The Pay-Off For Having Faith

16

Sam stared at his father with a scowl two days later, taking in what he had just been told.

"I don't need clothes," he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest, "I have clothes."

John snorted and, eyes dropping to Sam's worn jeans with their frayed cuffs and holes in the knees and legs, countered, "Really? Well, Dean needs more clothes."

"No Dean doesn't," his brother muttered behind him, drawing an exasperated glare from John and a smirk from Sam.

"Yes, Dean does. Yours are about to fall apart. We're going shopping. You go back to school in two weeks, Sam, and you're not going in looking like you split your time living between a car and cheap motel rooms."

"I like my clothes. They're comfortable!"

"Every summer," John shook his head as he spoke to Bobby, "Every summer we go through this." His eyes shifted back to his sons and he instructed, "Go get in the car. Now."

Sam shot him another glare but obeyed; Dean cast John a confused glance and followed after him.

"I remember you did the same thing when you were Sam's age," Bobby told him with a smirk. John threw the man a mock glare and warned, "Don't tell Sam that. I'll never hear the end of it."

Sam had never found shopping of any type to be particularly interesting, before Dean. Now, however, he could barely keep the amusement off his face as his brother stared at John and questioned,
"Why do I have to try them on? In that little box?" A motion toward the fitting room, "You're kidding, right? Why is this lady standing here staring at me?"

"He's from out of town," was Bobby's poor explanation of Dean's unfamiliarity with the entire fiasco.

"I'm here to assist you," the clothing department associate informed Dean, trying to keep her own amusement off her face and not quite succeeding.

"I don't need assistance," Dean shot her a glare, "I can dress myself."

Her failure to stifle her giggle set Sam and Bobby off, as well: Dean scowled at them, and John shook his head and rubbed a hand across his face to hide his own smile.

"Sorry," Sam apologized to his brother, voice breathless from laughter, "Sorry. We're not laughing at you, Dean."

"I'm pretty sure you are, Sam." His brother threw a pair of jeans at him – they hit Sam in the chest and he caught them - and stormed off in the opposite direction. He hadn't gone more than twenty feet when he hesitated, gaze shifting around the retail store; he turned and moved back to Sam's side, frown touching his lips.

"Dean," Sam reached out to lay his hand on the other's arm, "Really, I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt your feelings. C'mon, I'll try mine on in the room right next to yours. It's to see if they fit correctly, that's all."

His brother's glance shifted to the woman standing nearby, and Sam added quickly, "And she's not here to help you get dressed, she's just here for if you need a different size or something."

Dean's eyes flicked to a man standing behind a register halfway across the men's department. "Don't like this place," he muttered, voice pitched low so only Sam caught the words.

"Me either," he agreed, "So let's try these on so we can get out of here as soon as possible."

Fifteen minutes and three pairs of jeans later, and Dean was obviously done. The young man seated himself on a bench beside the fitting rooms, arms crossed over his chest and knee bouncing. It was the uneasy look on his face that had John telling the associate whom was standing nearby to assist them,