for dinner. No alcohol, Sam, you hear me? Don’t even try it. I got you a table at Donnelli’s down on Fifth. Ask for Denise, and she’ll take care of you.”
Sam feels at loss for words, his throat suddenly dry and tight. “Dean. I’m…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean frowns in thought then digs into the breast pocket of his jacket and hands Sam a couple of condoms. “Here. Take those.”
“Dean!” Sam can feel his cheeks burning, and he can’t meet his brother’s eyes. “I’m not gonna…’
“You never know. Better safe than sorry.”
Sam glances up, expecting to see Dean leering, but his face is completely serious.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I mean for everything.”
Dean scowls. “Dude, what? You gonna cry? ‘Cause that will stain the silk.”
“Shut up.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
They grin, and then Dean is shoving him out the door with promises of ripping out his spine if he puts a single scratch on his girl. He gives Sam instructions about the accelerator, and gear stick, and not to touch his tapes or he’s dead, and then he closes the car door firmly. For a minute it looks as if he’s going to say something else, but then he just nods and slams the roof with his hand before stepping aside.
Sam gives him a smile and starts the car, puts her into gear and pulls out of the parking lot, making sure not to give her too much gas or spin the tires on the gravel. If he weren’t about to throw up with nervousness he’d feel like the king of the world.
It’s starting to get dark, and he drives carefully through town, stopping dutifully at every red light and staying well within the speed limits. The corsage lies on the seat beside him, and in just a few minutes She will be sitting there. With her beautiful smile, and pretty hair and smelling fresh and clean like only girls can. He still can’t believe this is really happening. Wouldn’t be happening at all if it weren’t for Dean.
His smile falters slightly when he thinks of all the money Dean just spent on him. He’s been giving Dean a lot of shit lately, for no special reason. He’s just starting to feel so trapped in this life they live, and when dad is away the need to vent is even stronger. Why are they doing this? Why can’t they settle down? Why can’t dad get a real job instead of scamming credit card companies and forging checks? Dean should be in college, learning to be something more than this. Sam should be able to join the drama club but can’t because they might leave any minute. Everything is so unfair, can’t Dean see that?
Dean just grunts and pretends not to listen, but Sam can see his jaw ticking, and it only makes him more frustrated. He’s slammed a dozen doors and yelled more than his share of swearwords, but the only reaction he gets out of Dean is the occasional glare and at most an “Are you done, Sammy? Can I get back to watching my program now?” before he turns back to the television, upping the sound, until Sam can’t hear his own thoughts anymore.
More than once Sam has accused them, accused Dean, of being selfish and a bully. Of not caring about Sam’s feelings or what Sam wants or needs. That stings Dean worse than anything, and Sam knows it, can see the hurt look in Dean’s eyes just before he manages to shut it away. But however much Sam pushes and provokes Dean he never rises to the challenge, instead fights harder to ignore Sam’s tantrums, which of course pisses Sam off even worse.
And then Dean turns around and does something like this, blowing every presumption Sam has made of him out the window. The more Sam thinks about it, the more he wonders if Dean had this planned. If he’d been saving up money in case Sam decided he wanted to go to the prom.
As hard as Sam tries he can’t remember Dean even talking about his own prom, or whether he wanted to go or not. School activities weren’t really Dean’s thing; in fact he’d hardly bothered to show up for class, let alone stayed longer for anything else. Only thing he’d signed up for was football and then got himself kicked off the team for breaking someone’s collarbone when tackling him to the ground. Guess high school football wasn’t ready for Dean Winchester.
But it made sense that dad hadn’t wanted to spend money on something he considered unnecessary. In fact, when Sam thinks about it, there never seems to be money to spend on anything they want, and still dad manages to save up for a new gun or silver bullets. Yeah, so probably silver bullets have more use than a Game Boy or the new Harry Potter book but still. It kinda sucks.
So Dean had planned this. Had saved his money, probably by hustling pool, but that didn’t matter. Sam knew they were always hard up for money, and whenever Dean had a little extra he liked to go out and spend it at the nearest bar, picking up girls and relaxing with a beer and some shots. Except this time he hadn’t. This time he’d saved it for God knows how long, just so he would be able to give Sam this. One night of normalcy. For a second Sam almost turns back, wondering why the hell he’s going off to be the stand-in guy for some girl who can’t even remember his name when he has the best brother in the whole world waiting for him at home. But just then he’s at her house, and all rational thoughts are replaced by utter and plain panic.
Fighting it down he takes a deep breath, gets out and starts walking toward her house, only to run back, cheeks burning, to fetch the corsage he’d forgotten on the passenger seat. He pauses before her door, feeling more nervous than he can ever remember being. This is worse than any werewolf or poltergeist. This is unknown territory.
Girls? Are the most frightening creatures in the world.
His hand shakes slightly as he raises it and knocks on her door. Then he realizes there’s a bell, so he pushes the button as well, jumping slightly as bells start chiming on the other side of the door. He waits, the butterflies in his stomach turning into angry bees, sweat running down his back. Then the door is pulled open and a short stocky man with thick glasses glares out at him. “Yes?”
“Erm… Mr. Tanner? I’m Samuel Winchester. I’m here to pick up your daughter.”
The man frowns and raises his eyebrows, then looks past him, and his eyes widen. “Is that a ’65 Chevy Impala?”
“A ’67 actually.” What is it with this family and their obsession with cars?
“Well, how ‘bout that.” The man nods approvingly and after giving the car a long and loving gaze he turns around and hollers “Brooke!” into the house.
Sam is trying his hardest to appear cool, but when Brooke’s father opens the door further, and he catches sight of her walking down the stairs, he almost lets out a whimper. God, she’s so beautiful! She’s wearing a sleeveless, powder-blue dress with a row of tiny pearls at the neckline, her blond hair is swept into a chignon on her head with ringlets framing her face that is looking more beautiful than ever.
“Hello, Sam.” She smiles, and his stomach does a flip-flop. She remembered his name! She looks pointedly at his hand, and he suddenly remembers the corsage, handing it to her with an embarrassed grin. After some fumbling it’s placed firmly around her wrist, and he takes her arm when she offers it to him.
“Now you take care of my daughter, young man. And easy on the gas.” Brooke’s father gazes past them at the car, looking like he almost wants to trade his daughter for it.
“Yes, sir.”
Sam gets Brooke settled in the passenger seat and runs around to the other side, sliding in behind the wheel.
“You like Italian, right?”
“Sure.” She smiles, and even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes he’s too giddy to care.
They get to the restaurant fifteen minutes later, and when he asks for Denise, a pretty young brunette shows up with a big smile on her face. They get a great table by the window, and Brooke for a moment seems impressed. Which only increases when Denise declares that they have their menu already set up ‘according to Mr. Winchester’s wishes’ and would they like a drink before dinner? Non-alcoholic, of course.
Sam tries to look nonchalant while on the inside he’s reeling. How the hell did Dean manage to pull this off with such a short notice?
While they wait for their drinks his mind is going at a million miles per minute, alternating between thinking about Dean and trying to come up with a suitable topic for conversation. What do you talk about with girls anyway? Not like he can discuss ghosts and demons.
“So, you like cars?”
She looks up from studying her nails, grimacing slightly. “My dad does.” She shrugs. “He has this thing for American classics. Been lecturing me about them since I was five or something.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to say. “It’s my brother’s. Well, it used to be my dad’s but he gave it to Dean a few years ago.”
She frowns. “Dean’s the guy who was driving it?”
Here it comes. “Yeah. That’s my brother Dean.” He waits for the stars to start sparkling in her eyes, but she only nods and picks at her napkin. Huh.
“So this prom…” he starts, desperate to fill the silence. “Should be fun.”
“Yeah, sure.” She looks up as Denise brings their drinks, and they keep silent until she backs away with a wink at Sam. He blushes, wondering what on earth Dean told her.
Sam takes a sip from the orange drink, blinking at the fresh, sweet taste. Brooke looks satisfied as well, and he gives her a smile while continuing his search for a topic. He hasn’t been to the movies in ages, the only music he listens to is Dean’s mullet rock - and occasionally dad’s country when John gets tired of the heavy metal - and they have no friends in common. Sports? No, girls don’t like sports, do they? More car talk? Nah, she sounded pretty sick of that.
‘Girls like to talk about themselves,’ a voice suddenly whispers in his head. It sounds an awful lot like Dean’s, and Dean usually knows what he’s talking about when it comes to the fairer sex. So how does he get her to talk about herself?
“So, Brooke… any plans for the summer?”
She bites her lip, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy. “I was going to spend it with Wayne but now…”
Damn. Foot. In. Mouth. Think!
“You know, I can’t believe he did that to you. I mean, seriously, why would he want someone else when he has you?”
“I know!” She looks up at him with tear-brimmed eyes. “He tried to deny it, said he loved me and would never cheat on me. But I saw the message myself! God, he’s such an asshole!”
Sam nods. At least that they can agree on. “Yeah. Totally. And so stupid to think you wouldn’t find out.”
‘What are you doing?’ Dean’s voice yells at him. ‘This is not seducing! This is being her BFF. Dude, you’ll never get in her pants if she thinks you’re her girlfriend!’
Sam silently tells him to shut up. Not like he was expecting any panty-diving anyway. He just wants to make her feel better.
“So stupid he can’t even remember a goddamn phone number.” She sniffs and sips at her drink. “Know what he texted her, I mean, me? ‘Thanks for the blow, sweetheart. Wanna do it again after gym?’ Can you believe it? Who calls anyone sweetheart anyway? Which is so not the point but…”
Sam stares at her, the wheels in his brain turning. Dean. Dean calls girls sweethearts. But he couldn’t have…
He realizes with a jolt that Dean totally could. And would.
Oh shit. That…. moron! He’s going to kill him. He’s going to damn well ki-
Brooke reaches over the table for Sam’s hand, and the word in his head changes from ‘kill’ to ‘kiss’ in a heartbeat.
“You would never do a thing like that, would you, Sean?”
