Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural, nor do I own the line, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!" -- but we all knew that! ;)

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for your reviews and encouragement! I know I'm pain in the butt with posting! I'm nearly finished (yay!) so another chapter will be up shortly -- I swear! Thank you for patience! I hope you enjoy!

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"You've got to be kidding me?" Sam stated aghast. Dean glanced over warily.

They were the first words his little brother had uttered, without prompting, in the thirteen minutes since they'd left the apartment.

Just before leaving Sam had spat jackasss at him and then promptly slammed the kitchen door behind him as he stalked – stalked – out of the room.

Apparently Sammy had grown ovaries while at Stanford. Lovely.

He had followed Sam slowly and found the younger man standing by the Impala; his arms crossed and a mutinous expression on his face.

Without a word Dean had unlocked the doors and they'd gotten in.

Sam had been giving him the silent treatment so Dean had been giving it right back—until he'd been forced to ask how far this park because they were running low on gas.

Sam had heaved a great put-upon sigh and directed Dean to the closest gas station—in monosyllabic words.

Which was fine; no talking was just fine with Dean… yep… silence however, was not so fine with him. He hated silence.

So he'd leaned his head in the window, while he'd pumped the gas, and told Sam to put some music on.

And now Sam was staring at him like he'd grown a second head or horns or something…

"What?" he asked defensively.

Sam stared at him and said nothing so Dean shrugged and went back to pumping gas.

A few minutes later he finished, paid and sat behind the wheel again. Sam had yet to put music on.

You have to put the tape in the player for the music to play…" Dean advised, smirking as he pulled out of the gas station.

Sam shook his head, "This is ridiculous… christ Dean… you really have to update you cassette tape collection…"

Dean frowned, what the hell was Sammy babbling about…?

"Why? What's wrong with them?" He asked, shooting Sam a quick look. His little brother was staring at him.

"For starters… their cassette tapes… it's the 21st century."

"CD's are crap."

"This is crap."

"Your crap."

"Motorhead, Dean? Metallica?" Sam asked skeptically, holding out a tape with a disgusted look on his face, "It's like the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Dean scowled and reached over, yanking the tape from his hand, "And what do you listen to? ABBA?" He spit in a disgusted tone, as he shoved the tape in the player.

"Fuck off."

"Shut-up."

"Turn it down."

"No"

Sam scowled, "It's too loud," he hissed.

Dean smiled grimly as he reached over and turned the volume up even more, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole." He proclaimed as he took a corner fast.

"Watch it!" Sam cried, reaching a hand out to the dashboard.

"Too fast for you, Sammy?" he drawled teasingly.

Sam sent him a heated glare before settling back against the seat and staring out the window-- in mutinous silence.

Dean sighed, fine— he could deal with that. He'd take mutinous silence over heartfelt chat any day.

Five minutes later he realized he had no idea where he was going.

He shot Sam a quick look and found his little brother was currently busy glaring holes through the passenger side window—lost in his own little world of passive-aggressive rage.

Dean knew he could ask, hell he should ask or who knew where the hell they were going to end up, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to be the one to break the silence, because the one that broke the silence was inviting conversation and god knew the last thing he wanted was conversation.

"So you planning on tellin me where the hell we're going or should I just drive…" he muttered at the next red light.

Sam said nothing for a moment, then, "Keep going straight. I'll tell you when to turn."

Dean nodded; that wasn't so bad. No conversation, just information. He liked that. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he'd thought. The silence stretched for a few more minutes.

"So is it far?" he asked.

Another pause, then "No," Sam's response was short and given without looking at him.

Dean mused on that a moment, "How far is it?" he asked.

"Turn right at the next corner." Sam answered, his tone still cold and tight.

Dean sighed softly.

Sammy was pissed off and nobody could do pissed off like Sammy—except John Winchester, of course.

He hadn't meant to piss Sam off, not really…

He hadn't seen his little brother in four years! Why the hell would he want to spend their time together angry? It was just… he didn't want to spend their time together tearing off scabs either.

And that's what would happen. Wounds that had healed would be reopened, because no matter what Sam thought—things hadn't changed.

