She inclines her head, still smiling, and Dean doesn't miss the way her eyes flicker down to their joined hands. "It's difficult, though, when it's someone you love. I know that." She hefts the bulk of files in her arms and nods towards the door before he can formulate a response. "You call if you need anything, okay?"
Dean blinks after her slowly. A year ago, if she'd pulled a stunt like that, he'd have been eyeing her ass and thinking of ways to slip he's my brother into their next conversation without it sounding crass. Today, though, it - doesn't really feel like it matters. He's here with Sam, where he oughta be, and she's recognised that. For whatever reason, Dean doesn't really give a shit about any of the ways she's gotten it wrong, because she has the main thing bang on: he belongs with Sam. Sam belongs with Dean.
By the time he turns back to Sam, mouth open to respond to him, finally, he's fallen asleep. His hand is still tight on Dean's, long, strong fingers, but he's definitely dead to the world. His mouth has fallen open the way it always has, that soft, open-faced expression he's worn in his sleep for as long as Dean can remember.
How'd we end up here, Dean? Sam asked, and Dean doesn't know. But maybe - maybe he knows why.
He squeezes Sam's hand before he speaks, just to check he's asleep. Sam squirms a little, grips back harder, but he's gone. Oh, man, he's gone. Dean bites his lip, smiles slowly.
"Love you, Sam," he says, under his breath. There's nobody to hear, after all. It can't hurt.
Sam isn't awake to overhear and mock, so Dean guesses he can probably afford to let him live.
2/2!
Dean blinks after her slowly. A year ago, if she'd pulled a stunt like that, he'd have been eyeing her ass and thinking of ways to slip he's my brother into their next conversation without it sounding crass. Today, though, it - doesn't really feel like it matters. He's here with Sam, where he oughta be, and she's recognised that. For whatever reason, Dean doesn't really give a shit about any of the ways she's gotten it wrong, because she has the main thing bang on: he belongs with Sam. Sam belongs with Dean.
By the time he turns back to Sam, mouth open to respond to him, finally, he's fallen asleep. His hand is still tight on Dean's, long, strong fingers, but he's definitely dead to the world. His mouth has fallen open the way it always has, that soft, open-faced expression he's worn in his sleep for as long as Dean can remember.
How'd we end up here, Dean? Sam asked, and Dean doesn't know. But maybe - maybe he knows why.
He squeezes Sam's hand before he speaks, just to check he's asleep. Sam squirms a little, grips back harder, but he's gone. Oh, man, he's gone. Dean bites his lip, smiles slowly.
"Love you, Sam," he says, under his breath. There's nobody to hear, after all. It can't hurt.
Sam isn't awake to overhear and mock, so Dean guesses he can probably afford to let him live.