cinnamonanddean:

They’re sitting in the car when the couple comes out of the church, bride resplendent in shimmering white, her groom’s smile just as bright. Sammy gets up his knees and presses his button nose against the window to get a better view. “Dean, look at the princess!”

Dean smiles and doesn’t correct him. “I see her, Sammy. She’s gettin’ married to her prince.” At ten, Dean’s been too old for fairy tales for years and he knows his dad would prefer Sam to grow up just as quick as he did. But even at ten, Dean’s got his own opinions about that. He just keeps them to himself.

John comes out of the church, dressed in sombre black with white at his throat. He barely glances at the couple posing on the steps. John Winchester may be dressed as a priest, but he’s not here to marry anyone.

He gets in the car just as Sam pipes from the backseat, “Dean, will you marry me? If no girls wanna?”

“Boys don’t marry each other, Sam,” John says roughly before Dean can reply. “Especially brothers.”

Sam’s face falls and Dean leans over the front seat, pretending to help his little brother buckle his seatbelt. “Don’t worry, Sammy,” he says, soft so John can’t hear. “I’ll be your last resort. But you aren’t gonna need me. All the girls will want to marry you.”

Sam beams, then his little face changes, growing pensive. “I think I’ll pick you anyways,” he says seriously, patting Dean’s arm. Dean just laughs and settles back into his seat.

Thirty five years later, Dean strokes a finger over the gold band on his finger, the matching one glinting in the sunshine on his brother’s hand, draped casually across the seat of the Impala, and wonders how the hell Sam had known even way back then.