So he drove and every few minutes Sam would offer directions and the music blared and the houses thinned and soon they were driving alongside the gates to a park.

He parked the car in the lot and waited for his brother to say something. Seconds ticked by and Sammy didn't so much as turn towards him—fine. Shooting Sam a quick glare, Dean reached over to open the car door, "Okay, then…" he muttered.

"October third."

The words were said abruptly and Dean paused, shooting his brother a wary looked, "What?" he asked.

Sam was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing.

"October third," the younger man repeated in the same detached tone.

Dean frowned, dropping his hand from the handle and settling back against the seat, "Uh, okay… what about it?" He asked.

The car was silent for a very long moment and Dean sighed again, "Look Sam, it's hot in here so if you could just—"

"It's my wedding day." The younger man stated, shifting in his seat. His dark eyes suddenly fastened on Dean steadily. "October third is my wedding day."

Shit.

A lump materialized in Dean's throat, "Oh," he murmured.

This was one of those conversations he didn't want to have. One of those things that was better left untouched.

A conversation that was destined to be awkward no matter what route they took.

"I want you to come." Sam finally continued, his voice as steady as his gaze.

Dean looked away, shifted away, and remained silent. Maybe if he was silent this would all go away…

"Dean…" Sam continued, "I'm telling you four months in advance. Four months. I want you here. I want you to come. I want you to be my Best Man."

Dean's pulse quickened, it wasn't going away… it was getting worse.

"I want you to wear a suit and give a speech and be here."

Dean shook his head, enough was enough.

"No can do, Sammy," he muttered as he reached for the car door again, "I don't do suits or speeches, you know that."

"Dean…"

But Dean didn't wait to hear what else his brother had to say. Outside he picked a direction and started walking. It didn't matter if it was the wrong one—the point was to get away. The point was to stop this before it got it worse.

As usual when it came to things between them—Sam missed the point. He heard the car door open and slam shut, knew Sam was watching him walk away.

"For me…"

The words were stated so softly that Dean should have missed have. But he didn't. He heard them loud and clear and they made him stop.

"… I want you to do this for me…" Sam continued his voice still soft, "Will you do this for me…?"

Dean didn't turn around. He let those words hum in his head for a moment. It was funny, but in all their lives Sam had never said those words to him. They had underscored his entire childhood, buzzed in the background of every day, but they'd never been said. They'd never had to be.

And that Sam would say them now… it felt wrong somehow. It felt like his little brother was deliberately trying to manipulate him.

He turned slowly and walked back to the Impala. They stared at each other across the top of the car. As the seconds ticked by the determined glare in Sam's eyes faded when faced with the hardness in Dean's; he began to look a bit unsure of himself.

Dean said nothing, only stared at Sam; making sure to let his little brother see the coldness that had washed over him like ice.

"You don't get to ask me that," he finally stated in a chilling voice.

A flash of that night filtered through Sam's mind. The yelling, the demands, the anger, the look in his brother's eyes that he'd refused to acknowledge—the request in those eyes…

But Sam was a Winchester and he could face the cold for what he wanted; he lifted his chin a little and the determined look returned, "I'm just asking…"

"Don't."

Sam frowned and shook his head, "It's my wedding…!"

"And you really wanna discuss it now? Out here?" Dean asked motioning around them.

Sam opened mouth clearly intent on saying YES, but then suddenly snapped it shut. Instead he looked around. There was a constant stream of cars coming into the lot. People unloading chairs and coolders, kids unloading soccer balls and baseball bats, men with fishing rods, women with tanning lotion— people everywhere. Their chattering and laughter ringing in the air, it was a perfect day to be at the park.

"No," he said instead, "I guess I don't, but I do—"

"Good," Dean cut him off, tearing his gaze away and forcing himself to pull up a good mood, "Lead the way then, cause I'm starving…"

Dean ignored Sam's irritated expression just the way he'd ignored the voice that had told him to get the hell out of here. He was here now and he would make the best of this day if it killed him.