“Sam,” he corrects with a smile. God, her hand is so small and warm. It disappears completely in his big paw. “And of course not. Especially not to a girl like you.”
She smiles through her tears, and suddenly he doesn’t care if Dean set them up, or if her boyfriend really cheated on her. Brooke’s here with him, and he’s gonna make this a night to remember.
Their appetizers arrive, and as they eat their way through the shrimp salad followed by tender veal and finally crème brûle, the conversation flows freely, and he learns all there is to know about her neurotic mother, and her bitch sister, and her car-obsessed dad that never liked Wayne, because he drove a Toyota, and he’d been so right, hadn’t he? Sam nods even if it’s now obvious that she’d only said yes because she knew her dad would approve of the car, and because of it, him. He doesn’t mind. He’s on a date with a beautiful girl, and that is all that matters.
By the time they’re finished it’s almost eight o’clock, and Denise slips him the bill discreetly. It strangely enough matches almost exactly the amount Dean gave him earlier, and he gives her a smile, leaving the extra five dollars for tips.
The closer they get to the hall the quieter she gets, and Sam’s bees start humming in his stomach again. Maybe she feels embarrassed being seen with him. Maybe she thinks her high-class friends will laugh at her for bringing a geeky nobody as her date.
Or maybe she just doesn’t want to see Wayne. Yeah, that’s probably it.
Finally they’re there, and Sam parks the car and kills the engine. Silence fills the small space, but just as he’s about to ask her if she’s all right she looks up and smiles at him.
“Thank you, Sam. You’ve been so nice to me. I wasn’t even going to go, and now I’m so glad I did.”
He blushes and smiles back. “It’s all you, Brooke. You make it impossible not to be nice.” Ha! She’s blushing! Dean couldn’t have done that better.
“Shall we go inside?” She tilts her head. “I bet you’re a great dancer.”
Dancer?
Sam’s mouth opens slightly in horror.
Forget about bees. He’s got hellhounds going berserk in his belly. He’d forgotten about the dancing part. How could he forget about the dancing part? He can’t dance! He’s never danced in his whole life. Unless you count jumping around with Dean playing air guitar to Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All. And that was ten years ago.
Sam doesn’t use much profanity, but right now the word ‘fuck’ is hammering in his head.
His knees actually feel weak as he leads her in. The hall is already filled with kids dressed in shiny tuxedos and sparkly dresses, and he looks around in panic. They all look so grown up and confident, and he feels like an overgrown toddler going to a costume party. He’s going to trip in those shiny shoes. He’s going to spill punch over himself and his date. And he’s almost certainly going to crush her toes under his big feet, unless he drops her or slams her into a wall first.
What in hell was he thinking?
Brooke waves to some friends, and he follows her to join them, plastering a smile on his face. He can feel himself blushing as the kids he’s gone to school with for three months now and knows every name of, look at him like he’s a complete stranger.
“Hey guys. You remember Sam, right?” Brooke jerks her head his way, ringlets twirling, and he says, “Hi,” grateful that at last she seems to have managed to memorize his name.
More blank stares. One girl, Teri, gives him a smile, and he smiles gratefully back. He’s loaned her his notes a few times and they were together in study group for a paper on the Civil War.
He stands awkwardly as the talk picks up again. ‘Wow, that dress looks gorgeous’ and ‘Who did your hair?’ from the girls part while the guys try to look cool and not too obvious in their cleavage staring. The circle shifts and moves, slowly closing, until Sam finds himself outside the group, his advanced height the only reason he’s not staring at their necks. He tries to look bored and not bothered by the fact that Brooke seems to have forgotten all about him. At least they’re not dancing. Yet.
One of the girls announces she has to ‘freshen up,’ and as if on cue the rest of them follow. Why on earth girls can’t pee alone Sam will never understand. Brooke turns and gives him a small smile which makes his heart flutter, and then he’s left standing with three guys he’s never talked to, and who he’s sure have no interest in talking to him.
After a long moment of awkward silence he steps away, mumbling something about fresh air, and hurries for the door. It’s a warm night, and he moves to stand in the shadows, breathing in and out. He can do this. He’s watched movies where people dance. It can’t be that difficult.
The music is getting louder inside, broken only by bright laughter and excited voices. Suddenly he feels incredibly alone. If Dean was here he’d be making fun of the emo music and expressing his opinion of the girls’ racks loud enough for everyone to hear. He’d spike the punch and probably pick a fight and then when he was tired of the whole thing he’d pull the fire alarm and drag Sam away to watch the chaos from a safe distance, laughing his ass off. Or, more likely, drag a couple of girls into the Impala and make out with them in the flashing blue lights of the fire trucks while their boyfriends searched frantically for their lost dates. Yeah, that sounded more like him.
Sam smiles into the night and wonders for the hundredth time what it would have been like if they were closer in age. He misses having Dean in school with him. For one thing, no one ever tried to bully Sam when Dean was around. And having a brother like Dean earned you a certain respect, which Sam the super geek had benefited from as long as he can remember. But not anymore.
Now he’s alone, and in this particular school he’s more alone than he ever remembers being. Three months with no friends is starting to take its toll. There are just some things he can’t share with Dean, and besides, these days Dean spends more time away than at home. Either hunting with dad or hustling or whatever it is he does when he goes out at night. He comes home stinking of beer and smoke, cursing and grunting as he gets undressed before collapsing into bed. If they’re sharing he shoves Sam over to his side, then steals most of the blankets and is snoring within minutes, breathing hotly into Sam’s neck.
They’re getting way too big for sharing, but most rooms only carry two beds, and when dad’s home, it’s either this or the floor, and even if Dean claims the floor must be better than sleeping with ‘Samsquatch, the giant octopus,’ secretly Sam likes sleeping with Dean. His nightmares never seem to linger when Dean is there. And ever since Dean deemed Sam too old for cuddling, those nights snuggled up is the only physical comfort he gets. Stupidly enough sometimes Sam misses being his father’s kiddo and Dean’s little Sammy. Things seemed so much easier then, back when if ever he felt bad all he had to do was look at Dean, and he’d be scooped up in Dean’s arms, his hair ruffled and tickling fingers working their way under his shirt.
The music changes into a peppy beat, and there are shrieks of excitement. Seems this one is a favorite, making people flock to the dance floor. Sam doesn’t even know what song it is. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself of off the wall. ‘No time like the present,’ his dad would say. ‘Eyes on the goal. Focus your mind’. ‘Just grab her ass, and she won’t notice your dorky dancing’, would probably be Dean’s advice. For once Sam thinks he’ll do it dad’s way.
He’s about to head in when he hears Brooke yelling, “Leave me alone!”, high heels tapping angrily on the hard marble floors, and without thinking he steps back into the shadows, heart beating frantically in his chest.
“Come on, Brooke. I swear I didn’t do it. Baby, I love you. Please.”
Sam has his back pressed into the wall, the dark shadows swallowing him as Brooke comes storming out, the long silk dress hissing as it sweeps the floor.
“It was from your phone, Wayne! Don’t lie to me!”
Wayne comes running out after her, desperation in his voice. “It wasn’t me! Someone must have hacked my phone or something.”
She twirls around, eyes shooting daggers but Sam can see the tears glittering in the corners. “Why? Why would someone do that, Wayne?”
Wayne throws up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe someone wanted to split us up, you think of that? Who’s that guy you’re with anyway?”
“What?” She gives a hysteric laugh. “You think Sam hacked your phone? He wouldn’t. He’s way too sweet to do a thing like that. Plus he doesn’t even own a cell. I doubt he even knows how to work one.”
Hey! He might not be the electronic wizard Dean is, who’d transformed his cell phone into a detonation remote a week after he got it, but he certainly knows how to use one.
“Whatever. Didn’t take you long to hook up after you dumped me, did it? If anything I should be the one mad at you.”
“Hook up? Are you kidding me? He’s like a kid, Wayne. He didn’t even look at my boobs once. I bet he’s never even kissed a girl.”
‘I was being polite! And I so have kissed girls. I mean… okay so not really but… I’m not a kid!’
His cheeks are burning, the embarrassment and hurt turning the food sour in his stomach. Why is she saying those things about him? She seemed so nice, and he thought she’d really liked him.
“Besides, I wasn’t gonna stay home, was I? As if it’s not enough that the whole school knows you cheated on me, but I’m not missing my prom because of you. It was either Sam or going alone, and no one goes to prom alone.”
“Okay, okay. Baby, I swear I didn’t send that message. Please, you got to believe me. I mean, who was it I was supposed to send it to? Don’t you think if I was boning some girl someone would have found out before now? I wouldn’t do that to you, I swear. Brooke…”
His voice is pleading innocently, and Sam can feel the tables turning. ‘Oh come on, Brooke. Don’t fall for that! He might not have done this particular stunt, but the guy’s a jerk, can’t you see that? I mean, he drives a freaking jap!’
“I don’t know.”
“Please. Just dump the geek and come in and dance with me. Just one dance. I mean, where is he anyway? He ran out on you, Brooke. C’mon. One dance, that’s all.”
“Wayne…”
“C’mon, baby. Please?”
She takes a step forward, head bowed and Sam watches with a lump in his throat as Wayne pulls her into his arms, and then they’re kissing. Deep kisses that make him feel a little like he’s dying inside. Not that he ever hoped, not that he thought he’d really get her but still…
Finally they pull apart and walk inside, Wayne’s arm possessively around her waist, and Sam’s left alone again in the dark. Except where, before it was a refuge, now it feels like he’s been cast out, rejected.
He stands still, unable to move, just staring out into the darkness. The loud music and laughter coming from inside the hall seem to mock him. What was he thinking? How could he have imagined that he could blend in, could become one of them, even if it was only for one night? That he could have this one night of normalcy in the freak chaos they call their life. It was stupid, and if Dean could see him now he would shake his head in contempt. “Didn’t I tell you normal isn’t for us? Dude, who wants normal anyway?” ‘Me. I do,’ Sam thinks, and he can feel a tear trickling down his cheek. ‘Just once I wanted something just for me. Something that would stop me feeling like a freak.’
