Sometimes I go to do a character sketch/headcanon drabble and it just takes on a life of its own.

A stupid life.

It was Dean's turn to do the laundry, and he'd failed to even make a start on it for a couple weeks in a row now. Again.

So Sam had run out of a few extremely-necessary clothing items. Again.

And Dean's superhuman ability to predict an impending lecture had kicked in sometime this morning, and he'd made himself scarce. Again.

Sam knew he had a few options here. The same ones he had ever time this happened, actually. The first one was to just do the laundry himself - which he would not, ever, unless it was his turn, because it was a matter of principle. The second one was to go into town and buy new socks and underwear, but he'd done that so many times over the years that he was starting to wonder how it was even mathematically possible for him to run out of them anymore. The third option was to steal things from Dean, since the fact he hadn't done the laundry yet meant he still had plenty of clothes of his own. Sam went with that one for once, after making a conscious decision not to think about how Dean made his boxers last. It'd serve him right.

Not all of Dean's clothes would fit him. Pants and shirts were always too small, and underwear was definitely out of the question. There was just too much of a size difference between the two of them. Their shoe sizes were close, though, and socks were really more of a one-size-fits-all thing, so he could at least grab a wad of those to tide himself over.

The door to Dean's room was locked, but considering that he himself had taught Sam how to pick those, it wasn't really a defensive measure. More of a polite request to stay out. A request that Sam ignored; people who couldn't be bothered to do laundry didn't deserve privacy.

Seriously. Sure, it'd been a pain back when they'd been living on the road and laundry day had meant scrounging up five pounds' worth of quarters and then hunting down the nearest laundromat, but they had the bunker now. And the bunker had giant, industrial-sized washing machines, so you only had to do two loads - light and dark - and you could even run them through at the same time. It was easy.

Dean wasn't in his room, just as Sam had known he wouldn't be. The Impala was missing from the garage, and the distinct lack of hysteria in the bunker meant Dean was with it.

Sam had expected Dean's socks to be someplace similar to where he kept his own. Namely, somewhere in the chest of drawers that'd been here when they moved in and was identical to the one in Sam's room.

Twenty minutes later, every drawer in the chest had been yanked open and rummaged through with no effort to hide that it'd happened. Ditto for all the drawers in Dean's desk and nightstand (both of which had also come with the room). So far, Sam had discovered that his brother was even more disorganized than he'd originally thought, and he'd also found a few things - watches, books, shirts - that he'd thought he lost, sometimes years ago. He didn't find any socks, though. Not even any of his.

Sam checked the closet and had no luck. He unzipped Dean's duffel bag, hanging by its strap from the back of his desk chair and just waiting for their next hunt, and peered inside, but it was empty. That just left under his bed.

Sam didn't exactly have high hopes for that area. Even if Dean did have a pile of dirty socks, growing mold and collecting dust under there, he really didn't want to wear them.

When he got down on his hands and knees and pressed the side of his face reluctantly to the floor so he could look under the bed, though, he didn't see a pile of anything. Just a few cardboard boxes. A lot of cardboard boxes, actually. Sam frowned, wondering just what the hell could be in those, and scooted forward until he could snag one and drag it out.

It was heavy, a lot heavier than he'd expected it to be, and when he straightened up so he could look inside, he saw why. It was full of books. Surprisingly enough. Comic books, to be precise. Or maybe graphic novels would be more accurate, since they were thicker than most comic books he'd seen.

And they were Japanese. He couldn't remember the exact name for what these were, never really having been into that sort of thing at all, but it was easy to recognize the style that the big-eyed, spiky-haired characters on the covers were drawn in. The names of the authors and the fact that the books were bound backwards were also dead giveaways.

Sam read the titles of those on top - especially those that looked like they'd been paged through enough times to start to wear them out. Fairy Tail. Ghost in the Shell - that one sounded familiar. Hellsing. One Piece. JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. What the hell kind of a title was that?

Sam reached for one to pick it up, but then jerked his hand back, like the books had stung him. He'd just suddenly remembered Dean's self-professed fondness for what he referred to as "Asian cartoon porn."

This box - and, presumably, all the others under Dean's bed - was most likely full of the book version of that. It'd certainly explain why some were so...well-loved. And that one's weird title. Sam suppressed a shudder of disgust.

Why, then, did so many of them have men on the covers?

Not just men. Boys, in some cases. Maybe. It was, admittedly, hard to judge what age characters drawn in this style were supposed to be.

