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"Your brother is annoying me," you huff, taking up residence on the old, worn oak table in front of one Sam Winchester, hunting researcher extraordinaire. "He keeps trying to give me the shovel talk."
Sam's expression is cute, eyebrows scrunching as he finally looks up from the lore book in front of him to question what you just said. "Shovel talk? Does he still think we're dating?"
Your eyeroll is palpable. A miasma of annoyance rolling off of you more than one of Sam's patented bitch faces. "Sam, everyone thinks we're dating. I swear to god, you put your life on the line for a guy one time-"
Your words get him laughing at your misfortune. The bastard. "I think it's been more than once, Y/N."
"Not helping, Rapunzel," you snap, effectively shutting him up with a grimace.
"I thought we agreed to never talk about that."
"No, Samuel, you agreed to never talk about that. I was under duress. Hardly counts." Your grin can only be called shit eating. Though, Cheshire-esque comes in a close second.
He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest with a look that is used exclusive for you and Dean, "Really? You're trying to tell me one stab wound was 'under duress'? You're a hunter, L/N; That's like saying you had a headache."
"Well, I was talking about having to see you in a corset, but sure, we'll go with the stab wound." You're both quiet for a long moment, letting the silence settle over you like a warm blanket. He shakes his head at you, fondness evident and forearms braced on the table, as he turns back to his reading. His hair is falling in front of his face again and you'd almost be tempted to give him a rubberband if you had one. Without thinking, your hand reaches out, tucking part of his silky smooth bangs behind his ear and if your fingers linger for a second too long, then that's between you and whatever diety doesn't want you dead this week.
His eyes snap to meet yours as your hand falls away and you're... stuck. Glued in place by the look he gives you. His lips part as if to say something, but it's still oppressively quiet as he swallows.
It's up to you to stop... whatever this is.
You're fucked.
You clear your throat just a little, quietly as to not shatter this moment at the first touch. "You know... I meant what I said that day, Sam," his eyes flicker down to your lips, like he's trying to put together exactly what those noises mean, "You lock yourself up with all these rules... obligations... you hold yourself to the highest standard and all for a world that would rather see you dead." Your hand covers his and it feels like a dam is on the cusp of bursting, a glass far overfilled and just begging to pour out the sides. "But you deserve more than that." More than you. "I... I'm proud of you, Sam. Even after everything you've been through, you still give so much to everyone else. Hell, I think that was the reason I-"
With a shuffle of feet, you can hear dean's voice and a more muffled response on the other end of a phone and the spell is broken. You don't realize how far you've been leaning into each other until you find yourself pulling away.
"Sammy, N/N, I'm ordering Chinese, you want anything?" Dean calls out as he steps into the room. You're leaning back just in time, usual smirk in place as you call out your order for him to rattle off.
Sam doesn't respond at all. In fact, Sam is still just staring at you, more of, your hand resting on his. You snatch it back, hoping Dean was too preoccupied with the thought of food to notice.
Dean is frowning when his brother still doesn't answer, shouting a gruff, "Sammy!"
"What?" He blinks, finally out of whatever that was, "Oh, uh, orange chicken."
Well... that was close. Dean would never let you live down talking about your feelings with each other like rational adults. As he finishes his call, saying he's heading out, he can't help throwing a parting shot at the two of you.
"If you're gonna eye fuck that hard at least use protection."
Sam scoffs and you groan, rolling your eyes. Really? Why did everyone think there was something between you two?