He has no idea how long he stands there. The night grows even darker, the music louder, until it finally slows down, and one ballad after another brings the evening closer to its end. He should head home. Should take the Impala and just drive away. Not like she’ll notice him gone. Not like anyone will notice him gone. They don’t care. No one cares.
“Ok. So that didn’t go too well.”
His head snaps up so fast his neck twinges, hand rushing to his face to wipe away the tears, before he even realizes what he’s doing. “Dean! What - what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t need any mirror to tell him that his eyes are puffy, and his nose is red and God, could he be any more pathetic? He prepares himself for the mocking laughter he knows is coming but instead Dean silently hands him a bundle of paper towels, swiped from the restrooms no doubt. Sam sniffs and wipes his eyes before blowing his nose, then crumples the used tissue and throws it angrily out into the dark.
“What are you doing here, Dean? Come to laugh at your pathetic excuse for a brother?”
Dean doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and leans against the wall by Sam’s side. After a moment’s silence he asks, “What happened?”
Sam bites his lip, swallowing the lump in his throat. “She’s back with her boyfriend. He managed to convince her that message about him cheating on her was bogus.” He glares at Dean, lips thin. “But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Dean has the decency to look chagrined for a second, but then he shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Dean, what were you thinking? I don’t need you to pimp me out, ok?”
Dean glares at him in indignation. “I wasn’t pimping! I just thought…” He sighs. “I knew you liked her, ok? And it was prom, and you should go to prom, Sam. I was hoping you’d just ask someone else, but you never did, and…I don’t know.” Dean looks away, pursing his lips. “I just wanted you to have a nice prom.”
“You planned this. The clothes and the dinner and… you set me up.”
“Sam…”
Sam shakes his head. “I can’t believe you did that, Dean. How long have you been planning this? Saving your money and finding that restaurant and… Hell, I bet you practiced tying that bowtie for hours just so you would get it right. You had me completely fooled. What were you gonna do if she said no? Hire me a hooker?”
“C’mon, Sammy. It wasn’t like that-”
“Forgot one thing though,” Sam continues, ignoring him. “For all your planning you really screwed up the most important thing.”
Dean stills, watching him warily. “What?”
“Dude, I can’t dance! What was I supposed to do once I got her in there? I would have made an ass out of myself, Dean.” He’d laugh if he wasn’t feeling so damn miserable. “Just as well I never even got the chance since she dumped me before we even got on the damn dance floor.”
Inside the band finishes Sarah MacLachlan’s I Will Remember You, and then half a beat later the singer announces the last dance. “For all you young lovers here tonight. Thank you for a lovely evening and good night.” There’s a round of applause, and then, to Sam’s horror, the band starts playing Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. Great. He’s lucky if Dean doesn’t stalk in there and shoot the singer.
He suddenly has a visual of Brooke wrapped up in Wayne’s arms, her head on his shoulder, her sweet smelling hair brushing Wayne’s nose. His breath hitches before he can swallow it down, and to his annoyance he feels tears filling his eyes again. Damn it!
“I can’t believe I was so stupid to believe I could…” Sam shakes his head, staring down at his toes. “Can we go home? I just wanna go home, Dean.”
Dean is still for a second, then he pushes away from the wall and grabs Sam’s arm, pulling him up straight. “Come here.”
“What?”
Sam is trying to shrug free, annoyed at being handled like a baby, when Dean pulls him close, arms around Sam in a tight hug. It’s so unexpected Sam freezes, not sure what the hell is going on. Dean never hugs him, hasn’t done since Sam was twelve. He slaps Sam on the back or punches Sam’s arm or holds him still when Sam needs stitches, but they never, ever hug.
“Dean?”
“Just shut up and let me do this, ok?”
‘Do what?’ Sam wants to ask but then Dean’s arms move until they’re around Sam’s waist and slowly Dean starts rocking him from side to side. It takes Sam a moment to catch on but when he does the lump is back in his throat, bigger than ever before, and the tears he’s barely been holding back spring forward. Hesitantly he brings up his arms and puts them around Dean’s shoulders, tilting his head to bury his wet face in the crook of his brother’s neck.
They stand like that, not moving their feet but just gently rocking to the music, until the final notes die down, and the air is filled with the sound of clapping. Dean stills, arms wrapped tight around Sam’s waist, and Sam swears he can feel Dean’s heart beating, his rapid pulse fluttering against Sam’s dry and chapped lips. Every breath he takes brings with it the musky smell of Dean, sweat, and beer, and leather and memories of a closeness he’s missed more than he’ll ever admit. His arms tighten around Dean, the knuckles of his right hand brushing against the short hairs on Dean’s neck, and he straightens his fingers, laying his palm against the damp skin. Dean shivers, his breath hitching. Once, twice and then he’s pulling away, brushing down Sam’s jacket to straighten out the creases, not looking up.
“We should get going before the mob arrives,” he says, voice slightly rough.
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.” Sam swallows, wiping his face on the back of his hand as soon as Dean turns away.
He follows Dean to the car, but when he holds out the keys Dean shakes his head. “This is your night, Sam.” He suddenly grins, and Sam can feel some of the tension drain away. “I won’t even yell at you. Well,” he adds, “unless you drive like a complete moron.”
“Shut up.” But Sam can’t help the grin tugging at his lips. As he slides in behind the wheel, he looks over at Dean, suddenly remembering something. “By the way, Brooke’s dad almost wet himself over the car. Turns out he’s somewhat of a classic car enthusiast.”
“Really? You don’t say,” Dean smirks as he makes sure his seatbelt is properly fastened, just in case Sam runs them into a tree. “Who would have guessed?”
Sam frowns and gives Dean a glance. “You knew?”
“Sammy boy, you’re not the only one that’s good at research.”
“Oh God. You are my pimp.” Sam rolls his eyes even though he’s smiling, then puts the car in gear and roars the engine, tires squealing as they shoot away down the street.
“Sam! What the fuck are you-?”
“No backseat driving, Dean,” Sam laughs, sticking out his tongue when Dean flips him off. They drive in comfortable silence and are only a few minutes away from the small apartment where they’re staying when Sam reaches over and lays his hand on Dean’s upper arm, squeezing it lightly.
“Thank you.”
Dean doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t swat Sam’s hand away either, and Sam gives his arm a light pat before returning his hand to the wheel.
Once home he parks the car and makes a big show of locking it before handing Dean the keys. They walk in side-by-side, bumping shoulders and chuckling amicably. Dean pulls off his jacket and kicks off his shoes as soon as he gets inside, jumping on to the bed where he leans against the headboard, watching Sam as he sits down to unlace his shoes.
“Still can’t believe you didn’t get laid, wearing those clothes. Those girls must be blind.”
Sam blushes and tries to hide his pleased smile. He hangs up the jacket then tugs at the bowtie, but before he can get it loose Dean is up and off the bed, reaching for it. “Let me.”
“Dean, I can do it myself.” But he lifts his chin anyway, the heat of Dean’s fingers fluttering against his Adam’s apple. Again they linger, just briefly, and then the silk is sliding across the back of his neck, heating up the thin cotton underneath the collar.
“Don’t want you ripping those fine clothes with your gigantic fingers, Sam. Got to bring everything back in a decent condition.”
“Uh…” That sounds very much like an insult, but right now he’d give Dean pretty much whatever he wanted, so he lets it slide. “Okay.”
Sam stands still as Dean unbuttons the vest and slides it off his shoulder, folding it once and laying it on the bed before starting on the shirt. It’s a relief when the top button is undone, and he sucks in his breath, cracking his neck, which feels stiff after the constraint. Dean pauses for a moment, but then his hands move further down, undoing the other buttons one by one, his knuckles every now and then brushing Sam’s naked chest. Sam can feel himself starting to blush, and he looks awkwardly away, eyes a little to the left of Dean’s ear as his hands are lifted one after the other, and the cufflinks are removed. When the shirt is slid off his shoulders, he feels suddenly cold and vulnerable and steps away, hugging his chest. Dean reaches out for him but then seems to change his mind, his hand dropping down to clutch at the shirt in front of him.
“Ok. Awkward.”
Sam laughs shakily. “Yeah. Kinda.”
Dean shakes his head, his smile oddly sad. “Just can’t believe you’re so grown up, Sammy. Seems only yesterday I was dressing you for your first day of school. Much smaller clothes that time of course.”
“Yeah.” Sam smiles. “Not that I’m ever gonna need them again, but it was nice for once wearing clothes that fit me. A shame we have to bring them back.”
Dean looks up, a strange glint in his eyes. “You wanna keep them? I gave that jerk a fake name so…”
Sam shakes his head and laughs. “Right. When would I wear them anyway?”
“I don’t know.” Dean frowns, distractedly smoothing the shirt in his arms. “There’s senior prom.”
“I think I’m done with prom, Dean.” Sam starts undoing the belt of his pants, cheeks burning as his earlier humiliation suddenly burns fresh and painful. “It was a stupid idea anyway. Waste of money. You shouldn’t have…”
“Hey!” Dean suddenly grabs his chin, forcing Sam to look him in the eye. “Don’t care about the money, alright? I’m sorry your date turned out to be a fickle bitch, and that your night got ruined, but not a single cent of that money was wasted, Sam.” His fingers relax to briefly caress Sam’s cheek before letting him go. “I saved it for you and spent it on you. Was never meant for anything else, ok?”
Sam stares at him, startled. “Ok.” He bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth, until it starts to hurt. He looks down, hands still holding up his pants, belt and zipper undone. “It wasn’t ruined. My night. Not completely.” He glances up at Dean, noticing the confused frown on his face. “I mean… you came.”
He steps out of his pants, and when he looks up again Dean is straightening the clothes on the hanger, a soft blush pinking his cheeks. “Dean?”
“Hand me the pants and go brush your teeth.” Dean holds out his hand without looking at Sam and he hands the pants over before tugging off his socks and padding barefoot into the bathroom. He catches a glance at himself in the mirror and is startled by the flush in his cheeks and the wideness of the pupils. He brushes his teeth quickly, then closes the door and pees. When he comes back out the tuxedo is hanging on a nail by the door, and Dean is already in bed, back turned.
