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“Come on, Dean. Just read the first one. I promise, you’ll like it.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. “I don’t read books.”
“You’ve read some,” Sam countered.
“I don’t read children’s books, then.”
Sam waved his copy under Dean’s nose. “You’d enjoy this.”
“You told me the people in this book don’t try to gank the ghosts. They just…let them wander around the castle. It's unnatural.”
“Don’t you get enough ghost ganking in real life?” Sam sighed. “It’s called fantasy, Dean.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat baby brother,” Dean said, picking up his own copy of Busty Asian Beauties and waving it at Sam, “but that’s not my kind of fantasy.”
* * *
“Sam, no.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Just let me read one chapter to you. Come on. It’s a long drive to Omaha. Do you have something better to do for the next four hours?”
Dean hit the power button on the stereo and Metallica flooded the interior of the Impala. “Sammy, I will always have something better to do.”
* * *
“Hey tiger, it’s getting pretty late. Mom wants you to turn your light out.”
Ben looked up from the book he was reading and frowned. “Just one more chapter?” he asked.
“Depends. Are you reading about ganking monsters?”
“More like how to take out dark wizards,” Ben responded, showing Dean the cover of the book he had in his hand.
A sharp pain tore through Dean and for an instant the room swam from the tears that suddenly burned behind his eyelids. He swallowed hard. “Harry Potter, huh? You know, my brother was always trying to get me to read that.”
“It's really good. I'm on the third book,” Ben said, reaching for something in the bookshelf beside him. “It’s my favorite so far. I have the first. You want to borrow it?”
Dean took the book from Ben. “Yeah, maybe. You get to bed now.” He leaned down and gave Ben a quick kiss on the top of his head and then headed for the door.
Downstairs in the kitchen, he grabbed his bottle of whiskey and poured himself a shot, book in hand. He flipped to the first page, but found he couldn’t focus on the words. With a growl he tossed it across the kitchen. “Dammit Sammy!” he shouted and tossed back the shot.
* * *
“Dean, would you just sit down and let me bring it to you? The doctor was pretty clear that your leg needed to be immobilized and you should stay off it for awhile.”
“Every time I see a doctor, I somehow end up dying. Or near dead. Even if it’s just a broken leg. You ever notice that , Sam? How doctors generally don’t know what they’re talking about?”
“They know what they’re talking about,” Sam countered. “You’re just a bad patient.”
Dean muttered something that sounded more like a growl and Sam smiled. “Here,” he said, handing Dean a plate. “Have a sandwich. And I’ve got you some magazines to look at and a book if you get really bored.”
Dean glanced over at the book Sam was indicating and swallowed back the lump that rose unbidden in his throat. The stupid book used to just be irritating. Now it seemed to be nothing but a reminder of people he’d lost. First Sam. Now Ben. “Would you let the Harry Potter thing go already?”
Sam grinned. “Nobody’s forcing you to read it. And anyway, I told you I’d let it go. All you have to do is read the first book.”
“No,” Dean said petulantly, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Your decision,” Sam said. “I’m headed out. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Bring some real food,” Dean said, setting the plate aside. “Nothing on whole wheat bread counts as a sandwich.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Try not to move until I get back. You need to stay off your feet.”
After the door closed behind Sam, Dean picked up one of the magazines. It was an old gun and ammo magazine. He flipped through it. Most of the articles weren’t of interest to him and he tossed it aside shortly and picked up the next one. After about half an hour or so, he’d made it through all of Sam’s reading material—all except that damned Harry Potter book Sam just would not shut up about Jesus Christ he hasn’t been this obsessed with something since his Pokemon phase for crying out loud —and he looked around for the remote. He let out a groan when he saw that Sam had placed it out of reach on a shelf.
“I’m still not reading it!” he grumbled to the room, looking around for something else to do. There was nothing else in reach. “I’ll just sit here then.”
He fidgeted with his cast.
He re-adjusted himself on the sofa.
He picked up the magazines he’d already looked through and started trying to read the articles.
“Dammit Sammy!”
He picked up the book and read through the brief description on the back. This was ridiculous.
He set the book back down.
He reclined himself as well as he could on the couch and closed his eyes to nap.
He opened his eyes.
He spotted the book.
“No.”
He tore a page out of one of the magazines and attempted to make a paper airplane.
He threw the paper airplane. It landed in the garbage can to the right of the chair beside him.
He began counting the knotholes in the ceiling beam.
His eyes fell on the book again. He sat up and picked it up.
“Yeah, okay. Fine. I’ll give it a shot,” he said. “Ridiculous idea for a book. How good could it possibly be?”
By the time Sam got back, Dean was absolutely sure of two things. First of all, that if Sam were to find out that he was actually enjoying the book then there would be no living with him. And second of all, he had to find a way to get The Chamber of Secrets. Soon.
* * *
“Dean?” Sam asked, squinting at Dean. Dean was sitting at the table by the window, the small lamp on top of it his only light. He quickly dropped his hand down beside him, hoping Sam hadn’t seen what he’d been doing. Sam cocked his head at him. “Why are you still awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean said. “I, uh…I was just checking to see if we had any news from Frank.”
“Go to sleep Dean,” Sam said. “It’s 1:30 in the morning and we have an appointment with that professor at 8am.”
“I wonder if she’ll be hot,” Dean said.
“Since it’s a he, I sincerely doubt you’ll think so.”
“It’s a he?” Dean asked, disappointed. Why did none of the experts they consulted ever seem to be the naughty professor type?
“Yes,” Sam replied.
“You go without me tomorrow. I don’t want to spend an hour in the cramped office of some 60-year-old man.”
“Whatever,” Sam said, rolling over. “Are you coming to bed?” The pillow muffled his voice slightly.
“I’ve got some reading to finish,” Dean said. “Doing a little of my own research.”
Technically, he reflected, The Prisoner of Azkaban could be considered research. It had werewolves and shapeshifters in it.
* * *
“So, when are you going to admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“That you’re hooked.”
"Hooked?"
"On Harry Potter."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"So you weren't just waving your pen around like it's a wand?"
Dean slammed his pen down. "I was swatting at some flies."
Sam smirked.
"Shut up, Sam."
Sam didn't push the issue.
* * *
"Here," Sam said when Dean emerged from the bathroom. They were at a gas station somewhere outside of Reno and had stopped to switch drivers. "I brought you some reading material." Sam was holding a copy of The Half-Blood Prince. "I figured that you must have finished Order of the Phoenix last night."
Dean opened his mouth to deny it, but his desire to find out what happened next overrode his desire to not have his brother be a self-satisfied asshole for the next 800 miles. “Hand it over,” he said, giving in. “How’d you know?”
Sam smiled and leaned against the top of the car, his face the very picture of smug. “I found your copy of Prisoner of Azkaban about a week ago when I was looking for some gun oil. And then last night I heard a book hitting the wall sometime around 3am. I figured you had to have gotten to the Order of the Phoenix. I must have thrown my copy a half dozen times. What do you think about Umbridge?”
"Total Bitch," Dean nearly spat, opening the car door. "And Ron needs to deck Harry. I’d have given you an attitude adjustment for sure if you’d acted like he did the entire school year,” he said sliding in.
Sam climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “What do you think about Hermione?”
“I think Ron’s an idiot,” Dean said. “And please tell me Hermione doesn’t end up with Harry…”