If Dean was readily asked to admit pride to one particular skill he possessed; it wouldn't have anything to do with hunting, shooting or the general pyromania that seemed incessantly necessary in his line of work. Instead, it would probably be his treasured ability to read Sam's moods. That didn't count Sam's real 'moods' where his 17 year old brother very much intentionally made his every hostile emotion clear to him, their Father and anyone else unfortunate enough to get in his way. No, Dean was highly trained and adept in recognising the slightest changes and habits that alternated from the ritual of irritability Sam usually possessed around the frequently changing houses and accommodation.
Feeling much like some sort of advanced piece of technology used to predict oncoming storms: Dean sat motionless, hands clasped around a full, lukewarm mug of cheap instant coffee. He stared, unabashed, at his brother opposite him at the round linoleum covered table, who, in turn, stared at his open books and frowned. Books and frowning however were hardly unusual and cause for concern in regards to his geek little brother. It was the tension, the clenched jaw and the frequent swallowing (as if to suppress some emotional outburst) that had distracted the elder Winchester son from his much anticipated late afternoon beverage. There was no relaxing for Dean when his duties as a sibling were required, that much was for certain.
Dean spared a swift glance at the battered calendar near the phone, confident, but not entirely certain he hadn't managed to forget his Birthday or something. When he found no obvious answers there; he opted to clear his throat loudly enough to receive a glare from his companion in the room. Glares at least, were not commonly associated with illness he considered, making a mark on his mental checklist.
"You're studying hard tonight; only get 99 on your last assessment?" Dean teased, suddenly breaking the silence of the kitchen (and, with their Dad gone, called away suddenly on a hunt) the rest of the house too.
Sam made a noise Dean chose to classify as a common 'snortishhuffinggruntle'. A sarcastic one, not quite laced with enough irony for his comment to have been close to correct. This was unsurprising. Dean (proudly) couldn't recall a single example of any issues of low school marks for Sam. A new tact was needed if he was actually going to find out what the hell his problem was.
"You know, we could pick up some copy paper instead of you trying to indent the next five pages with that pen," His voiced was good humoured as he faked innocent obliviousness. For a response he was rewarded with an instantaneous gravely noise from the back of Sam's throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.
"Whatever Dean. Can you quit staring at me?" Sam spat, sounding hostile and shooting him another glare while he blinked back the subtle moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes.
Wait. Moisture? Sure his brother was more emotional than what Dean considered normal of a boy of his age…hell, a boy of any age, but…tears?! Taken aback and literally feeling like he had been kicked in the chest Dean's head swivelled around the kitchen again desperately, as if he expected to see someone suddenly reveal themselves to be physically hurting his brother. Anything to explain why the fuck what he had assumed to be an oncoming tantrum had suddenly transformed itself into chick flick material.
"Sammy…" The calendar caught his eye again and something clicked into place deep within his brain. A combination of logic and the vague memory of a pink and blue flyer pasted outside the liquor store "Oh hell no…"
Sam shook his head as if he knew his brother had figured out the cause to his inner turmoil and began to hastily stack together his sheets of paper and text books.
"You're upset you're missing the prom!?" Dean spluttered, torn between amusement and pity. It was lucky he hadn't been drinking that coffee after all or it would be splattered over the walls and table by now.
"Dean…" Sam started in a warning voice looking both furious and slightly baffled. Baffled, probably, about how Dean (the genius that he was of course) had managed to pinpoint firstly, that he was upset and then, the direct cause of his angst with what? Two comments? Oh he was good. Reeeeeeal damn good.
"Sorry, but 'Samderella' just doesn't have the same ring to it."
"I'm really not in the mood," The featured Disney princess snapped in response, rising with his armful of belongings, ready to storm off dramatically. Dean restrained the amused snort that was threatening to escape. For Sammy's sake he would even curb his extraordinary wit and cutting comebacks prematurely. His dedication as an older brother knew no bounds.