Sam sat back on his heels, disturbed. And so preoccupied that he didn't register the bootsteps coming down the hall until Dean, having stopped dead in the doorway, demanded, "What the hell're you doing in my room?"

Sam jerked, startled. His very first instinct was to deflect, and luckily for him, there was something ready and waiting for him to use it.

"You need to do the laundry," he told Dean.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied, not looking anywhere near sheepish enough. "Ran outta underwear this morning, so I went into town to grab some detergent, plus a few other things we needed." He shook his head. "But that doesn't explain what you're doing in my - "

It was then that he seemed to notice the box Sam had dragged out from under his bed for the first time. A look that could only be described as sheer panic plastered itself across his face, and he took a few hasty steps into the room. Sam automatically leaned away from him. "What're you doing with that?" The words came out so fast that Sam might've had trouble understanding him, if he hadn't known him his entire life.

"Nothing." Which was true. Sam wished he hadn't even found it.

"This is not - " Reaching the box, Dean kicked it forcefully back under the bed, then turned to Sam and held up both hands. " - what it looks like."

"Dude, look, it's not a big deal," Sam replied, climbing to his feet and trying very hard to think his way past the awkwardness of this situation. The sooner he could shrug it off and get out of here, the sooner he'd be able to do that. "I don't care what you're into. Or...wanna know, for that matter. But this was totally my fault. I was snooping around in your room, which I probably shouldn't've been doing..." Which he wouldn't've had to do if Dean had just done the damn laundry last week like he was supposed to. He didn't even get why he was so upset; he'd never been shy about his porn before. "And I stumbled on your weird comic book porn collection. But I didn't mean to. And I'm sorry."

He'd expected Dean to immediately accept his apology, all but throw him out of his room, and then never allow any of this to be brought up ever again. It didn't happen, though.

Instead, Dean stayed where he was, raised an eyebrow, and asked, "You think that was porn?"

That response brought Sam up short. "...isn't it?"

"Who the hell could possibly need..." Dean gestured to the box-filled area under the bed. "...that much porn, Sam?"

"Uh, you?" Sam replied. It was a knee-jerk response, no hesitation.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then glowered. "We really gotta have a talk about your low opinion of me, one of these days." Sam folded his arms over his chest and resisted the urge to tell Dean that it was his own damn fault. "But anyway, no. It's not porn. None of it is."

"Then what is it?"

"Fantasy, mostly." Dean knelt, grabbed the box, and dragged it back out. His embarrassment seemed to have been overwhelmed by the need to prove that he didn't have a couple hundred stroke books stashed under his bed. "Some science fiction. Little bit of horror." Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised. Neither of them enjoyed horror much, either movies or books. It was too hard to get over how off-base most of the stuff about monsters was, and as far as the rest...well, entertainment like that was supposed to be an escape, and horror didn't offer much of one for them, because of their occupation and personal lives. "Just...stories. Y'know. Books."

Sam's lingering skepticism must've showed on his face, because Dean made a huffing sound in the back of his throat and grabbed one of the books out of the box.

"See?" Sam automatically winced when he opened it and showed it to him, some part of him still expecting pages and pages of cartoon junk. Instead, though, everybody was fully-clothed, in private school uniform. There was unbelievably-stupid hair and fire and swords, but Sam had to admit that he didn't see any sex as Dean flipped through the pages for him.

Also, all the dialogue in the speech bubbles was in English. Sam wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. He knew Dean couldn't speak Japanese.

"Okay," Sam admitted, once Dean had shown him practically the whole book and putting it back in the box. Gently. He didn't just drop it. "You can look at more, if you don't believe me."

Sam took him up on the offer, but more out of curiosity than any lingering suspicion Dean had porn in here. He'd never been all that into comics, but these looked kind of interesting. He wondered if Dean would let him borrow any after he'd offended him so much as he grabbed one of the books with the stupid title and began to scan through it.

He paused after only a few seconds, it barely having taken him that long to realize that this one was different from the last one. For starters, all the characters were men. Heavily-muscled, finely-featured men. Who seemed to spend all their time wrestling, touching each other, and mincing around in skintight clothing.

Oh, boy.

This was gonna be an awkward conversation.

Sam probably should have approached it delicately, or maybe even not said anything at all, but...

"You can'd tell me," he began, looking up from the book to make eye contact with Dean, "that this one isn't porn." He waited a heartbeat, giving Dean's scowl time to solidify, then added, "Gay porn."

