In which Dean requires a calendar
Title: Older, Wiser
Summary: Time always seemed like such a simple way to keep track of what their roles were supposed to be.
Word count: ~630
Rated: PG (Language)
Notes: Set S4 w/ preseries flashback; Spoilers through “Lazarus Rising.”
Genre: Gen, character study
Characters: Dean, Sam
Disclaimer: Show is not mine; I don’t get paid 'cept for comments
Sam is born on May 2nd, and Dean is already 4 years 3 months, and 9 days ahead. This will always be the distance separating them. Even in the spring when for a little window of time the numbers say he’s 5 years older rather than four, Dean knows it’s only an illusion. May rolls around and Sam closes in, until January when Dean skips ahead again, every time.
***
On Sam’s fourth birthday, he declared himself a big boy, and insisted on pouring his cereal himself, even though he’d never had a problem with Dean helping before, and he wound up making a mess.
“You’re four, but I’m eight. That means I’m twice as old,” Dean said with some spite, mopping the fallen cheerios and milk into the trash with a paper towel. “You know how much smarter you are than a baby? That’s how much smarter I am than you.”
Sam’s little forehead crinkled up. “Nu-uh,” he said.
“Yup.”
“When am I gonna be the same age as you?”
“Never,” Dean said. “I’m always going to be four years older.” 4 years, 3 months, and 9 days, exactly. It was important to know this; Sammy didn’t get it yet, but Dean understood what “older” entailed. Older was making excuses when Dad was gone or hurt, knowing how to load a shotgun, remembering what home used to feel like.
“That’s stupid,” Sam said, with a child’s decisive certainty. End of discussion. Dean put on some cartoons and poured a new bowl of Cheerios, and this time Sammy didn’t complain. It wound up being an OK birthday, even if Dad was late with the cake, and there weren’t too many presents. Dean was still bigger and he knew all the answers, and that was how it would always be.
But Sam never did put much stock in ages. Especially once he hit his growth spurt and could look Dean in the eyes, he didn’t like thinking his brother’s four-year head start counted for much. To him, it didn’t matter who got there first, now that they were both around.
***
It always seemed like such a simple, obvious way of keeping score; I know four years and three months more about life than you do. I’m four years bigger, stronger, righter.
But when Dean wakes up in September missing 4 months and 16 days it suddenly isn’t so clear. He calculates it out one late night, when numbers seem safer than memories or dreams. 3 years, 11 months- no 10 months and…twenty some days. Which month to subtract from? It’s confusing, trying to decide how much time counts or doesn’t. If he should consider the two days Sam…no, he can’t think about that. But maybe he should keep track of time zones, of whether things happened late at night or in the early morning. Or maybe hell counts, and he’s 44 years older now, who cares about a few hours this way or that.
He’d like Sam’s opinion. The nerd would know exactly how to get the numbers and dates put straight. But Sam’s gone, again, and anyways he would make fun of Dean for caring to keep track at all. So Dean’ll have to make do with a vague “month or so less than four years.” There’s no clarity to the distance between them, anymore; even cold hard numbers have turned to quicksand in the aftermath of what he did.
But strangely enough, once Dean accepts that, nothing’s really changed. No matter how you slice it, he feels the same responsibility. If he was missing 4 years on the dot, or 5, or ten, he’d still be the big brother. It took him until now to figure it out, but Sam’s right. The numbers were always easy, but they were never the point.
Summary: Time always seemed like such a simple way to keep track of what their roles were supposed to be.
Word count: ~630
Rated: PG (Language)
Notes: Set S4 w/ preseries flashback; Spoilers through “Lazarus Rising.”
Genre: Gen, character study
Characters: Dean, Sam
Disclaimer: Show is not mine; I don’t get paid 'cept for comments
Sam is born on May 2nd, and Dean is already 4 years 3 months, and 9 days ahead. This will always be the distance separating them. Even in the spring when for a little window of time the numbers say he’s 5 years older rather than four, Dean knows it’s only an illusion. May rolls around and Sam closes in, until January when Dean skips ahead again, every time.
***
On Sam’s fourth birthday, he declared himself a big boy, and insisted on pouring his cereal himself, even though he’d never had a problem with Dean helping before, and he wound up making a mess.
“You’re four, but I’m eight. That means I’m twice as old,” Dean said with some spite, mopping the fallen cheerios and milk into the trash with a paper towel. “You know how much smarter you are than a baby? That’s how much smarter I am than you.”
Sam’s little forehead crinkled up. “Nu-uh,” he said.
“Yup.”
“When am I gonna be the same age as you?”
“Never,” Dean said. “I’m always going to be four years older.” 4 years, 3 months, and 9 days, exactly. It was important to know this; Sammy didn’t get it yet, but Dean understood what “older” entailed. Older was making excuses when Dad was gone or hurt, knowing how to load a shotgun, remembering what home used to feel like.
“That’s stupid,” Sam said, with a child’s decisive certainty. End of discussion. Dean put on some cartoons and poured a new bowl of Cheerios, and this time Sammy didn’t complain. It wound up being an OK birthday, even if Dad was late with the cake, and there weren’t too many presents. Dean was still bigger and he knew all the answers, and that was how it would always be.
But Sam never did put much stock in ages. Especially once he hit his growth spurt and could look Dean in the eyes, he didn’t like thinking his brother’s four-year head start counted for much. To him, it didn’t matter who got there first, now that they were both around.
***
It always seemed like such a simple, obvious way of keeping score; I know four years and three months more about life than you do. I’m four years bigger, stronger, righter.
But when Dean wakes up in September missing 4 months and 16 days it suddenly isn’t so clear. He calculates it out one late night, when numbers seem safer than memories or dreams. 3 years, 11 months- no 10 months and…twenty some days. Which month to subtract from? It’s confusing, trying to decide how much time counts or doesn’t. If he should consider the two days Sam…no, he can’t think about that. But maybe he should keep track of time zones, of whether things happened late at night or in the early morning. Or maybe hell counts, and he’s 44 years older now, who cares about a few hours this way or that.
He’d like Sam’s opinion. The nerd would know exactly how to get the numbers and dates put straight. But Sam’s gone, again, and anyways he would make fun of Dean for caring to keep track at all. So Dean’ll have to make do with a vague “month or so less than four years.” There’s no clarity to the distance between them, anymore; even cold hard numbers have turned to quicksand in the aftermath of what he did.
But strangely enough, once Dean accepts that, nothing’s really changed. No matter how you slice it, he feels the same responsibility. If he was missing 4 years on the dot, or 5, or ten, he’d still be the big brother. It took him until now to figure it out, but Sam’s right. The numbers were always easy, but they were never the point.