Dean goes to Sam’s room in the morning to tell him he’s making breakfast and ask if he’s got any requests, only to stop cold as he sees his little brother busy packing up all of his stuff.
“What’s this?” Dean asks, an attempt at a smile failing epically.
Sam looks up from his duffel. “Uh…”
“What, are you leaving?” Dean can’t keep the disbelief nor the panic out of his voice.
Sam looks terrified for a moment, but it’s nothing compared to the horror coiling deep in the pit of Dean’s stomach, and he feels like he might throw up. It sure looks like he’s leaving, his walls are stripped bare of all it’s decorations and Sam’s books have all been packed.
“Uh…”, Sam says again, swallowing, “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Why?”
Dean is completely thrown off when Sam suddenly flashes an evil grin.
“Because, Dean, I have been through enough in my life, okay. I can’t keep being scarred for life.”
Dean’s about to ask what exactly it is he’s talking about, but Sam raises his voice to stop him before the first word is even out.
“So, I am taking my stuff and moving to the room farthest away from yours, and the ungodly noises coming from it, okay?”
It suddenly dawns on Dean what his brother is on about, and the relieved grin that spreads across his face is so wide it hurts. “Oh, come on, Sammy! We’re not that loud. “
Sam takes a moment to just stare at him, flashing bitchface no. 9. “Dean, this morning was the last straw. I cannot take another night, afternoon, evening or morning of hearing you two asshats get it on.” He puts his duffel over his shoulder and maneuvers past Dean, stopping in the doorway to add: “And I’d like eggs, please.”
Dean’s never laughed so hard in his life.
