“Jus’ be careful, okay?”
“Dean, it’s only some lame poltergeist. And I’ll pick up Dad on my way, remember? I’ll be fine.”
He thinks of the last time Sam said that, thinks of bloody bandages and purple-blue skin for weeks. Swallows his stutters. “Promise?” Dean croaks.
“Promise.”
Later, he will tell himself that it’s been the dimples, those damn fucking dimples. They get him every time but never seemed so far away than right now. It doesn’t take much to have it all taken away, and Dean knows. Knows just too well.
When he leans in to do it, Sam simply watches him. The flutter of eyelashes is too much, so Dean has to close his eyes. Like the guy knows what’s happening. As if he had read Dean hours ago already, heard the insecurity in his jokes while he tried to build up the courage and balls to finally… yeah, to do this here, kind of.
It’s just a small smacking sound, nothing more, one firm and warm touch of lips.
Sam smiles at him when he pulls back.
“What?” The hiss comes out of habit; pure defense. Dean feels the blood rush up his neck and cheeks.
“Nothing,” Sam hums, starts the engine. Dean steps back, his heart punching his ribs as if it wanted to break them. Not that he’d even notice that right now. “We’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?”
Dean nods.
“Stay safe, little brother.”
“You too, bitch.”
Sam laughs. Dean remembers that he always wanted to see if those damn dimples’ hollows create bumps inside of his brother’s mouth and continues playing with the thought when they arch deep in Sam’s face yet again. The Impala takes him away, yet again, with the obligatory “jerk” still in the air between them.
Random Toughts 