The first time it happened it was pain, and if that wasn't a metaphor for every fucking thing that had ever happened to them, then Dean didn't know what was. The surprising bit, when he got around to thinking about it, was that it was a total stranger and not him. It was hard to say he always expected it to be him when no one, least of all him, ever expected it to happen. But he kind of expected it to be him, after the fact. After all, they spent every waking minute of every damned day up in each other's space and business like they'd lose track of each other if they blinked....
John Winchester thought he was one sly son-of-a-bitch. He thought he was going to waltz through parent-teacher conferences, give her his charming country drawl, well, Ma'am, my boys are special, and oh, it's so hard with having lost their mama so young. As though she hadn't been teaching for twenty-five years and hadn't had that waltzed past her in a deep accent a time or ten before.