“Dean?”
“Go to bed, Sammy. It’s late.”
Sam hesitates for a second, but Dean doesn’t move, and Sam’s not sure what he wanted to ask Dean anyway. “Ok.”
He slips underneath the covers, listening to Dean breathing in the other bed. His own bed seems unusually big and cold. But Dad will be home in a few days, and so they’ll be back to sharing. And for once Sam thinks Dean maybe won’t mind it so much.
fin
Title: A Moment of Normalcy (In Our Life of Chaos)
Author: felisblanco
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC
Rating: Gen. PG?
Word count: ca. 10.000
Summary: It's junior prom and Sam's got a date. What the hell does he do now?
Author’s note: This was written for crazyjoyfulgirl as a birthday present and even if it was almost two months ago I hope she still wants it. It’s gen but the way it feels in my head it’s more of a pre-Wincest. See, this was supposed to be a stand-alone but somehow in my head it started to tie in with The Weirdness of Normal, and even more another story I’m writing that is like a branch from that one. So I guess this means I’ve created a verse but I have no idea what to call it. Anyway, none of that really matters for this fic. Just… enjoy.
Beta’d by candygramme. Thank you, darling!
Sam hadn’t really planned to go to the prom. This new school… Well, it sucks. Three months, and he still hasn’t made a single friend, which is just weird for him. Usually he makes friends on his first day, something that Dean rolls his eyes at since his way of dealing with his schoolmates is to piss off the guys, usually by sleeping with their girlfriends. Or it was. Dean’s been out of school three years now and is showing no signs of wanting anything more to do with it. It’s all just about the hunt now, and man is Sam sick of it. Plus he… well, he misses his brother. For all his faults at least with Dean around Sam wasn’t this damn lonely. And even if he hates to admit it, Dean was probably a big part of why some people were drawn to Sam in the first place. Especially the girls.
But not in this school. Here he’s still a nobody, a geek, a teacher’s pet - if anything. He knows half the students in the school by their names, but not even the teachers seem to remember his. For once Sam can’t wait for them to move on.
But then there is this. Prom. Tonight. And despite everything he really wants to go. Trouble is, the only girl he’s interested in is Brooke Tanner, and she already has a boyfriend. Wayne Allen, a big jerk jock, and she deserves so much better, because she’s the most beautiful girl Sam has ever seen. Blond hair, slim waist, and a radiant smile that makes his heart flutter. So far out of his league he hardly even dares to look at her. And if he can’t have her… Well, he’s not going.
Except when he got to school this morning it was vibrating with the news of Brooke and Wayne’s break-up. The story went he’d accidentally sent her text messages he’d been writing to some other girl, about a blowjob of all things. It was like a soap drama, and if Sam wasn’t so relieved Wayne was out of the picture he’d be shaking his head and laughing his ass off. So yeah, he kinda feels sorry for Brooke, but Wayne is an asshole, and it was bound to happen anyway, sooner or later. In fact, the timing couldn’t have been better.
So Sam’s been lurking around all day, waiting for an opportunity to approach her, but until now it’s been impossible. She’s always with her group of girlfriends, usually giggling and talking about whatever it is girls talk about. Make-up probably, although today they’ve spent most of their time hugging and wiping tears, eyes glaring at any guy that comes within a five mile radius. They’re like a swarm of wasps, hissing their anger at the male population as a whole, and Sam has dealt with enough angry creatures to know not to poke that particular nest with a stick.
But her friends just left, and she’s standing there, as usual waiting for her mother to pick her up. Her shoulders are hunched, and she’s pouting adorably. It’s now or never. Sam’s only got this one chance, because Dean’s going to be here any minute, and if she turns him down… Well, Sam’s not having big brother witnessing that.
Sam takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
She looks up as he comes closer, a frown creasing her pretty face when she sees that he’s heading her way. Two feet away he stops and gives her the most innocent smile he can master. Dean says he can charm the wig off old ladies, (not that he ever would!) and even if that’s an exaggeration, he knows he has a way with people, making them trust him.
Teenage girls don’t seem much like real people though.
“Hey.”
She’s still frowning, chewing her gum slowly. The sun bounces off her blond hair, and she smells like cherries and spring. “Hey.”
He gives her another smile, heart hammering in his chest. “So, I was wondering. Are you… I mean, wouldyouliketocometothepromwithme?” The words rush out, and he can feel himself blushing. God, she must think he’s a moron.
She raises her eyebrows and snaps her gum. “Do I know you?”
Wha-? His world plummets into darkness. “Er… It’s Sam. Sam Winchester. We have physics together. I was your lab partner that one time…”
His voice trails off as her eyes wander away, disinterested. Dammit!
“Anyway, thought I’d just ask. No problem.” He studies the toes of his sneakers for a moment then nods awkwardly. “Ok. I’ll just…”
“Is that your ride?”
His head snaps up at her words to find the Impala parked by the curb, Dean watching him with a smug smile on his face. Damn. How could he not have heard him coming, with all the rumbling that engine does? “Yeah. Listen, I gotta go so-”
“Nice car.”
Of course. He can hardly keep from rolling his eyes. Why does he even bother trying anything when Dean is around, or even within a thirty miles radius? “Yeah, sure. It’s an Impala. 1967.” And that’s Dean. 1979. Isn’t that what you’re really after?
“You get to drive it?”
“What are you doing? Slow down. You’re abusing the damn stick. It’s not a fucking video game, Sam! Dude, watch the road! Oh c’mon! If you wreck her I swear to God I will kill you and salt and burn your body before the fucking engine cools off. Christ! You call that driving? Earth to Sammy, the light is green. It’s gre- Ok, now it’s red, and then you wanna go? Jesus! Are you trying to get us killed?”
Sam shrugs. “It happens.”
She nods, snapping her gum once again. “Okay then. Pick me up at seven.” She opens her schoolbag and rips a page out of her notebook before scribbling down her address. When she hands it to him she looks him over, scrunching her nose slightly. “You’ve got a tux, right?”
“Of course.” He’s numb, not sure whether he’s happy or insulted. He’s got a date but it’s pretty obvious it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the car. Which is weird because she didn’t even mention Dean.
“All right. See you.” She bounces down the steps to her mother’s BMW as it swings in to the curb, and Sam is left standing in the school lot, his palms suddenly sweaty, his stomach lurching.
He has nothing to wear, Dean will never ever lend him the car, and to top it all off he just remembers he can’t dance. At all.
He’s so dead.
He makes his way slowly down the steps and over to the passenger side of the Impala where he slides in, ignoring Dean’s smirk.
“Sammmyyyy…” Dean whistles appreciatively. “Dude, you pick ‘em right. That one’s a real looker.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh come on, I’m paying you a compliment.” Dean slaps Sam’s thigh and just laughs when Sam pushes him away. He starts the car, checking the side mirror before swinging away from the curb. “So what was that all about? She steal your homework or something?”
His first instinct is to growl, “No, it was nothing,” but he stops himself at the last minute, looking over at Dean. He seems genuinely interested for once. Of course there’s a girl involved, and girls are pretty much all Dean thinks about, besides hunting. But he’s been busting Sam’s balls about staying home or at the library all nights, urging him to go out and ‘live a little,’ so maybe he’ll be willing to help after all.
“It’s the prom. Tonight. And I kinda asked her.”
Dean blinks in surprise and then his face splits in a big grin. “Sam! Ro-me-o!” He chuckles. “She’s so out of your league, bro. How on earth did you pull that one?”
God, he knew this would happen. Dean can be such an asshole. “Forget it.” Sam turns to stare out the window, shoulders hunched up to his ears.
“Hey, I’m just yanking your chain.” Dean reaches over to ruffle Sam’s hair, and for once he doesn’t duck. “Dude, this is great. Prom, man. They always put out at prom.”
“You’re such a perv, Dean.” Sam smiles, but his smile soon slips away. “And I’m not going.”
“Why? She turn you down?”
Sam snorts. “No. She said yes.”
“Go Sammy. So what’s the problem?”
Sam turns to his brother, the frustration making him angry. “I’ve got nothing to wear, Dean. What am I supposed to wear? This? Or the shirt with the bloodstains on the sleeve? Or your old pants that are too damn short? Or… Oh! I know! The jacket dad gave me for my birthday that smells like an old hobo died in it. Bet she’ll love that.”
“Hey, at least you got a birthday present! All I got was-”
“And know what?” Sam goes on, too frustrated to listen. “The only reason she said yes was because she thinks I’m picking her up in the Impala. Which-”
“Ok.”
That gets his attention. He frowns and leans back, staring at Dean. “What?”
“You can have the car.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’ expression. “Dude, ‘course I’ll lend you the car. What, you really think I’d say no?”
“Uh… Well, I thought…” Sam has the decency to look chastened. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Sammy, my boy, don’t I always look out for you?” Dean almost sounds hurt. “And we’ll get you something to wear. Don’t worry.” He glances over at Sam and smiles. “It’s your prom, Sam. It’s a big thing. And you’re going with a girl which... hey! Who would have guessed?”
“Shut up.” But Sam’s smiling, the ten pound rock in his stomach suddenly replaced by butterflies.
Dean swings the car around at the next turnoff, and they head into town. Sam figures they’re going to the Goodwill store where they buy most of their clothes, but Dean doesn’t even glance at it, just drives on, finally parking outside the mall.
“Dean?”
Sam gives him a worried look, but Dean ignores him and just exits the car, tapping the roof impatiently. “Come on.”
They can’t afford this. Sam knows they can’t afford it, but he follows Dean into the mall anyway. He’s never been here before, but Dean seems to know his way, which makes Sam wonder what the hell his brother gets up to while he’s at school.
When he sees where they’re heading he grabs Dean’s arm, hissing “Dean!” into his ear, and Dean gives him a frown. “What?”
“We can’t! Dad will kill us.” Even if they rent the cheapest one it’s still going to cost them over a hundred dollars.