"What?! No! That's JoJo, it's action and badassness and they've got all these cool - "

"What is this guy's mouth full of?" Sam interrupted, showing Dean the page he'd stopped on. Dean studied it. Probably a couple seconds longer than he should have. And in those seconds, Sam could see horrified realization dawning on his face.

"Eyeballs," he finally replied. "He's getting eyeballs dripped into his mouth. In a dream."

"In a dream," Sam repeated. When Dean nodded, he looked at the page again himself. "Well, it looks like - "

"Shut up!" Dean snatched the book away from him, clutching it protectively to his own chest. "It's not porn, and it's not gay!"

"Okay," Sam agreed, and, wisely, did not add a condescending, Whatever you need to tell yourself.

The two of them stared at each other, in silence, for a long time. Sam wasn't sure how long, exactly, but it felt like over a minute passed. Eventually, Dean said, "I guess there is a pretty blatant bromance theme, in here."

"Mm-hm."

"And they wear some pretty weird stuff. Some of 'em."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"But it's not gay porn."

"Okay."

There was another round of silent staring.

"You know what, screw you," Dean finally proclaimed. "I like it anyway."

"I didn't say you couldn't!" Sam replied, throwing his hands up. "Look, Dean, if you like this stuff and you enjoy it and reading it makes you happy, then that's all that matters. And I'm really not judging you." He paused, then admitted, "I might've, if it'd actually been porn. But it's not. So I'm not."

Dean eyed him warily for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh and put the book he'd been cradling back in the box.

"I really do like it," he admitted. "It's just...fun. Style's kinda cute. You learn a lot about Japanese culture, with some series."

"Then...why were you so embarrassed about it?" Sam asked, shaking his head. It wasn't anything to be ashamed about; they were just books. Informative, enjoyable books, from what Sam had seen, with no weird sex stuff whatsoever involved. With the possible exception of that JoJo series. "I mean, they're crammed in boxes under your bed instead of on bookcases, even though you've got room for three or four in here. And you just completely freaked out when you came in and saw me going through them."

A stubborn look crossed Dean's face for a moment, like he was about to change the subject or deny everything. As usual. Then the look vanished, though, and, sighing in defeat, Dean dropped down onto the edge of his unmade bed. After a second of hesitation, Sam cautiously joined him. He didn't tell him to leave, so it must've been okay.

"This is gonna sound really stupid," Dean began. About a hundred different snarky comments sprang immediately to Sam's mind, but he somehow managed not to let any of them loose. "It's just that...y'know, you're the geek here. You read all the time when we were younger, and you still do, and you're all into Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones and Star Wars - "

"Star Trek," Sam automatically corrected. "That one's just a little better. Star Wars is great, but it's kinda stupid. See, they mix up units of time and...distance..." he trailed off as he realized that he was proving Dean right, and decided not to explain that Game of Thrones was the TV show and he was more into the book series, which was technically A Song of Ice and Fire.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, nodding. "See? Exactly. And I'm always giving you a hard time about it. It's just one of our things." He gestured to the box. "So when I started getting into this stuff, I didn't want you to know that I'm..." He noticeably winced. "Y'know. An otaku."

Sam wasn't familiar with that word, but he assumed it was Japanese for, roughly, "dorky fan of gay comic books." Or something like that.

"So you were worried I'd find out you're a hypocrite and make fun of you?" Sam asked. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna tease you." Dean didn't look convinced, which Sam supposed he deserved; he did have a tendency to lie when he said he wouldn't do certain things involving Dean. Like go to crazy, dangerous lengths to save his life. "But...I am curious how you even found out about this in the first place." Now he gestured to the box.

"Well," Dean began, "you already know I'm into hentai. Every once in a while. When I hit rock bottom." That was another Japanese word Sam didn't know, but at least Dean explained this one: "Asian cartoon porn." Ignoring Sam's grimace of disgust, he continued. "I knew there was not-porn stuff out there, and I eventually got curious enough to check it out. And most of it was stupid, or weird, or...hit a little too close to home..." He wet his lips, but didn't explain what he meant by that, and Sam didn't ask. "But some of it's awesome. And it's aimed at kids, and mostly pictures, so..." He shot a self-deprecating smirk at Sam. "Even I can read 'em."

Sam frowned. Dean wasn't stupid, even though he so clearly believed he was, but now probably wasn't the best time to wade into that swamp. Instead, he settled for just saying, "Well, good for you, expanding your horizons like that. And like I said before, I think it's really great you found something you like so much." That isn't hunting, drinking, or screwing, Sam added silently.

