"Why do we have to move now? School's over in another month. Can't we just wait till then?"
"No, we can't," snaps John. "This case has a deadline. Sooner I get started, better chance we have of stopping this guy before he kills more tourists."
"God!" Sam shoves his chair back and jumps up. "Just for once, can't what I want matter? Even just a little?"
"Sammy--" John starts, but Sam gives him a murderous glance and stalks off. John sighs and turns to Dean. "Go talk some sense into your brother."
"Sure. And why don't I cure cancer while I'm at it?" John glares at him. Dean holds up a hand. "Yeah, okay. I'll try."
Dean cautiously opens the door and steps over the threshold into their tiny bedroom. Sam is sitting on the edge of his bed sulking, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Dean moves to the end of the bed. "Look, Sam, I know it sucks, but--"
"You don't know anything!" Sam shouts. "I got the lead in the graduation play. The lead. And I was gonna ask Katie McCloskey to the dance, and her best friend told me she would say yes." He turns pleading eyes on Dean. "Can't you and I stay here? Just till school's out?"
Dean sighs. "And just how are we supposed to pay the rent on this place, huh?"
"You're always on his side. You don't care about me either." Sam sniffles and turns away.
"That's not true and you know it," replies Dean. He goes to sit down beside Sam, but Sam shoves him away.
"Go away. I don't wanna talk to you anymore."
"I'm sorry," says Dean softly as he walks out, closing the door behind him.
John's cleaning up the dishes when Dean returns. Dean collects the empty glasses. "You know, Dad, maybe he and I could stay here by ourselves, just till school's over. It's only a month." He puts the glasses on the counter next to the sink.
"I thought you wanted to help with this hunt."
"I do," Dean answers, "but if it'll make the kid happy--"
John shakes his head. "He needs to learn that he can't always get his way."
"I know, but--"
"Dean." John's voice is sharp. "I said no. End of discussion." Dean nods and turns to leave. John dries his hands and tosses Dean the car keys. "Go to the grocery store and get some boxes. The ones in the front closet got damp."
"Sure." Dean grins. Rachel Visconi works at the grocery store. He'd like to get her into the back storage room. She just broke up with the captain of the lacrosse team and she's been eying him all week. "You need me to be back right away?" he asks casually.
"Just be back before midnight, all right? I heard the cops are real gung-ho about that new curfew thing."
"Yeah, okay." The store closes at ten. He can seal the deal if he plays his cards right.
When he gets there, Rachel isn't working, but a new girl named Kristin is and she's even hotter than Rachel. She's got long honey-blonde hair and a golden tan and a pink butterfly tattooed on her wrist. Dean waits around until her shift ends at eight and then takes her to Lookout Point, where he gets to find out what the rest of her tattoos look like.
Dean's naturally in a good mood when he gets home at eleven. It gets even better when he realizes he doesn't have to do his algebra or history homework because they're leaving in two days. He's got a smile on his face when he opens the door to the bedroom.
His ears are immediately assaulted by some kind of douchey alt-rock shit. Sam's got the CD player cranked up as high as John will allow it and he's writing in a book that doesn't have lines on the pages. Dean walks by without Sam noticing and slams his hand down on the 'off' button of the CD player. Sam glares up at him. "Hey!"
Dean takes advantage of Sam's distraction to grab the book out of his hands. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. 'Dear diary, today no girls talked to me and a popular kid tripped me in the lunch line," he recites in a high-pitched singsong voice.
Sam glares at him. "It doesn't even say that."
"I was cutting you a break," Dean explains. He flips back a few pages. "'The Darkness Within, by Sam Winchester. I sit in silence--'"
"Give it back!" yells Sam, blushing. He scrambles off the bed and grabs for the book, but Dean holds it over his head. Sam growls and punches Dean in the stomach, but Dean still manages to keep the book out of Sam's hands.
Dean twists away and runs to the other side of the room, putting both beds in between them. He pulls his Zippo out of his pocket and flicks it open. He lights it and holds it a half-inch away from the lower corner of the book cover. Sam screeches Dean's name, but his voice cracks halfway through and Dean doesn't even bother to try to hold back his laughter. Sam charges forward and tries for the book again, but Dean throws it to the far bed and knocks Sam to the floor. Dean scrambles across the room and seizes the book. Sam jumps up and turns to face Dean, cheeks still beet-red, looking like he's about to scream or cry or both. "Dean, come on. Just give it." He gives Dean the puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Think fast," he adds, whipping the book at Sam's head. Sam manages to bat it away before it whacks him in the face.
"You're such an asshole," Sam mutters, clutching the book to his chest.
"Watch the language," Dean replies in his best impression of John. Sam doesn't even acknowledge him. Dean flops down on his stomach. "Aw, geez, Sammy. I was just messing with you. Can't you take a joke?"
"It wasn't funny." Sam's eyes flick over to Dean for just a second. "Those are my private thoughts, Dean. You weren't supposed to see them."
Dean sighs. "Fine. I'm sorry."
"Screw you," Sam replies, eyes darkened with bitterness. He sticks the book under his pillow and crawls under the covers, turning his back on Dean pointedly.