Rock, Paper, Scissors
"On the count of three. " Announced Sam, his hand behind his back.
Dean nodded, his eyes dark in thought.
"One"
Bobby stared at the boys, curious about their behaviour, but not enough to stop his interview with the witness and figure out what they were discussing about.
"Two"
Sam looked Dean straight in the eye, his muscles tensing.
"Three"
In one swift movement Sam extended his arm: scissors. Dean had pulled rock again.
Bobby stared at the boys as Dean took his jacket off and headed for a hidden door on the floor.
With a fast apology Bobby interrupted his interview and headed towards the boys. "Where are you going?" He called, his hand on Dean's arm. There was not pressure on it, Dean could have kept moving if he wanted to, but he stopped, anyway, turning to face Bobby.
"One of us has to go in there" Explained Dean, pointing to the trapdoor with a gesture. Bobby looked at the door, then back at Dean. He squinted his eyes, the way he did when he was trying to figure something really hard out. Or when he was trying to make Castiel understand something.
"What's wrong, Bobby?" Finally asked Dean, suddenly feeling like an 8 year-old Dean being told off for losing one of Bobby's books. Again.
"You do it on purpose, don't you?" Dean didn't answer. "You always pull rock. Even an idjit like you would have realize it by now." He remained silent. Bobby sighed, and hit Dean on the back of the head. "Idjit." He accused.
"What the HELL was that for?" Defended Dean, massaging the area of impact, although it hadn't really hurt that much. Damn, he had been eaten by Hellhounds before, this was nothing.
"Sam is not a kid, Dean. Hasn't been for a while"
Dean looked at his 27-year-old baby brother talking to the son of the victim, then turn to Dean with a victorious smile on his lips.
"I know that" He whispered, even tough Bobby wasn't near enough to hear anymore.