Much to his gratification, Dean smiled. It was only half of one, but it was genuine, and Sam could tell he was grateful he hadn't been mocked. He felt a sudden surge of guilt: maybe, if things were less competitive and - and stupidly, willfully masculine between them, Dean would've been comfortable showing Sam this himself, instead of being forced to explain it after Sam accidentally happened upon it. The flaws in their relationship weren't solely Dean's fault, either.

Sam looked away from his older brother, and his gaze happened to fall on the sturdy cardboard box that was still sitting out in the open. There were a lot of books in there; it was nearly full. Sam's mind made the logical jump to the other boxes under Dean's bed, and how they were probably all holding roughly the same amount. A question naturally arose.

"It sounds like you got into Japanese comic books, and started buying them, way before we ever found the bunker," Sam began. "You've got a - very large collection here, and I know you weren't keeping it stashed in the Impala's trunk. So..." He looked at Dean again, raising both eyebrows. "Where was it all?"

"Well, I always kept a few in my duffel," Dean replied. "Sometimes brand-new ones I just bought, sometimes old ones I'd read before. I'd pull 'em out whenever I had a few minutes alone." He shrugged. "For the rest, though...I had a storage locker in South Dakota. Just a small one. I'd stop at it whenever we swung back that way and swap out my books." He looked at Sam. "Technical term's 'manga,' by the way. Not 'Japanese comic books.'" He glanced away again a second later. "Before the storage locker, I kept 'em all at Bobby's."

Sam blinked. "He knew?" Several thoughts crossed his mind: that he was reinforcing Dean's apparent belief that being an "otaku" was something he should keep hidden, by sounding so incredulous; that he should really be ashamed of himself, Bobby having known more about his own brother's interests than he had; and that it was really only fair that Bobby had been aware of it, seeing as Dean (and, by automatic extension, Sam) had known about his regular pedicures.

"You could say that," Dean replied. "I've got a few volumes in here..." He waved a hand at the box. "...that're in the original Japanese, and they're all from him."

Sam opened his mouth to ask what the hell Bobby had been doing with untranslated manga, but a lightning bolt of memory struck him before he could get the words out. "He spoke it."

"He was fluent," Dean corrected. "And he could read it, too, which just - I'm not even sure how to make you understand how awesome that is, Sam. You gotta know something like two thousand kanji to just be basically literate. Two thousand." Dean shook his head, apparently in awe that had yet to wear off even after all these years. "He lived there. In Japan, I mean. He was there for years, after...y'know, after his wife died. He might've even learned to hunt over there."

Sam was quiet. He hadn't known that, but then again, Bobby had never said much about his early life - to either of them, Sam had thought. After all, they'd known him since they were little and they'd been adults before they'd found out he'd gotten into hunting because his wife had been possessed by a demon.

And...he hated to admit he was this petty, but...Sam had always thought that he was closest to Bobby. He'd been the youngest, so he'd been left at his house a lot while Dean went hunting with their father. They'd spent a ton of time together. And Bobby had had all kinds of books, and Sam's favorite thing in the world (besides his big brother) had been reading, so a bond formed easily. It was a surprise - and not entirely a pleasant one - to learn that Dean had shared something special with him, too. And that it'd also been related to books.

"Did he teach you?" Sam asked tentatively.

"Just a little," Dean admitted. "I could have a real short, real casual conversation with somebody. Maybe. Can't write or read worth shit, though." He brightened. "But I know a lotta hiragana. And I can write my name. Yours, too."

Kanji. Hiragana. The words were basically meaningless to Sam, though he knew one of them had to be the system of complicated symbols that made up written Japanese (and Chinese, too, right?). It was really cool that Dean could write their names, though. Sam would have to remember to ask to see that sometime. Not right now; he felt like Dean getting up to grab a piece of paper from his desk would disrupt the whole flow of their conversation.

"So did you just...stop learning after Bobby died?" Sam asked, pushing his jealousy down.

"Well, yeah, of course," Dean replied, looking surprised by the question. "Not like there was anybody else around to teach me."

"Did you like it?" Sam asked. "Learning how to speak it, I mean. And read it and write it, too."

"It was really hard," Dean responded with a shrug. "Pronunciation was a pain in the ass - they've got sounds we don't. And it took me forever to get anything down. I ain't exactly great with language. Not like you."