He shot his brother a well look and motioned for the younger man to go ahead of him. Sam glared for a moment, then shook his head in what might have been either disgust or frustration and took the lead.

"Fine," he grumbled, "… but I won't forget… we have to—"

"Yeah, yeah, Sammy… I get it… bare our souls, bake cookies, paint our nails…" he grumbled right back. Christ, his brother could be annoying.

As they fell into step together Sam shot him a look that seemed to mirror Dean's own thoughts. Dean glared back and the brothers found themselves pausing in their strides to glare at each other, then they once again fell into step next one another.

Oddly, that somehow made them feel better.

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"You made it!" Doug cried as Dean and Sam made their way towards him.

He was sitting at a picnic table with a beer in one hand and a magazine spread out in front of him. Behind him the gas grill sat in all its un-set-up glory.

"Yeah, despite your ass-backwards directions." Sam grouched.

"Ah, the Prince of Cheer himself," the other man murmured, tipping his beer towards Sam then bringing it to his lips.

"I thought the point of you being here was to set the grill up," Sam retorted as he reached the table.

Doug frowned at him lightly, "It's outa the car isn't it?" he asked balefully.

"You're a lout," Sam accused, dropping onto the bench.

Doug frowned again, then looked up at Dean, "A what? What did he just call me? Am I supposed to know what that is?"

Dean chuckled, "He's pouting 'cause the directions you gave him to where you'd set-up, weren't precise enough."

Doug looked over at Sam, "Dude. Do I look like a GPS system?"

"Shut-up," Sam hissed

Doug chuckled, "I can't believe you're brothers," he added a moment later staring across them.

"How awesome is that?" he asked, grinning.

"How many beers have you had?" Sam asked frowning, as he approached the grill. "And where's Mike? Kerrie said Jake was getting food… is Mike with him?"

Doug's eyes widened in mock defensiveness, "This is my first one!" he cried, then shook his head and smirked, "Naw, Mike's handling the delivery people."

"What delivery people? For what?" Sam asked, looking up from where he was studying the barbecue.

The other man shrugged, "Entertainment… want a beer Dean?" he asked.

Dean nodded, moving to sit across from Doug at the table, "Thanks," he stated when Doug handed him one.

"What kind of entertainment? For what? How long is this gonna be?" Sam asked in a rush, straightening and shooting his friend a glare.

"Whoa there, chill…" Doug cried, putting his hands out in a gesture of retreat, "... entertainment to be uh, be entertained with…" he stated, "You know how he is... I think he said something about playing soccer today..." Sam just stared at him, "I don't know how long its gonna be Sam… it hasn't even started yet. What's up with you?"

"Don't mind Sammy-- bein pissy is his primary form of communication." Dean stated, bringing the beer to his lips.

"It's Sam." The younger man practically growled. Dean lowered his beer and smirked at his littler brother.

"Okaaaay..." Doug drawled, "... whatever... uh, usually Sam's pretty laid-back," he told Dean after a moment.

"I must bring out the best in him then," the older man stated, still smirking.

"Do either of you wanna get off your asses and help me put this shit together!" Sam hissed, straightening. Doug and Dean exchanged glances; a moment later Doug went back to his magazine and Dean transferred a baleful gaze onto his brother.

"Dude. Put that Stanford education to use..." he murmured.

"I didn't major in engineering, Dean... this thing has more wires and tubes and... what the hell is this?" he asked holding up a small rubber knob, "What happened to a grill and coal? Coal was good, coal was easy..." Sam grumbled.

"How 'bout reading? Did they teach that at Stanford?" Dean asked when Sam knelt in front of the barbecue again. The younger man looked up, already scowling and Dean sent him a wide, innocent smile as he motioned towards Sam's right. Sam moved over a little and found, sitting innocuously in the grass, a small white book with a cartoon etching of a barbecue on it.

"Oh yeah man, the manual's right there..." Doug added suddenly, looking up from his magazine, "You weren't gonna try and put it together without it were you?"

Dean chuckled and Sam sent him a killer glare.

"Dean!" he bit out, his voice tainted with frustration.

