For history class, he wrote a paper on the flag they got that snake from, and it was pretty cool, really. Sprawled sideways in the front seat of the Impala a dozen years later with the tape case in his hand, Dean thought about that paper for the first time in years, but he couldn't remember all the details. He knew there was something about the Revolutionary War and the Marines, and he knew it was the one and only time he'd bothered putting in enough work to get an A on a history paper. He couldn't recall if his father had ever known, had ever seen the paper or the big red A on the front of it. He thought he remembered a glimmer of a distracted smile, a look of approval, but it felt more like something he'd imagined, not like something real, something he could touch. This. Especially this.
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