"Seriously Sammy, why didn't you just say something if it was bothering you that much?" He asked masking most (but not all) of the hilarity he saw in the situation.
"What? To Dad? That would have gone down well," Pausing, he snorted and struggled to make inverted commas in the air while holding his pile of belongings before continuing "Oh, I've finished gun practice. By the way could I have money to rent a tux?"
"You never know…"
"Yes Dean, we do know," Apparently deeming the conversation over with this final brusque statement Sam turned to leave again.
"Heeey, hold up there princess!"
If Sam had looked annoyed before; now he looked downright furious as Dean skipped around the table and grabbed his shoulder. He wanted to drop the subject, Dean didn't.
"What Dean?" He posed with an acquiescent, artificially calm voice that his brother recognised to be a signal of the ultimate defensive walls going up. Sam had recently discovered that this tactic of sudden emotionless submission frustrated their Dad to whole new lengths. Dean however, knew better than to be off put by Sam's cynical teenage diversionary techniques.
"We're going for a drive," His response was equally as artificial but with a satirical cheerfulness instead. He readjusted his hand to get a firmer grip on his brother's shoulder and gave it an experimental tug. Surprised to find only minimal resistance he dragged his brother to the front door, pausing once to allow him to dump his books on the floor.
"Where? Where are we driving Dean?" Voice still measured and composed Sam obediently followed him through the door and out onto the cracked garden path.
Choosing not to respond, Dean paused at the curb beside the Impala and gave the shadowy street his usual cautionary once over. Sam, showing less concern for their general safety (and the vigilance they had been taught to retain) waited impatiently for the car to be unlocked. Patting his jacket as he made his way around to the driver's side, Dean assured the presence of his handgun before joining his brother in the car.
"See Sammy? That sort of disregard is why Dad has me stay with you while he hunts."
"You're going to start patronising me now too?" He asked as he buckled his seat belt with more force than necessary.
"Just giving you a clue."
"Dad doesn't want us to have a life, no further explanation is required," Arms folded Sam muttered more to himself than his brother. His face was turned away and cheek resting against the window, the condensation of his quiet huffing making patterns on the glass.
Chuckling to himself, Dean turned his music up to limit any further conversation. They may be different (Sam being ultimately, a hell of a lot less awesome) but there was something innate in the two of them together, neither desiring to make unnecessary small talk.
Dean wouldn't admit it vocally but hunts always became additionally enjoyable when Dad forced Sam to come along. Even the bickering that ensued and his little brother's ability get himself into trouble generally provided entertainment (not that he was sadistic or anything but the way he would squeal was just undeniably hilarious). Sam's 'rebellious' nature bothered Dean a whole lot less than it bothered his Dad after all. It was a High School thing and there wasn't much of that left to worry about. After his graduation he would have no choice but to settle down. Well, settle down as much as hunting the supernatural allowed he contemplated with a smirk.
The rest of the drive passed quickly in this manner. Dean knew exactly where he was going and Sam probably had a pretty good idea too. Haphazardly, he parked in the empty lot usually used by trucks making deliveries.
"We're here Sammy!" He informed the still unmoving figure beside him. His brother glanced up at the building in front of them, well lit from the inside and (with the engine cut) audibly emitting stray notes of music.
"Big surprise, you brought me to the prom. Thanks," His sarcasm was not lost on his brother.
"Come on, I'm the hottest date available in this town," He laughed as he swung the door open and sauntered out. There was nothing behind them except pine forest and he stretched before indicating for the sullen (and still car bound) boy to follow him "What? Upset we didn't have time to pick you up a dress?"
"I'm not going in Dean."
"And I'm not going to make you! I understand if you don't want to be overshadowed by me. Come on, there's something I want to show you," He ducked his head back into he car and stared intensely at him with the best puppy look he could manage. After all, it worked for Sam most of the time.
