October 31, 2005

"So how's it feel to be the golden boy of your family?" Riley asked.

"He's not," Dean responded before Sam could, muscling his way through the party crowd with a fresh round of beers for the table. "You know, Johny was the first kid in his class to learn how to write his name?" he continued, passing out bottles.

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, that's definitely got me beat." He raised his fresh beer in a silent toast to his nephew.

"He was so scared that first day," Dean had a mischevious glint in his eye as he settled back into his chair, "so I told him about how before his uncle Sammy's first day of school..."

"Oh dude, no!" Sam interrupted, "Do not tell that story!"

Brady, Jerry, and Riley all chimed in at once, encouraging Dean, oh yes dude, tell the story, already snickering in anticipation.

Ignoring Sam silently mouthing, "Dean, no." at him he leaned in and began, "OK, so I'm nine years old, wait, ten, no nine, because Sam was five, so it is the middle of the night..."

"So dean, speaking of Johny, how's Brenda? You guys on again or off again this week?" Sam interrupted.

Dean went quiet and took a swig of his beer, trying to hide his expression behind the bottle. He knew the drill by now. Brenda had lost most of her patience with the frequency and length of his California visits. He'd accepted that sleeping in his car at the garage until he talked his way back into the house, or until John found out and hauled his butt home to stay in his old room was just part of the deal. Didn't mean Sammy had to know about it. "Let's just say, when you kick it in the ass at that interview Monday, there's no reason why I can't still be around to help you celebrate."

"Seriously Dean, when are you just going to go ahead and marry her?" He'd put his foot in it, and he knew it, so now he was just going to bull through it.

"Dude, what do you want from me? I've proposed three times, four if you count when she dropped the baby bomb. I'll marry her when she can plan a wedding without dumping me for being an..." finger quotes, "...insensitive jerk."

"What? You? Insensitive? Nah." Riley joked.

"I know right?" Dean basked in the mock praise.

"Well Dean, you did suggest holding the reception at Hooters." Sam reminded him.

The others choked on their drinks, sputtering and laughing. "Oh man, you didn't." Jerry managed to gasp out.

"That was not my fault!" Dean protested. "She caught me by surprise while I was thinking about the bachelor party." He took another gulp of his beer and continued as he swallowed, "Which you," he pointed at Sam. "should have been planning for me, so really that one's on you for shirking your best man duties." He smiled in satisfaction, silently daring Sam to argue with that.

"And every time she calls off the wedding, you still go ahead with the bachelor party, so I figured you were good." Sam countered.

Loud shrieks drew their attention to another table where a guy was teasing a group of girls with a rubber spider. The conversation got put on hold as they all took time to appreciate the resulting bounces and jiggles, enhanced by the sexy costumes that seemed to be the college co-ed Halloween go to.

As much as Dean enjoyed the sight, he wasn't so distracted that he missed the longing way Sam's gaze lingered over a leggy blonde in a nurse costume.

"Speaking of girls, little brother," he seized the opportunity to take back the upper hand, "I admire your taste, but that one, way out of your league."

Sam fixed him with the familiar, half annoyed, half pouting, look that Dean called his bitch face. "You know," he said, "Brenda's right about you. You are an insensitive jerk."

"Rather be a jerk than a bitch," Dean muttered into his bottle as he grabbed a sip.

The other guys shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Someone cleared their throat in the heavy silence. Both brothers simultaneously burst into laughter, trading playful shoves across the table.

"And I'll tell you this," Dean said, "Monday we are ditching this college kid, frat party crap, and I am taking you guys," he waved taking in the whole table, "to a real bar, somewhere we can shoot some pool, and hear Zep on vinyl."