A/N: Just a little ficlet that sprang into my mind. Hopefully the start of some more fanfic creativity to break my dry spell.
Dean wears his heart on his sleeve. He pretends like he doesn't, but he knows he does. It's why he gets into fist fights and screaming matches and how he's able to charm women he just met into letting him into their bed.
Sam's not like him. Sam is a master at compartmentalizing, sliding a blank mask into place to hide anything and everything inside him, easy as breathing.
It's why Dean's rooted to the spot after coming out of the restroom, hands still slightly damp from the shitty paper towels that didn't really do their job, watching his brother- who never throws a punch unless he absolutely has to- pinning a guy to the pool table and beating the shit out of him.
Sam's name leaps from his mouth in a stunned shout and just as fast as he witnessed it it was all over; Sam was walking out the door and Dean was trying to get his legs to catch up to his brain to follow.
Sam's already standing next to the Impala when Dean finally gets outside, his brother's breath misting in the crisp air and his hands clenched into fists, resting on the hood.
"Was runnin' his mouth about you," Sam grits out before Dean can even ask, and it's like a punch in the stomach, moments like this when Sam's heart is on his sleeve for once and it's all because of Dean.
"Idiot," Dean says, but it's nothing but fond, and he lets Sam cage him in against the side of the cold car; tasting nothing but love so fierce it could overcome the Devil himself in the press of Sam's mouth.