Twitching slightly, his brother finally conceded and untangled his long legs before emerging from the Impala with a resigned sigh. Dean began to dance his way absurdly across the grass with just enough care to avoid the patches of mud while Sam trailed inertly behind, apparently dredging his sneakers through every puddle in his path.
Upon reaching the side of the building Dean began to methodically check each of the long windows, searching for a parting gap in the heavy white drapes. Soon enough he noticed a tiny strip of light painting the dishevelled grass golden close to the edge of the building.
"This Sam," He began as he surveyed the scene inside, his younger brother (who was already growing worryingly tall) having to stoop below his arm to catch a glimpse of his own "Is all you are missing out on. Terrible music, warm juice, social awkwardness…"
If the night had a theme it was undefinable for Dean. A mismatch of cheap and generally tacky decorations were strung about the walls and dotted, without any artistic input, across the tables located near the back of the hall where they stood. The other side of the building was cleared and apparently serving as a dance floor where most of Sam's year group was either coupled off, clutching each other in romantic embraces or contradictorily, waving their arms about wildly. The seating was not entirely out of use however and unsurprisingly, Dean could see at least three scattered crying girls and a few other miscellaneous people who didn't look eager to join the festivities. Fatigued looking elders, teachers he assumed, circled the room uneasily.
After a moment Sam sighed and turned away, leaning his back against the wall while looking dejectedly at the clear sky. Pulling away from the view Dean gave him an incredulous look.
"That's it Sam. Trust me; it wouldn't look any better from the inside. Don't tell me you're still going to whine all night."
"We both know there's more than just this," Sam answered in a voice that was so serious and so…mature sounding it startled him. When had Sammy grown up without him noticing? His brother's figure, as aforementioned, alarmingly tall was just an outline backlit by the low moon making it impossible to read his expression.
"More than what?" He asked genuinely confused. Worried.
Sam laughed coldly before answering.
"Than me wanting to go to the prom. Than you never going to one of your own," The outline of Sam's profile disappeared suddenly and Dean knew he was looking at him "Never joining any clubs or playing any sports."
"Why would you need to play a sport with what we do?" He questioned quietly, still dubious about this sudden change in his brother. It wasn't what he was saying but the tone of his voice, the enmity to him, Dean of all people.
"Oh, maybe to have fun once in a while. Make some normal friends. You're right; it's always a matter of 'need' when it comes to you and Dad. I'm the selfish one after all."
"I don't know what you're talking about," His own voice was just as hostile now. Just as defensive.
The change in Dean's tone seemed to effectively prompt Sam to back down, his shoulders sagging slightly. Seemingly not eager to enlighten him on the subject of his thoughts; Sam remained silent for a moment, turning his face away to stare at the sky again. Dean stood rigidly still, arms at his and sides jaw clenched.
"Dean?"
"I haven't gone anywhere."
"What do you think…How do you think Dad would react if we wanted to leave."
"What 'we' are you talking about Sam? There are three of us; that's not changing anytime soon."
"Just hypothetically. One of us then."
"Wanted to leave to where? There's nowhere."
"You know, leave this life and do something…normal," His voice, quiet and wistful was punctuated by stray beats of the music playing inside.
"The paranormal doesn't disappear just because you chose to ignore it Sam. There's no leaving behind what we know," Dean tried to not let his unease show in his response. This was new to him, completely new and he didn't like it. Suddenly he had no idea what his brother was thinking, it made him feel isolated.
"Yeah," Sam whispered eventually sounding unconvinced "I was just saying."
Sensing an end to whatever the hell that had been; Dean leant over and ruffled Sam's hair. Sam's responsive dodge and flailing hit was easily out stepped by his brother who laughed, relieved at the lightened mood.
"Reckon we should go get something to eat?"
A/N: I've been nervous about submitting this for some reason ha ha. I'm not entirely sure about the school leaving/prom age of American High school students so I apologise if there is some error created by my Aussie reasoning. Please leave a review!