"Whoa, there, champ. Take it easy. Where're your crutches?"
"C'mon, De," Sam pouts, limping his way into the kitchen, cast heavy on his left leg. "Don't need 'em. Not around the house."
"Sam, if Dad knew you—"
"Dad's not home. And if no one tells him," Sam puts extra emphasis on the last two words, "then he'll never know. It doesn't hurt anything."
Dean rolls his eyes but holds his arms out for Sam. "Com'ere, you."
Sam does so willingly, shifting his weight from both legs to his right and leaning his weight against Dean's chest.
"How's it feel today? You hurtin'?"
Sam shakes his head. "Not really. It's a little itchy 'cause of the cast, but it feels pretty much fine other than that."
"How fine are we talkin' here?"
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Can't really jump up on the counter right now but if you wanna put me there I won't try to get down."
Dean smirks, tilting his head down to catch Sam's mouth with his own. "Good enough for me."