Dean’s eyes harden, lips straightening into a line. “My money, not his.”
He shrugs free of Sam’s grip, and before Sam can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Dean’s in the store, looking around with interest. All Sam can do is follow him, feeling completely out of place in his torn jeans and shabby sneakers. A clerk who looks like he belongs in a James Bond movie suddenly pops up by their side, a frown of disdain on his face.
“Can I help you? Sirs.” The last word drips with sarcasm, and Sam cringes, but Dean just gives the clerk a hard look and nods toward Sam.
“The boy here needs a monkey suit for prom. Think you can manage that?”
The man lets his gaze run over Sam and then back to Dean before tilting his head. “And how will you be paying, sir?”
Dean gives him a glare that so far Sam has only seen used on ghosts that have really pissed him off. “With money. What are you implying?” And to Sam’s horror Dean cocks his eyebrow, stance almost obscene when he shifts his hips. “Didn’t think this was that kind of establishment.”
The man pales and steps back. “I beg your pardon!”
“Pardon accepted.” Dean shrugs and fishes a bundle of notes out of the pocket of his jeans, smiling coldly. “Now how about that tuxedo?”
The man looks like he swallowed a lemon, but he gives Sam a nod to the inner part of the store, and Sam smiles awkwardly at him before following him toward the selection of formal wear.
Twenty minutes later he’s staring at a complete stranger in the mirror. The shirt and jacket actually fit his long arm and the pants brush the tops of his shoes perfectly. The vest is black and makes his scrawny frame look muscular and grown up. He’s wearing shoes so black and shiny he can see his own reflection in them. He’s not sure if he feels embarrassed or giddy.
The curtain rustles, and he jumps as Dean’s deep voice brings him back to the real world, “Sammy? You still in there?”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
God, what are they doing? Dean can’t have enough money for this. Where did he get all that money anyway? He just walks around with that amount of cash on him? Something’s not right.
“Come on out. Let me have a look at you.”
Sam’s eyes widen in the mirror, and he has this ridiculous urge to cover himself. “No. I look weird.”
There’s a short pause, and then Dean’s voice comes back sounding increasingly annoyed. “What do you mean you look weird? They don’t fit? I told him…”
The curtain is suddenly swept aside, and Sam turns around to find his brother staring at him, mouth falling slightly open.
Damn. He knew it. He looks stupid, and weird, and everyone’s gonna laugh at him. He can feel himself blushing, tears prickling behind his eyes. “Dean! Get out!”
“Man.” Dean just stands there, blinking dazedly. Then his gaze travels slowly down before shifting up again. His eyes shine with something akin to reverence. “Sammy.”
Sam bites his lip, and turns around to stare at himself in the mirror, tugging at the sleeves of the starched shirt. “I know! I look stupid,”
“No. You look…” Dean laughs suddenly, a shaky laugh filled with wonder. “You look great, Sam. I just...” Dean’s voice trails off, and when Sam meets his eyes in the mirror they look almost sad. “Guess you’re growing up, little brother.”
Sam stills, not sure how to respond. He’s confused why him growing up is a bad thing. Isn’t dad constantly telling him he should grow up and be more like Dean? “I’m seventeen, Dean. I’m taller than you.”
“Are not,” Dean answers automatically but without feeling, his eyes still roaming Sam’s reflection in the mirror. It’s becoming uncomfortable, and Sam’s skin prickles from the unusual attention he’s getting. He’s always catching both Dean and dad watching him, but this is different. This has nothing to do with how well he’s handling a gun or if his movements are fluid enough when they’re sparring. This is more like being stared at like a freak in a cage, and it’s making him twitch.
“What’s wrong?”
Dean seems to jerk awake, eyes snapping from the mirror, and he takes a step back. “Nothing.” He turns around and slips out of the small change room, pulling the curtain tight. “Get changed. We gotta go.”
“Dean, wait.”
His brother’s head pops back in, frowning. “What?”
Sam bites his lip, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. “This is too much, Dean. We can’t afford this.”
Dean just rolls his eyes at him and snorts. “I told you, I’ve got it covered.” He gives Sam another look over, then winks. “Now get out of the monkey suit, before that little weasel makes a move on your handsome ass.”
“Huh?” Sam frowns in confusion.
“You know. The clerk? He…” Dean rolls his eyes. “Nevermind. Hurry up.”
By the time he’s dressed, Dean’s already waiting by the door, and the clerk hurriedly scoops the clothes and shoes into a large bag, handing it to Sam with a cold smile. Sam doesn’t even bother to smile back just follows Dean out of the store and through the mall, feeling oddly relieved when they’re once again in the car.
He’s just about to question Dean further when Dean says, “What color dress is she wearing?”
Sam blinks, the question catching him completely off guard. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Samsamsam.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to give her one of those flower things, dude. A corsage. Girls expect that.”
Ok, when did his brother turn into Martha Stewart? “Dean, you never went to your prom. How do you know all this stuff?”
Dean shoots him a glare. “What? You think I’m a Neanderthal or something? If there’s one thing I know it’s dating.”
Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, right. You don’t date, Dean. You hook up, sleep with the girl and then ‘forget’ to call her.”
“I’m spending hundreds of dollars on you,” Dean growls, without looking at him. “So reel in the attitude, Sam.”
Sam’s mouth falls open, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “What? Are you insane?”
“Nope. I’m the awesomest big brother ever.” Dean shoots him a grin. “And don’t you forget it.” At Sam’s incredulous look Dean raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Sam, what did you think this would cost? You’ve got to pay for dinner too. Where you taking her?”
“Di-what? Dinner?” Oh God. He’s never going to make it through this.
Dean sighs. “All right. I’ll make a few calls. Don’t worry.”
Sam falls back in his seat, staring at his brother. He feels suddenly nauseous, his stomach clenching into a knot. “How we gonna explain this to dad?”
“We’re not. None of his business.” Dean shifts in his seat, refusing to look at Sam. “He won’t be home until next weekend anyway.”
Sam sits silent for a while, the knot in his stomach tightening. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“This why you didn’t go to your prom? Because dad wouldn’t…?”
“Dude! Like I would be caught dead wearing one of those.”
Dean snorts but there’s a hard look in his eyes that makes Sam wonder. Even though, yes, a tux on Dean would be totally lethal, but, he gathers, more to the town’s female population than to Dean’s cool.
“’Kay, there’s a florist.” Dean swings the car into the small parking lot and gets out. “We’ll buy a white one. Goes with everything.”
Yep, Dean’s thought way too much about this for a guy who wouldn’t be ‘caught dead’ at a high school prom. Four years ago… wasn’t that the spring dad left Sam with Pastor Jim for close to a month while he and Dean chased a werewolf across three states? Dean almost missed his graduation.
“Dean…”
“You coming?”
Sam sighs and follows Dean into the small shop. The girl’s eyes light up as they approach, and Sam spends the next twenty minutes studying ten different types of roses, while she explains the language of flowers to a suddenly horticultural enthusiastic Dean. They leave with a white corsage in a plastic box, and the girl’s phone number nestling in Dean’s jeans pocket.
Half past six, Sam feels like he’s about to throw up, he’s so nervous. Dean is sitting on the bed, calmly cleaning his guns, glancing up every now and then to watch Sam tug at the collar of his shirt and adjust the waist of his pants. He can’t remember ever wearing clothes that actually fit him before. Through the years they’ve been hand-me-downs from Dean, too big and already worn to the thread, but after his latest growth spurt dad’s been forced to buy him clothes of his own. They’re still always used, and either the sleeves are too short, or the waistband of the pants too wide. Apparently Goodwill doesn’t stock up on clothes in his size.
He sits down on the other bed to put on the shoes. The leather squeaks as he moves his toes experimentally. It feels weird wearing shoes that aren’t sneakers or boots, and he just hopes he won’t trip in them. When he looks up he catches Dean watching him with a strange look in his eyes. Sam raises his eyebrows, daring his brother to laugh, but Dean only puts the shotgun aside and stands up.
“Come on, give me the tie.”
Sam stands up and pulls the bowtie from the pocket of the dinner jacket, handing it over to Dean. He stands still, chin held high as Dean loops the tie around his neck, tying the bow with expert confidence, like he does this every day. When Dean’s fingers still, resting lightly on the skin above the collar of Sam’s shirt, he looks down, again catching that strange look in Dean’s eyes. Dean’s fingers linger on Sam’s neck, the tips warm and smelling of gun oil.
“Is it straight?”
Dean blinks and then slowly pulls his hand away. “Yeah. Not too tight, right?”
Sam reaches up and tugs experimentally on his collar. “Dunno. Am I supposed to be able to breathe?”
Dean’s eyes widen, and he swats Sam’s hand away to untie the bow, but Sam laughs and grabs Dean’s wrists, pulling them away. “I’m kidding. It’s fine.”
“Funny boy, Sammy.” Dean gives him a glare and steps back, looking him over. “Okay. I think you’re ready.”
“Yeah?” Sam swallows, the tie suddenly feeling way too tight. “What time is it? I don’t want to be too early.”
“Don’t wanna be too late either. You got her address?”
Sam pulls out the ripped off sheet of paper. Not that he really needs it. He’s followed her home once or twice without her knowing. Just because it was dark, and a girl like that shouldn’t be walking home alone late at night. That’s all. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Dean nods, lips pursed. “Good.” He turns around and fishes his wallet out of his jacket pocket, pulling three twenty-dollar bills out and thrusting them into Sam’s hand despite his protests. “This is for dinner. No alcohol, Sam, you hear me? Don’t even try it. I got you a table at Donnelli’s down on Fifth. Ask for Denise, and she’ll take care of you.”
Sam feels at loss for words, his throat suddenly dry and tight. “Dean. I’m…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean frowns in thought then digs into the breast pocket of his jacket and hands Sam a couple of condoms. “Here. Take those.”
“Dean!” Sam can feel his cheeks burning, and he can’t meet his brother’s eyes. “I’m not gonna…’
“You never know. Better safe than sorry.”
