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Sam walks into Dean’s room, thinking maybe his favorite red flannel accidentally ended up in Dean’s laundry instead of his own. It’s the one with the thin green stripe accents and the mother-of-pearl snaps. Sam knows it isn’t fashionable, but it’s one of the few flannels he has that’s actually a little loose on him and it doesn’t pull across his shoulders. Sam rounds the corner of Dean’s door.
“Hey, have you seen--Dude. Is that my shirt?” And it is. Dean is standing in his room, like he’s done nothing wrong, wearing the exact red and green flannel Sam’s been looking for all morning.
“Uh,” Dean looks down at himself like he can’t remember what he’s wearing, “Yeah? I swiped it last time we did laundry. I like the snaps.”
“Dean, what the hell. You don’t even button your flannels. Why do you care if it has snaps?” Sam settles into full out bitchface.
“What? Oh, come on. Don’t act like we actually have our own shit. News flash: we don’t. I don’t understand why we pretend that we do; it’s exhausting trying to keep track of what you’ve decided is yours. And trading who pays for food--which is usually me by the way--like we’ve actually worked for the money. Sam, we share underwear. The only reason I can tell which shirts are yours is because you wear v-necks like a douche.” Dean finishes his rant, obviously waiting for Sam’s response.
“Huh. I just always thought we knew whose was whose because the red flannels are mine and the blue flannel are yours.” Dean looks at Sam with his brow furrowed, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
“Seriously? That’s how you categorize? Why? What if I want to wear red? Or what about the green flannel?”
“Well, uhm,” Sam blushes, fidgeting where he stands, “it’s just that you look best in blue so I just thought, and the green one is yours because, because,” Sam falters, not looking at Dean.
“What’s that, baby boy?” Dean asks, moving into Sam’s space. “Why is the green one mine?” Sam finally meets Dean’s gaze.
“Because it matches your eyes.” Sam knows he’s about to get made fun of for being a girl. He knows it. But Dean’s gaze is pulling him right in, and then Dean’s lips are on his so soft and perfect, and Sam forgets for a minute that he just said something girly and that Dean totally stole his shirt and is now trying to philosophize his way out of it. So, he just sorts of falls into the kiss because his big brother is nothing if not charming. Dean breaks the kiss and leans back, gazing up at Sam.
“Your eyes are hazel, too, Samantha.” Dean’s grinning again, and once Sam realizes what his brother’s just said, he rolls his eyes.
“Sure,” Sam agrees easily, “I’m the girl even though you’re the one that thinks everything is ‘ours.’” Dean frowns, and Sam allows himself a smile.
“Everything is ours,” Dean insists. “We’re basically married. We live together. Our finances and all our stuff should be consolidated.” Dean’s not sure if he used that word properly, but he’s hoping Sam won’t notice if it was used wrong. Sam’s too busy being struck by another thought.
“Wait. Is this why you keep using my computer? Dean, we each have a computer.”
“No,” Dean says slowly, “no, we have two computers. So if I leave one in the kitchen and you leave one in the library and I’m in the library, I can use the library computer and I don’t have to walk back out to the kitchen.” Dean’s pretty sure that logic holds up. “Besides, if you really think one of them is yours, which one is it?” And that makes Sam pause. Because Sam bought both computers so they’re both the same year, model, etcetera, and he downloaded all the software onto them, too, so they’re basically the same computer when you look at them. He would argue that Dean’s is the one with all the viruses from the cartoon porn he insists on watching, but if he’s being honest both computers are thoroughly infected by this point. “See, you don’t know either,” Dean says smugly.
“Fine, it doesn’t matter, I save everything to the cloud anyway.”
“The cloud?” Dean mutters softly, trying to figure out what the fuck Sam is talking about.
“Like I said, doesn’t matter. But we really do need to download some antivirus software.” Sam leaves the room to find the kitchen computer, his flannel completely forgotten.