The older man sighed, "Okay, okay... I'm coming... jeez..." he muttered, as set the beer down and got up, "You know that's backwards right..?"

"It is not!"

"Yeah, it is..."

"And you know this because...?"

"I have eyes." Dean deadpanned, "Dude, you have to connect the gas before you can-- you know what? Just move..."

Sam blinked at him. Dean rolled his eyes, "No, really, move. Let me do it, your making a mess..."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind and snapped it shut. Instead he took a few steps back and then lowered himself onto the grass; sitting Indian style to watch as Dean began putting things together.

"So where're the girls?" Doug asked suddenly, "I thought they were coming with you..."

"Uh..." for some reason Sam was having a difficult time taking his eyes off his brother, "... wedding stuff..." he murmured, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Doug.

It was-- on that subject at least.

"Big coincidence, me running into you twice huh, Dean? You being Sam's brother and all?"

Dean sighed softly-- talk about beating a dead horse, "Yeah, guess it was..."

"You should have told us at the bar that Dean was your brother," Doug continued, looking at Sam, "We thought you were going nuts... so why didn't you tell us?"

Sam heard the question, registered that a response was expected, but still his gaze refused to leave Dean, who by now had the barbecue looking like... well, a barbecue...

Let me do it, his brother had said, another refrain from their childhood. The implied, let me fix it that went along with it, the quiet faith of a dark-haired boy that his big brother could fix it, no matter what it was...

"Didn't you know Dean was in town?" Doug continued when Sam didn't say anything. "Sam?" he asked, his voice a bit sharper now.

Sam swallowed hard, "Uh, yeah... I... Dean and I... we uh, we..."

"... haven't been in touch, much lately," Dean finished for Sam, shooting the younger man a quick frown and a look that clearly said what the hell?

"Right, yeah... exactly," Sam added, drawing a deep breath and willing himself to just be normal. He'd been doing it for four years why the hell was he having so much trouble now...

"Oh," Doug stated, looking between them, "But you knew Sam was at Stanford, right?"

"Right." Dean said in a clipped voice as he turned back to the barbecue.

Doug frowned, "So how come--"

"Is that Mike over there?" Sam asked suddenly, standing and directing his gaze towards a section of trees. Doug stood with him.

"That's a girl, Sam." He stated after they'd studied the area for a few beats.

Sam shrugged, "Oh, my mistake... what are you reading over there anyway? Anything interesting? Did you bring anything aside from beer-- I'm starving... Kerrie and Lacey practically dragged us out of bed..."

"It's like three o'clock!"

"Did you bring food, Douglas, that is the important issue here? Chips? Cookies? Twinkies? Anything?"

Doug sighed, "Yeah, I brought stuff. Hold on, let me get..." He murmured as went over to where he'd piled a few bags of stuff. He was rummaging through them noisily when Sam felt Dean standing at his shoulder.

"You are so rusty I can hear you creak, man," the older hunter said softly.

Sam smirked a little, even he had to admit that his diversionary tactics weren't the best, "Lucky for you my friends aren't used to subterfuge."

Dean chuckled a little, "They're naive as hell, Sammy."

"It's Sam, Dean. And they're not naive... they're just..."

"Normal." Dean provided tauntingly.

Sam shifted a little, a scowl ready, but found a slight smile on his brother's face. Dean was watching Doug drop boxes of Hostess Snacks from bags onto the ground.

Sam's face cleared, "... you finished?" he asked instead, letting his voice carry over to Doug.

Dean nodded, "Yep. All ready for a steak..."

"Here." Doug dropped seven boxes of snacks on the table.

Dean nodded, "Awesome, I'm starving..."

Doug nodded, "Yeah, I could go for a few too..."

Sam smirked a little as he watched the two men tear into the boxes. Dean's head lifted suddenly and he shot Sam a wide grin full of so much genuine amusement that it had the younger man's eyebrows rising in surprise. He shrugged a little, silently asking Dean what was up.

The older man motioned towards the mess of boxes and wrappers he and Doug had made, "Dude..." he murmured, "...we're ravishing Little Debbie..."

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