Sam glances up, expecting to see Dean leering, but his face is completely serious.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I mean for everything.”
Dean scowls. “Dude, what? You gonna cry? ‘Cause that will stain the silk.”
“Shut up.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
They grin, and then Dean is shoving him out the door with promises of ripping out his spine if he puts a single scratch on his girl. He gives Sam instructions about the accelerator, and gear stick, and not to touch his tapes or he’s dead, and then he closes the car door firmly. For a minute it looks as if he’s going to say something else, but then he just nods and slams the roof with his hand before stepping aside.
Sam gives him a smile and starts the car, puts her into gear and pulls out of the parking lot, making sure not to give her too much gas or spin the tires on the gravel. If he weren’t about to throw up with nervousness he’d feel like the king of the world.
It’s starting to get dark, and he drives carefully through town, stopping dutifully at every red light and staying well within the speed limits. The corsage lies on the seat beside him, and in just a few minutes She will be sitting there. With her beautiful smile, and pretty hair and smelling fresh and clean like only girls can. He still can’t believe this is really happening. Wouldn’t be happening at all if it weren’t for Dean.
His smile falters slightly when he thinks of all the money Dean just spent on him. He’s been giving Dean a lot of shit lately, for no special reason. He’s just starting to feel so trapped in this life they live, and when dad is away the need to vent is even stronger. Why are they doing this? Why can’t they settle down? Why can’t dad get a real job instead of scamming credit card companies and forging checks? Dean should be in college, learning to be something more than this. Sam should be able to join the drama club but can’t because they might leave any minute. Everything is so unfair, can’t Dean see that?
Dean just grunts and pretends not to listen, but Sam can see his jaw ticking, and it only makes him more frustrated. He’s slammed a dozen doors and yelled more than his share of swearwords, but the only reaction he gets out of Dean is the occasional glare and at most an “Are you done, Sammy? Can I get back to watching my program now?” before he turns back to the television, upping the sound, until Sam can’t hear his own thoughts anymore.
More than once Sam has accused them, accused Dean, of being selfish and a bully. Of not caring about Sam’s feelings or what Sam wants or needs. That stings Dean worse than anything, and Sam knows it, can see the hurt look in Dean’s eyes just before he manages to shut it away. But however much Sam pushes and provokes Dean he never rises to the challenge, instead fights harder to ignore Sam’s tantrums, which of course pisses Sam off even worse.
And then Dean turns around and does something like this, blowing every presumption Sam has made of him out the window. The more Sam thinks about it, the more he wonders if Dean had this planned. If he’d been saving up money in case Sam decided he wanted to go to the prom.
As hard as Sam tries he can’t remember Dean even talking about his own prom, or whether he wanted to go or not. School activities weren’t really Dean’s thing; in fact he’d hardly bothered to show up for class, let alone stayed longer for anything else. Only thing he’d signed up for was football and then got himself kicked off the team for breaking someone’s collarbone when tackling him to the ground. Guess high school football wasn’t ready for Dean Winchester.
But it made sense that dad hadn’t wanted to spend money on something he considered unnecessary. In fact, when Sam thinks about it, there never seems to be money to spend on anything they want, and still dad manages to save up for a new gun or silver bullets. Yeah, so probably silver bullets have more use than a Game Boy or the new Harry Potter book but still. It kinda sucks.
So Dean had planned this. Had saved his money, probably by hustling pool, but that didn’t matter. Sam knew they were always hard up for money, and whenever Dean had a little extra he liked to go out and spend it at the nearest bar, picking up girls and relaxing with a beer and some shots. Except this time he hadn’t. This time he’d saved it for God knows how long, just so he would be able to give Sam this. One night of normalcy. For a second Sam almost turns back, wondering why the hell he’s going off to be the stand-in guy for some girl who can’t even remember his name when he has the best brother in the whole world waiting for him at home. But just then he’s at her house, and all rational thoughts are replaced by utter and plain panic.
Fighting it down he takes a deep breath, gets out and starts walking toward her house, only to run back, cheeks burning, to fetch the corsage he’d forgotten on the passenger seat. He pauses before her door, feeling more nervous than he can ever remember being. This is worse than any werewolf or poltergeist. This is unknown territory.
Girls? Are the most frightening creatures in the world.
His hand shakes slightly as he raises it and knocks on her door. Then he realizes there’s a bell, so he pushes the button as well, jumping slightly as bells start chiming on the other side of the door. He waits, the butterflies in his stomach turning into angry bees, sweat running down his back. Then the door is pulled open and a short stocky man with thick glasses glares out at him. “Yes?”
“Erm… Mr. Tanner? I’m Samuel Winchester. I’m here to pick up your daughter.”
The man frowns and raises his eyebrows, then looks past him, and his eyes widen. “Is that a ’65 Chevy Impala?”
“A ’67 actually.” What is it with this family and their obsession with cars?
“Well, how ‘bout that.” The man nods approvingly and after giving the car a long and loving gaze he turns around and hollers “Brooke!” into the house.
Sam is trying his hardest to appear cool, but when Brooke’s father opens the door further, and he catches sight of her walking down the stairs, he almost lets out a whimper. God, she’s so beautiful! She’s wearing a sleeveless, powder-blue dress with a row of tiny pearls at the neckline, her blond hair is swept into a chignon on her head with ringlets framing her face that is looking more beautiful than ever.
“Hello, Sam.” She smiles, and his stomach does a flip-flop. She remembered his name! She looks pointedly at his hand, and he suddenly remembers the corsage, handing it to her with an embarrassed grin. After some fumbling it’s placed firmly around her wrist, and he takes her arm when she offers it to him.
“Now you take care of my daughter, young man. And easy on the gas.” Brooke’s father gazes past them at the car, looking like he almost wants to trade his daughter for it.
“Yes, sir.”
Sam gets Brooke settled in the passenger seat and runs around to the other side, sliding in behind the wheel.
“You like Italian, right?”
“Sure.” She smiles, and even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes he’s too giddy to care.
They get to the restaurant fifteen minutes later, and when he asks for Denise, a pretty young brunette shows up with a big smile on her face. They get a great table by the window, and Brooke for a moment seems impressed. Which only increases when Denise declares that they have their menu already set up ‘according to Mr. Winchester’s wishes’ and would they like a drink before dinner? Non-alcoholic, of course.
Sam tries to look nonchalant while on the inside he’s reeling. How the hell did Dean manage to pull this off with such a short notice?
While they wait for their drinks his mind is going at a million miles per minute, alternating between thinking about Dean and trying to come up with a suitable topic for conversation. What do you talk about with girls anyway? Not like he can discuss ghosts and demons.
“So, you like cars?”
She looks up from studying her nails, grimacing slightly. “My dad does.” She shrugs. “He has this thing for American classics. Been lecturing me about them since I was five or something.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to say. “It’s my brother’s. Well, it used to be my dad’s but he gave it to Dean a few years ago.”
She frowns. “Dean’s the guy who was driving it?”
Here it comes. “Yeah. That’s my brother Dean.” He waits for the stars to start sparkling in her eyes, but she only nods and picks at her napkin. Huh.
“So this prom…” he starts, desperate to fill the silence. “Should be fun.”
“Yeah, sure.” She looks up as Denise brings their drinks, and they keep silent until she backs away with a wink at Sam. He blushes, wondering what on earth Dean told her.
Sam takes a sip from the orange drink, blinking at the fresh, sweet taste. Brooke looks satisfied as well, and he gives her a smile while continuing his search for a topic. He hasn’t been to the movies in ages, the only music he listens to is Dean’s mullet rock - and occasionally dad’s country when John gets tired of the heavy metal - and they have no friends in common. Sports? No, girls don’t like sports, do they? More car talk? Nah, she sounded pretty sick of that.
‘Girls like to talk about themselves,’ a voice suddenly whispers in his head. It sounds an awful lot like Dean’s, and Dean usually knows what he’s talking about when it comes to the fairer sex. So how does he get her to talk about herself?
“So, Brooke… any plans for the summer?”
She bites her lip, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy. “I was going to spend it with Wayne but now…”
Damn. Foot. In. Mouth. Think!
“You know, I can’t believe he did that to you. I mean, seriously, why would he want someone else when he has you?”
“I know!” She looks up at him with tear-brimmed eyes. “He tried to deny it, said he loved me and would never cheat on me. But I saw the message myself! God, he’s such an asshole!”
Sam nods. At least that they can agree on. “Yeah. Totally. And so stupid to think you wouldn’t find out.”
‘What are you doing?’ Dean’s voice yells at him. ‘This is not seducing! This is being her BFF. Dude, you’ll never get in her pants if she thinks you’re her girlfriend!’
Sam silently tells him to shut up. Not like he was expecting any panty-diving anyway. He just wants to make her feel better.
“So stupid he can’t even remember a goddamn phone number.” She sniffs and sips at her drink. “Know what he texted her, I mean, me? ‘Thanks for the blow, sweetheart. Wanna do it again after gym?’ Can you believe it? Who calls anyone sweetheart anyway? Which is so not the point but…”
Sam stares at her, the wheels in his brain turning. Dean. Dean calls girls sweethearts. But he couldn’t have…
He realizes with a jolt that Dean totally could. And would.
Oh shit. That…. moron! He’s going to kill him. He’s going to damn well ki-
Brooke reaches over the table for Sam’s hand, and the word in his head changes from ‘kill’ to ‘kiss’ in a heartbeat.
“You would never do a thing like that, would you, Sean?”
“Sam,” he corrects with a smile. God, her hand is so small and warm. It disappears completely in his big paw. “And of course not. Especially not to a girl like you.”
She smiles through her tears, and suddenly he doesn’t care if Dean set them up, or if her boyfriend really cheated on her. Brooke’s here with him, and he’s gonna make this a night to remember.
Their appetizers arrive, and as they eat their way through the shrimp salad followed by tender veal and finally crème brûle, the conversation flows freely, and he learns all there is to know about her neurotic mother, and her bitch sister, and her car-obsessed dad that never liked Wayne, because he drove a Toyota, and he’d been so right, hadn’t he? Sam nods even if it’s now obvious that she’d only said yes because she knew her dad would approve of the car, and because of it, him. He doesn’t mind. He’s on a date with a beautiful girl, and that is all that matters.
