Title: The Difference Between You and Me

Author: Kits

Rating: T, for language and sexual content

Pairing: Mention of a chick Dean picks up, if you want to count that.

Summary: The differences between Sam and Dean were obvious, but they never noticed them before.


On Dean's prom night, he was running through the woods with a shotgun in one hand, glancing behind him and shooting blindly, trying not to stumble over any exposed tree roots, and roaring at his father to hurry-the-fuck-up because he was going to have to reload soon.

The night was almost balmy, and the moon was big and full and bright and somewhere some poor sap was thinking how lovely it was while a frickin' werewolf chased after Dean like he was the main entree, smothered in secret sauce. Dean really hated full moon nights.

"Dad!" he shouted, backing up to the Impala with the shotgun braced against his thigh while he reloaded it. "Hurry up, Dad..."

His fingers flew through the motions of reloading while his eyes darted down occasionally to check and then flew back up to the crashing through the woods in front of him.

"Any day, Dad..."

The thing burst through the trees and bushes, spraying a thick cloud of leaves around just as Dean brought the gun up and blasted it, reaching inside his jacket for a pistol and putting rounds in it with that too. The damn thing roared with indignation, charging towards Dean and his last prayer consisted of, "Holy fucking Christ!" when his dad suddenly appeared to his right and shot at the thing with silver until it was lying on the ground, a mess of blood and matted fur. Dean stared at his dad, both of them panting and eyes wide with panic.

"Took your time, didn't you?"

On Sam's prom night, he stared in the mirror and adjusted his tie for the thirty-second time in five minutes, trying to guage whether it was straight or not and then mentally debating--again--whether it was worth it to even wear a tie. Maybe if he took it off. He had one hand reaching towards it to loosen it when another hand came up and batted his away.

"Leave it, I swear, Sammy," Dean growled in annoyance, swinging himself up onto the counter in the bathroom. He eyed his little brother up and down, grinning when Sam shifted in discomfort. "Well, well, don't we look all fancy."

"It's prom, Dean," Sam said, striding past him into the bedroom. "You're supposed to."

"I don't know why you want to go anyway," Dean said, following him. "It's a bunch of teenagers standing around giggling and dancing with bad music playing and teachers glaring at you and some guy pissing himself because his girlfriend let him stick his hand up her dress for ten seconds."

"Thanks, that's... lovely."

Dean shrugged. "Just saying."

"What should I be doing, then, rather than going out with Jennifer?" Sam stuck out a hip and glared at his older brother, who was impervious to all of Sam's glares by now. Dean settled on the edge of the bed, ignoring his little brother's eye roll and fervent search for black socks.

"See, if you were going to a motel with he--"

"No."

"But you could be--"

"No," Sam repeated. "I am not getting a hotel room, okay?"

"No little brother of mine would be this dorky. You can't possibly be my little brother."

Sam emerged from where he was ducking under the bed, holding one black sock in his hand. "Thank god."

"Sam," Dean said with a pained expression. He tapped his chest. "You hurt me. Here. All these years--"

"I was referring to the sock," Sam said, pulling it on and tying his shoe over it. He stood, walking around with one bare foot and the other decently clad. "Seriously, Dean, have you seen the other one?"

Dean gave a long-suffering sigh and left the room, returning with a basket of laundry. He tossed it on the floor, pulling out a black sock from the pile and tossing it towards Sam. His little brother flashed him a genuine smile.

"What would you do without me?"

"Probably go to prom."

A car horn honked outside and Sam and Dean met each other's eyes. "That's my ride," Sam said awkwardly, jerking a thumb towards the door.

Dean nodded. "Sure. Have fun."

Sam was almost out the door when Dean yelled, "Do something I would do!"


On Dean's graduation day, he was behind some two-bit diner in the neighboring town, fucking a girl who giggled and moaned in his ear and scratched her nails down his back.

"C'mon, darlin', c'mon--" And then it was done, and Dean was pretty sure he heard music, but it wasn't I Pomp and Circumstance /i .

He cleaned up afterwards, helping her adjust her shirt and winking lasciviously while she straightened her skirt. She winked back, and he almost suggested another round. She was in her twenties, wore too much makeup and too little clothes and flirted shamelessly with him. Dad had rolled his eyes and disappeared when it was obvious that Dean's intent and her idea of fun were remarkably similar, and that's how Dean had found himself in an alley smelling like cheap perfume.

"See you around," she said, tossing a careless wave over her shoulder and walking away on her high heels. Dean admired the view for a minute before shaking his head and ducking out into the street to find the car and meet up with Dad.

On Sam's graduation day, he was standing in black robes and a black hat that was supposed to fit all sizes but apparently not Sam-size, in the middle of the day with the sun beating down and making all the polyester-clad graduates sweat. Regardless of this, he was grinning broadly, white teeth gleaming and hair falling into his face, along with his hat. Dean had to hide an affectionate smile at the way he looked, all angles and awkwardness, just on the cusp of filling out but still an eighteen year old kid.

"Hey, man," Dean said with a grin, coming up behind him. Sam turned and spread his arms.

"How do I look?"

"Like a complete dork." He reached up and fixed Sam's hat, knowing that it would be falling off again in a few minutes anyway.

Sam shot him an annoyed look. "Thanks."

"No problem. What are big brothers for?"

"Annoying little brothers?" The loudspeaker blared and some of the teachers started making urgent gestures with their arms. Sam looked at him. "I gotta--"

"Yeah, gotcha. Try not to trip on the stage or anything." Dean reached up to adjust the hat one last time, basking in Sam's appreciative smile.

"Thanks."

"Go." He made shooing motions with his hands, then went off to find a seat.


On Dean's twentieth birthday, his dad gave him the keys to the Impala and said that he was going to wait until Dean was twenty-one, but then decided that combining a new car and a new legal rate of drinking was probably not the best idea. Dean had grinned at that, let out a whoop of joy, collared Sammy and shoved him into the car to take him for a spin. They ended up going to a spot they had found the first few days in town, a bluff in the middle of nowhere. The view was amazing, and they sat there, sitting against the front of the car, backs to the grille and looking out at the sky while the sun disappeared.

"Dean," Sam said in a slow, hesitant tone that Dean almost missed at first. "There's something I wanted to tell you."

Dean took a swallow of the beer he had swiped from the fridge before they left, heedless of Dad's warnings. He grinned at the thought, still high from the idea of having a car, and not just any car, but Dad's car, the I Impala /i . He laughed giddily at the thought. He owned the Impala. It was his.

"Yeah, Sam?"

His little brother ran a hand through his hair, and Dean felt some of the joy subside. "What's up, Sam?"

The sun had fallen behind the hills and the only thing left were the streaks of red and pink it left behind, the blue of night creeping in. A wind gusted through, ruffling Dean's shirt.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then settled on a lopsided smile instead. "Nothing. Happy birthday, Dean."

Dean stared at him for a moment before before settling on a head shake. "Whatever, man."

On Sam's twentieth birthday, he left home with angry words behind him, and went to college. The differences between him and Dean were always there, but they just never noticed them before.


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