Been there, done that, graduated and got the hell out of school, thank God, he noted dryly. And in all honesty, he knew he couldn’t muster up any sincere desire to help his brother with his math homework either. He certainly didn’t want to spend the evening with his nose buried in a musty old text on ancient folklore and obscure pagan rituals.
HEY.MAN NICE SHOT CRACK
Dean wasn’t tired, nor did he have any inclination whatsoever to crack open a book. It came down to the simple choices of sleep, stare at the ceiling, help his father with research or help Sam with his homework. By now, he had memorized every minute crack, every paintbrush mark, and every shadow of light cast on the boring, monotonous expanse of plaster. With a chuff of amused disgust, Dean turned away from Sam and returned to staring, unblinking, at the off-white ceiling as he had for the past several days. Dean quietly watched Sam pore over polynomial expressions with a pleasant grin plastered on his face the kind of semi-blissful expression that Dean himself reserved for covertly staring at pictures of naked super models. While Dean chose to spend the majority of his time lying on top of his unmade bed, staring moodily at the tiny imperfections of the bland ceiling, Sam sat at the single desk in the room, busily preparing himself for the math competition he was participating in at school. Hazel eyes narrowing, he shot his little brother a resentful scowl. I could be getting to third base with Kelly, that cute waitress at the IHOP, right about now, Dean realized sadly. Sam was the only one that should have been grounded for the entire week, Dean thought in irritation. Still, he was twenty freaking years old! It was embarrassing having to suffer the same punishment as his sixteen-year-old goof of a brother. Amazing the stuff a curious and determined toddler could get into when no one was paying attention. It was the big brotherly thing to do, and Dean was used to saddling the brunt of trouble ever since his baby brother had learned to climb out of his crib by himself at the tender age of two. He’d been coming back from a rather long, hard hunt and hadn’t been in the mood for his offspring’s shenanigans or the cost of replacing a ruined tire, much less Dean’s feeble attempt at making light of the accident.ĭean would have gladly taken the blame for Sam if their father hadn’t caught them in the act. It really wouldn’t have been such a huge deal, Dean figured, if their father hadn’t pulled up in his truck just as it had happened. Because nine times out of ten, when the shit hit the fan while John Winchester was away, it was usually his oldest son’s guilty finger that had flipped on said fan, spreading the mess.
Especially when it hadn’t been his idea to begin with, which their father was still having a tough time believing. And yeah, he had enthusiastically participated in Sam’s impromptu Robin Hood challenge - up until the precise moment Sam’s last shot had nailed the tire - but that shouldn’t have made him the big baddie in this situation.
Okay, sure, as the oldest, he should have known better than to go along with the stupid game in the first place. His arrow had hit the makeshift target set up next to the rear of the car and Sam’s had…missed. He wasn’t the one that had been sloppy and shot out one of the Impala’s back tires with the miss-aimed crossbow bolt. Four days cooped up in the bedroom of their tiny rental cottage with no real diversions, and he and Sam were practically at each other’s throats, the gentle teasing banter between them having morphed into something a little harder, edgier than just brotherly jibes.ĭean cast a morose glance over at his pouting cellmate, and felt a tiny spark of anger ignite in his chest. No TV, no car, no girls, nothing to help stave off the boredom that had settled in nothing to do, except torment Sam, of course. It was day four of a week-long grounding for both boys, and Dean felt like he was losing his mind. “…geeeeek,” he teased, drawing the word out, hoping to get a rise out of his kid brother.Ĭhores and training completed for the day, he and Sam had nothing else to do except hang out in their room until their father declared lights out for the night. “Oh, come on, it’s a little funny,” Dean said, grinning mischievously. He jerked his head up from his algebra textbook and tossed a glare over his shoulder at his brother, lips pursed in a thin line of aggravation. “Six hundred and seventeen divided by thirty-two…carry the three…”
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