By the time they’re finished it’s almost eight o’clock, and Denise slips him the bill discreetly. It strangely enough matches almost exactly the amount Dean gave him earlier, and he gives her a smile, leaving the extra five dollars for tips.
The closer they get to the hall the quieter she gets, and Sam’s bees start humming in his stomach again. Maybe she feels embarrassed being seen with him. Maybe she thinks her high-class friends will laugh at her for bringing a geeky nobody as her date.
Or maybe she just doesn’t want to see Wayne. Yeah, that’s probably it.
Finally they’re there, and Sam parks the car and kills the engine. Silence fills the small space, but just as he’s about to ask her if she’s all right she looks up and smiles at him.
“Thank you, Sam. You’ve been so nice to me. I wasn’t even going to go, and now I’m so glad I did.”
He blushes and smiles back. “It’s all you, Brooke. You make it impossible not to be nice.” Ha! She’s blushing! Dean couldn’t have done that better.
“Shall we go inside?” She tilts her head. “I bet you’re a great dancer.”
Dancer?
Sam’s mouth opens slightly in horror.
Forget about bees. He’s got hellhounds going berserk in his belly. He’d forgotten about the dancing part. How could he forget about the dancing part? He can’t dance! He’s never danced in his whole life. Unless you count jumping around with Dean playing air guitar to Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All. And that was ten years ago.
Sam doesn’t use much profanity, but right now the word ‘fuck’ is hammering in his head.
His knees actually feel weak as he leads her in. The hall is already filled with kids dressed in shiny tuxedos and sparkly dresses, and he looks around in panic. They all look so grown up and confident, and he feels like an overgrown toddler going to a costume party. He’s going to trip in those shiny shoes. He’s going to spill punch over himself and his date. And he’s almost certainly going to crush her toes under his big feet, unless he drops her or slams her into a wall first.
What in hell was he thinking?
Brooke waves to some friends, and he follows her to join them, plastering a smile on his face. He can feel himself blushing as the kids he’s gone to school with for three months now and knows every name of, look at him like he’s a complete stranger.
“Hey guys. You remember Sam, right?” Brooke jerks her head his way, ringlets twirling, and he says, “Hi,” grateful that at last she seems to have managed to memorize his name.
More blank stares. One girl, Teri, gives him a smile, and he smiles gratefully back. He’s loaned her his notes a few times and they were together in study group for a paper on the Civil War.
He stands awkwardly as the talk picks up again. ‘Wow, that dress looks gorgeous’ and ‘Who did your hair?’ from the girls part while the guys try to look cool and not too obvious in their cleavage staring. The circle shifts and moves, slowly closing, until Sam finds himself outside the group, his advanced height the only reason he’s not staring at their necks. He tries to look bored and not bothered by the fact that Brooke seems to have forgotten all about him. At least they’re not dancing. Yet.
One of the girls announces she has to ‘freshen up,’ and as if on cue the rest of them follow. Why on earth girls can’t pee alone Sam will never understand. Brooke turns and gives him a small smile which makes his heart flutter, and then he’s left standing with three guys he’s never talked to, and who he’s sure have no interest in talking to him.
After a long moment of awkward silence he steps away, mumbling something about fresh air, and hurries for the door. It’s a warm night, and he moves to stand in the shadows, breathing in and out. He can do this. He’s watched movies where people dance. It can’t be that difficult.
The music is getting louder inside, broken only by bright laughter and excited voices. Suddenly he feels incredibly alone. If Dean was here he’d be making fun of the emo music and expressing his opinion of the girls’ racks loud enough for everyone to hear. He’d spike the punch and probably pick a fight and then when he was tired of the whole thing he’d pull the fire alarm and drag Sam away to watch the chaos from a safe distance, laughing his ass off. Or, more likely, drag a couple of girls into the Impala and make out with them in the flashing blue lights of the fire trucks while their boyfriends searched frantically for their lost dates. Yeah, that sounded more like him.
Sam smiles into the night and wonders for the hundredth time what it would have been like if they were closer in age. He misses having Dean in school with him. For one thing, no one ever tried to bully Sam when Dean was around. And having a brother like Dean earned you a certain respect, which Sam the super geek had benefited from as long as he can remember. But not anymore.
Now he’s alone, and in this particular school he’s more alone than he ever remembers being. Three months with no friends is starting to take its toll. There are just some things he can’t share with Dean, and besides, these days Dean spends more time away than at home. Either hunting with dad or hustling or whatever it is he does when he goes out at night. He comes home stinking of beer and smoke, cursing and grunting as he gets undressed before collapsing into bed. If they’re sharing he shoves Sam over to his side, then steals most of the blankets and is snoring within minutes, breathing hotly into Sam’s neck.
They’re getting way too big for sharing, but most rooms only carry two beds, and when dad’s home, it’s either this or the floor, and even if Dean claims the floor must be better than sleeping with ‘Samsquatch, the giant octopus,’ secretly Sam likes sleeping with Dean. His nightmares never seem to linger when Dean is there. And ever since Dean deemed Sam too old for cuddling, those nights snuggled up is the only physical comfort he gets. Stupidly enough sometimes Sam misses being his father’s kiddo and Dean’s little Sammy. Things seemed so much easier then, back when if ever he felt bad all he had to do was look at Dean, and he’d be scooped up in Dean’s arms, his hair ruffled and tickling fingers working their way under his shirt.
The music changes into a peppy beat, and there are shrieks of excitement. Seems this one is a favorite, making people flock to the dance floor. Sam doesn’t even know what song it is. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself of off the wall. ‘No time like the present,’ his dad would say. ‘Eyes on the goal. Focus your mind’. ‘Just grab her ass, and she won’t notice your dorky dancing’, would probably be Dean’s advice. For once Sam thinks he’ll do it dad’s way.
He’s about to head in when he hears Brooke yelling, “Leave me alone!”, high heels tapping angrily on the hard marble floors, and without thinking he steps back into the shadows, heart beating frantically in his chest.
“Come on, Brooke. I swear I didn’t do it. Baby, I love you. Please.”
Sam has his back pressed into the wall, the dark shadows swallowing him as Brooke comes storming out, the long silk dress hissing as it sweeps the floor.
“It was from your phone, Wayne! Don’t lie to me!”
Wayne comes running out after her, desperation in his voice. “It wasn’t me! Someone must have hacked my phone or something.”
She twirls around, eyes shooting daggers but Sam can see the tears glittering in the corners. “Why? Why would someone do that, Wayne?”
Wayne throws up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe someone wanted to split us up, you think of that? Who’s that guy you’re with anyway?”
“What?” She gives a hysteric laugh. “You think Sam hacked your phone? He wouldn’t. He’s way too sweet to do a thing like that. Plus he doesn’t even own a cell. I doubt he even knows how to work one.”
Hey! He might not be the electronic wizard Dean is, who’d transformed his cell phone into a detonation remote a week after he got it, but he certainly knows how to use one.
“Whatever. Didn’t take you long to hook up after you dumped me, did it? If anything I should be the one mad at you.”
“Hook up? Are you kidding me? He’s like a kid, Wayne. He didn’t even look at my boobs once. I bet he’s never even kissed a girl.”
‘I was being polite! And I so have kissed girls. I mean… okay so not really but… I’m not a kid!’
His cheeks are burning, the embarrassment and hurt turning the food sour in his stomach. Why is she saying those things about him? She seemed so nice, and he thought she’d really liked him.
“Besides, I wasn’t gonna stay home, was I? As if it’s not enough that the whole school knows you cheated on me, but I’m not missing my prom because of you. It was either Sam or going alone, and no one goes to prom alone.”
“Okay, okay. Baby, I swear I didn’t send that message. Please, you got to believe me. I mean, who was it I was supposed to send it to? Don’t you think if I was boning some girl someone would have found out before now? I wouldn’t do that to you, I swear. Brooke…”
His voice is pleading innocently, and Sam can feel the tables turning. ‘Oh come on, Brooke. Don’t fall for that! He might not have done this particular stunt, but the guy’s a jerk, can’t you see that? I mean, he drives a freaking jap!’
“I don’t know.”
“Please. Just dump the geek and come in and dance with me. Just one dance. I mean, where is he anyway? He ran out on you, Brooke. C’mon. One dance, that’s all.”
“Wayne…”
“C’mon, baby. Please?”
She takes a step forward, head bowed and Sam watches with a lump in his throat as Wayne pulls her into his arms, and then they’re kissing. Deep kisses that make him feel a little like he’s dying inside. Not that he ever hoped, not that he thought he’d really get her but still…
Finally they pull apart and walk inside, Wayne’s arm possessively around her waist, and Sam’s left alone again in the dark. Except where, before it was a refuge, now it feels like he’s been cast out, rejected.
He stands still, unable to move, just staring out into the darkness. The loud music and laughter coming from inside the hall seem to mock him. What was he thinking? How could he have imagined that he could blend in, could become one of them, even if it was only for one night? That he could have this one night of normalcy in the freak chaos they call their life. It was stupid, and if Dean could see him now he would shake his head in contempt. “Didn’t I tell you normal isn’t for us? Dude, who wants normal anyway?” ‘Me. I do,’ Sam thinks, and he can feel a tear trickling down his cheek. ‘Just once I wanted something just for me. Something that would stop me feeling like a freak.’
He has no idea how long he stands there. The night grows even darker, the music louder, until it finally slows down, and one ballad after another brings the evening closer to its end. He should head home. Should take the Impala and just drive away. Not like she’ll notice him gone. Not like anyone will notice him gone. They don’t care. No one cares.
“Ok. So that didn’t go too well.”
