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The ring’s a piece of junk, really. Dean doesn’t know if it’s real steel, let alone real silver.
Sam came home one day, toward the end of his last year of high school, dug it out of his pocket, and set it on the book Dean was paging through.
“What’s this?” Dean asked, nudging it off the book so that it clattered onto the crappy little motel desk.
“What’s it look like?” Sam said, easily enough, but there was color riding high on his cheekbones.
“Looks like you’re proposing, Sammy, which is weird since I’m fairly certain I ain’t knocked up.” Color absolutely flooded Sam’s face at that, and Dean watched, fascinated.
“I was just tryin’a be nice, Dean,” Sam said, muttered really, looking kind of shifty.
“C’mon, Sam, what’s the deal?”
Sam shrugged, looking a bewildered cross between miserable and hopeful, his face still red. “Just thought it was, you know, nice. Whatever. If you don’t want it – “
“Don’t get all ruffled,” Dean said, enjoying the put-upon look Sam gave him, and worked the ring over his middle finger. He grinned, flipped Sam off. “Pretty classy, huh?”
Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling a little now. “Yeah, Dean. Definitely the word I’d use.”
Dean scooted his chair back and grabbed Sam by the wrist, pulling him down into Dean’s lap, sitting sideways across his legs. Dean kissed Sam, soft, and Sam tangled their fingers together, tracing his thumb over the smooth metal on Dean’s middle finger.
Dean rested his head on Sam’s shoulder and said, “Does this mean I’m the wife? ‘Cause I think if anyone’s gonna be the wife, it should be you.”
“You are so – “Sam started, but then they both heard the sound of a key in the lock, and Sam sprang off Dean’s lap and went to sit down on one of the beds. Dean smirked at him, then pulled his chair back to the desk and leaned over the book as John came in, looking harassed.
“Sam, letter for you from the school,” he said, tossing Sam a thick manila envelope, and Sam went still and quiet.
Dean smiled at Sam again, over his shoulder this time, and said, “Win the ‘Biggest Dork’ award or something?”
Sam didn’t smile back. “It’s just – uh, nothing. Nothing.”
“’Kay, weirdo,” Dean muttered, and started poring over the book again, left hand coming up to fiddle with the ring on his right every now and then.