"Dean...c'mon, man," Sam said, shaking his head. He couldn't just let this one slide. "Don't give me that. You're pretty much fluent in Latin. Enough to pare down that super-long exorcism we used to use into a way shorter one that still works, at least. I know you've picked up a decent amount of Enochian just from hanging around Cas, and I can think of half a dozen other languages you can at least recognize off the top of my head. Hebrew, Aramaic, Welsh, German, Hindi - "

"Okay, okay." Dean interrupted him, looking embarrassed. "Fine. I don't suck at languages." He was quiet for a moment. "I guess I did like it. Even though it was real slow going and Bobby probably wasn't the most conventional teacher." He smirked. "First thing he taught me was how to order sake."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't say he was surprised. Not knowing the two of them.

"But we hardly ever come across Japanese monsters," Dean went on, "and I can't even remember the last time we had to read something in Japanese to get at the lore we needed. It's not all that useful for what we do. Not like Latin or Enochian." He shrugged. "It was just something I did for fun."

"So?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's the mater with doing something for fun? I think I can count on one hand the things you do just because you enjoy them. And I'm not talking about stuff related to hunting you just happen to like, like target practice and working on the Impala." He paused, looking at the box of manga and considering. "Maybe two hands, now that I know about that."

Dean was quiet for a long time, staring at the box himself instead of at Sam. Just as Sam was about to ask him what he was thinking, he turned to him and asked, "You really think I should keep going with it?"

"Yeah, I do," Sam replied. "I'm sure we can find books, and there's tons of resources online. If you want, I'll even learn with you. You won't get very far without somebody to speak it with."

Dean had been nodding slowly, but now he stopped, hesitating. Eventually, he sucked in a deep breath, let it out as a massive sigh, and looked away once again.

"I really appreciate it, Sam," he began quietly. "You've been way cooler about this whole thing than I ever expected you to be, which I guess is on me. But I'm just not so sure I wanna go back to learning Japanese. It's..." He stopped again, maybe to gather his thoughts. "Y'know. It's something I did with Bobby."

Now Sam was quiet. He did know what to say in response to that; he just needed a minute or two to figure out how to word it without offending or hurting Dean. Two things he'd gotten depressingly good at over the years.

"I get it," he said finally. "I really do. He was the one who got me started on Lord of the Rings, did you know that?" Dean nodded, and Sam wondered when he'd told him. "He gave me his personal copy of The Hobbit when I was seven or eight. And every time I read those books or see the movies, it hurts. It hurts every time I remember him. I'm sure it's the same for you. Which is why we barely ever talk about him." Sam shook his head. "That's not right, though. Not after what an important part of our lives he was. He's been gone for nearly four years now, we're both grown men, and considering how unhealthy we are about nearly every other issue we have, we should at least be able to deal with this."

Dean opened his mouth like he was going to say something, so Sam plowed ahead before he could. "And do you really think that Bobby wouldn't want you doing something fun just because it's not useful for hunting, or because it was something you did with him? The man knew I was alive for a whole year before you did, and he didn't tell you, barely had any contact with you at all, because he wanted to keep you out of the life for as long as he possibly could." Also, maybe because he'd suspected something was wrong with Sam from the very start and had wanted to spare Dean, but that wasn't exactly relevant to Sam's current point. "So, yeah, I think you should start leaning Japanese again. I think I should do it with you. And I think you should take all these out from under your bed - " He gestured to the books in the box. " - and put them on the bookshelves I'm gonna help you set up in here." He looked at Dean. "And yeah, it's gonna hurt, 'cause it's gonna remind you of Bobby, but that's not a bad thing. And eventually it's gonna feel better than it ever did before."

Dean returned his gaze. His face didn't change at all, but Sam had known him more than long enough to tell when he was smiling internally. Something he'd said must've landed well.

"You just can't stand to see books stashed in boxes instead of out on display, can you?" he asked after a little bit.

"They're books," Sam declared in response, recognizing that this was Dean's way of telling him he knew he was right. "They deserve better. Even the gay porn ones."

Dean scowled, but didn't argue.

"Fine," he said, getting to his feet. "We'll both learn to speak Japanese, least 'til you get bored of it, and I'll let you put bookcases in my room for me to put all my manga in." He turned towards the door. "First, though, I'm gonna go do the laundry."

"Good idea."

Dean headed for the door, but then stopped right before reaching it, glancing over his shoulder. "Y'know, you can go ahead and dig through the boxes if you want. Borrow anything you think you might like. Be kinda nice to talk to somebody about it."

Sam smirked.

"Nah," he replied. "Japanese comic books, or manga, or whatever, are just a little too geeky for me..."