His head snaps up so fast his neck twinges, hand rushing to his face to wipe away the tears, before he even realizes what he’s doing. “Dean! What - what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t need any mirror to tell him that his eyes are puffy, and his nose is red and God, could he be any more pathetic? He prepares himself for the mocking laughter he knows is coming but instead Dean silently hands him a bundle of paper towels, swiped from the restrooms no doubt. Sam sniffs and wipes his eyes before blowing his nose, then crumples the used tissue and throws it angrily out into the dark.
“What are you doing here, Dean? Come to laugh at your pathetic excuse for a brother?”
Dean doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and leans against the wall by Sam’s side. After a moment’s silence he asks, “What happened?”
Sam bites his lip, swallowing the lump in his throat. “She’s back with her boyfriend. He managed to convince her that message about him cheating on her was bogus.” He glares at Dean, lips thin. “But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Dean has the decency to look chagrined for a second, but then he shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Dean, what were you thinking? I don’t need you to pimp me out, ok?”
Dean glares at him in indignation. “I wasn’t pimping! I just thought…” He sighs. “I knew you liked her, ok? And it was prom, and you should go to prom, Sam. I was hoping you’d just ask someone else, but you never did, and…I don’t know.” Dean looks away, pursing his lips. “I just wanted you to have a nice prom.”
“You planned this. The clothes and the dinner and… you set me up.”
“Sam…”
Sam shakes his head. “I can’t believe you did that, Dean. How long have you been planning this? Saving your money and finding that restaurant and… Hell, I bet you practiced tying that bowtie for hours just so you would get it right. You had me completely fooled. What were you gonna do if she said no? Hire me a hooker?”
“C’mon, Sammy. It wasn’t like that-”
“Forgot one thing though,” Sam continues, ignoring him. “For all your planning you really screwed up the most important thing.”
Dean stills, watching him warily. “What?”
“Dude, I can’t dance! What was I supposed to do once I got her in there? I would have made an ass out of myself, Dean.” He’d laugh if he wasn’t feeling so damn miserable. “Just as well I never even got the chance since she dumped me before we even got on the damn dance floor.”
Inside the band finishes Sarah MacLachlan’s I Will Remember You, and then half a beat later the singer announces the last dance. “For all you young lovers here tonight. Thank you for a lovely evening and good night.” There’s a round of applause, and then, to Sam’s horror, the band starts playing Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. Great. He’s lucky if Dean doesn’t stalk in there and shoot the singer.
He suddenly has a visual of Brooke wrapped up in Wayne’s arms, her head on his shoulder, her sweet smelling hair brushing Wayne’s nose. His breath hitches before he can swallow it down, and to his annoyance he feels tears filling his eyes again. Damn it!
“I can’t believe I was so stupid to believe I could…” Sam shakes his head, staring down at his toes. “Can we go home? I just wanna go home, Dean.”
Dean is still for a second, then he pushes away from the wall and grabs Sam’s arm, pulling him up straight. “Come here.”
“What?”
Sam is trying to shrug free, annoyed at being handled like a baby, when Dean pulls him close, arms around Sam in a tight hug. It’s so unexpected Sam freezes, not sure what the hell is going on. Dean never hugs him, hasn’t done since Sam was twelve. He slaps Sam on the back or punches Sam’s arm or holds him still when Sam needs stitches, but they never, ever hug.
“Dean?”
“Just shut up and let me do this, ok?”
‘Do what?’ Sam wants to ask but then Dean’s arms move until they’re around Sam’s waist and slowly Dean starts rocking him from side to side. It takes Sam a moment to catch on but when he does the lump is back in his throat, bigger than ever before, and the tears he’s barely been holding back spring forward. Hesitantly he brings up his arms and puts them around Dean’s shoulders, tilting his head to bury his wet face in the crook of his brother’s neck.
They stand like that, not moving their feet but just gently rocking to the music, until the final notes die down, and the air is filled with the sound of clapping. Dean stills, arms wrapped tight around Sam’s waist, and Sam swears he can feel Dean’s heart beating, his rapid pulse fluttering against Sam’s dry and chapped lips. Every breath he takes brings with it the musky smell of Dean, sweat, and beer, and leather and memories of a closeness he’s missed more than he’ll ever admit. His arms tighten around Dean, the knuckles of his right hand brushing against the short hairs on Dean’s neck, and he straightens his fingers, laying his palm against the damp skin. Dean shivers, his breath hitching. Once, twice and then he’s pulling away, brushing down Sam’s jacket to straighten out the creases, not looking up.
“We should get going before the mob arrives,” he says, voice slightly rough.
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.” Sam swallows, wiping his face on the back of his hand as soon as Dean turns away.
He follows Dean to the car, but when he holds out the keys Dean shakes his head. “This is your night, Sam.” He suddenly grins, and Sam can feel some of the tension drain away. “I won’t even yell at you. Well,” he adds, “unless you drive like a complete moron.”
“Shut up.” But Sam can’t help the grin tugging at his lips. As he slides in behind the wheel, he looks over at Dean, suddenly remembering something. “By the way, Brooke’s dad almost wet himself over the car. Turns out he’s somewhat of a classic car enthusiast.”
“Really? You don’t say,” Dean smirks as he makes sure his seatbelt is properly fastened, just in case Sam runs them into a tree. “Who would have guessed?”
Sam frowns and gives Dean a glance. “You knew?”
“Sammy boy, you’re not the only one that’s good at research.”
“Oh God. You are my pimp.” Sam rolls his eyes even though he’s smiling, then puts the car in gear and roars the engine, tires squealing as they shoot away down the street.
“Sam! What the fuck are you-?”
“No backseat driving, Dean,” Sam laughs, sticking out his tongue when Dean flips him off. They drive in comfortable silence and are only a few minutes away from the small apartment where they’re staying when Sam reaches over and lays his hand on Dean’s upper arm, squeezing it lightly.
“Thank you.”
Dean doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t swat Sam’s hand away either, and Sam gives his arm a light pat before returning his hand to the wheel.
Once home he parks the car and makes a big show of locking it before handing Dean the keys. They walk in side-by-side, bumping shoulders and chuckling amicably. Dean pulls off his jacket and kicks off his shoes as soon as he gets inside, jumping on to the bed where he leans against the headboard, watching Sam as he sits down to unlace his shoes.
“Still can’t believe you didn’t get laid, wearing those clothes. Those girls must be blind.”
Sam blushes and tries to hide his pleased smile. He hangs up the jacket then tugs at the bowtie, but before he can get it loose Dean is up and off the bed, reaching for it. “Let me.”
“Dean, I can do it myself.” But he lifts his chin anyway, the heat of Dean’s fingers fluttering against his Adam’s apple. Again they linger, just briefly, and then the silk is sliding across the back of his neck, heating up the thin cotton underneath the collar.
“Don’t want you ripping those fine clothes with your gigantic fingers, Sam. Got to bring everything back in a decent condition.”
“Uh…” That sounds very much like an insult, but right now he’d give Dean pretty much whatever he wanted, so he lets it slide. “Okay.”
Sam stands still as Dean unbuttons the vest and slides it off his shoulder, folding it once and laying it on the bed before starting on the shirt. It’s a relief when the top button is undone, and he sucks in his breath, cracking his neck, which feels stiff after the constraint. Dean pauses for a moment, but then his hands move further down, undoing the other buttons one by one, his knuckles every now and then brushing Sam’s naked chest. Sam can feel himself starting to blush, and he looks awkwardly away, eyes a little to the left of Dean’s ear as his hands are lifted one after the other, and the cufflinks are removed. When the shirt is slid off his shoulders, he feels suddenly cold and vulnerable and steps away, hugging his chest. Dean reaches out for him but then seems to change his mind, his hand dropping down to clutch at the shirt in front of him.
“Ok. Awkward.”
Sam laughs shakily. “Yeah. Kinda.”
Dean shakes his head, his smile oddly sad. “Just can’t believe you’re so grown up, Sammy. Seems only yesterday I was dressing you for your first day of school. Much smaller clothes that time of course.”
“Yeah.” Sam smiles. “Not that I’m ever gonna need them again, but it was nice for once wearing clothes that fit me. A shame we have to bring them back.”
Dean looks up, a strange glint in his eyes. “You wanna keep them? I gave that jerk a fake name so…”
Sam shakes his head and laughs. “Right. When would I wear them anyway?”
“I don’t know.” Dean frowns, distractedly smoothing the shirt in his arms. “There’s senior prom.”
“I think I’m done with prom, Dean.” Sam starts undoing the belt of his pants, cheeks burning as his earlier humiliation suddenly burns fresh and painful. “It was a stupid idea anyway. Waste of money. You shouldn’t have…”
“Hey!” Dean suddenly grabs his chin, forcing Sam to look him in the eye. “Don’t care about the money, alright? I’m sorry your date turned out to be a fickle bitch, and that your night got ruined, but not a single cent of that money was wasted, Sam.” His fingers relax to briefly caress Sam’s cheek before letting him go. “I saved it for you and spent it on you. Was never meant for anything else, ok?”
Sam stares at him, startled. “Ok.” He bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth, until it starts to hurt. He looks down, hands still holding up his pants, belt and zipper undone. “It wasn’t ruined. My night. Not completely.” He glances up at Dean, noticing the confused frown on his face. “I mean… you came.”
He steps out of his pants, and when he looks up again Dean is straightening the clothes on the hanger, a soft blush pinking his cheeks. “Dean?”
“Hand me the pants and go brush your teeth.” Dean holds out his hand without looking at Sam and he hands the pants over before tugging off his socks and padding barefoot into the bathroom. He catches a glance at himself in the mirror and is startled by the flush in his cheeks and the wideness of the pupils. He brushes his teeth quickly, then closes the door and pees. When he comes back out the tuxedo is hanging on a nail by the door, and Dean is already in bed, back turned.
“Dean?”
“Go to bed, Sammy. It’s late.”
Sam hesitates for a second, but Dean doesn’t move, and Sam’s not sure what he wanted to ask Dean anyway. “Ok.”
He slips underneath the covers, listening to Dean breathing in the other bed. His own bed seems unusually big and cold. But Dad will be home in a few days, and so they’ll be back to sharing. And for once Sam thinks Dean maybe won’t mind it so much.
fin