Wrong Way (A Supernatural Fic)

1. Roadside Rivers

Dean stared at the magazine in his hands. An old Playboy issue he had picked off a shelf at the last store they stopped at. His index finger traced the soft, weathered edge. He hadn't actually flipped through it yet. He almost didn't care to either.

"Dean?" Sam called out from the common area.

Dean sighed and pushed himself off the old mattress in the little, dusty bedroom. His magazine landed unceremoniously on the floor as he made an exit. He walked with heavy steps to the doorway.

He saw Sam hunched over the table behind the couch, on which he dropped himself onto with a soft grunt. He turned in his seat, arm over the cushions. He cocked his head.

"What is it?" He asked, voice sharp and agitated.

Sam smiled still, used to his big brother's more abrasive side. He waved Dean over to the small, wobbly table in the center of the dingy room.

With a sigh and groan beyond his years, Dean hauled himself over the back of the couch, dusty boots scraping the fabric. He stood up straight, looking down at Sam. He tapped his fingertips on the vinyl wood-veneered tabletop.

"What'd ya want?"

Sam moved their dad's journal aside, which he had been holding up in front of his surprise. He let the leather thump against the table beside a small plate. On it was a large cookie, one of those cling wrapped ones you could find on a gas station counter for a buck, with a cheap, skinny wax candle topped by a sad little flame. It looked like it had already been through a birthday or two.

"Happy birthday."

Dean looked over Sam's face. The kid looked so proud. Dean wanted to say, "You remembered?" Since their dad hadn't, but instead, what he said was:

"You're missing about 15 candles."

Sam frowned, but not genuinely. "Whatever. Blow it out!"

Dean smiled a bit, though it was more of a smirk, his mouth twitching up towards one side like always. He leaned down over the little treat. He was supposed to make a wish, wasn't he? No more monsters? A less annoying little brother? Normal. He wanted normal.

Sam grinned as he watched Dean blow out the candle. He grabbed it hastily, hissing when he touched liquid wax. He pinched it with a different finger as he shuffled over to his backpack to stash it away in a matchbox.

"Burn yourself?" Dean asked, poking at the soft paraffin drips on the cookie's surface.

"Nah."

Dean broke the cookie in half, picking up the larger piece to bite into. He watched Sam rearrange his backpack while chewing the cookie. Chocolate chip. A little stale. Best cookie he'd ever had.

Sam returned to the table, papers in hand. He sat and did his homework, grumbling with annoyance every time he leaned too much on the table and it rocked toward its shorter leg. Dean sat on the edge opposite the short leg without as much as a glance. His weight held it steady while he looked oblivious as he flipped through channels on the small television.

"I don't know why you bother with homework."

Sam looked up. "Why don't you?"

"Doesn't matter. What's calculus gonna do for me? We gank ghosts. I don't need a diploma for that," Dean remarked with a shrug.

"I need a diploma," Sam said.

Dean made some noncommittal sound, already absorbed in the western that flickered on the TV across the room. Homework was the least of his concerns. He barely showed up to class. Getting him to do an assignment was a miracle; submitted homework from Dean was a pipedream his teachers had quickly given up.