Sam understands why Dean wants a washing machine. He does. It sucks having to get up on Wednesdays to go to the local laundromat. It sucks having to hide bloodstains from curious eyes, and he's always losing his socks. He gets it.
But it doesn't mean Sam trusts Dean, or Dean's plan to install their own washing machine. And he especially doesn't trust that sledgehammer against the wall. (Where the hell did Dean find that anyway?)
"Dean, if you flood this place—" he begins. Dean's huff cuts him off.
"I'm not going to flood the place, Sammy," his brother replies, looking up from the blueprints of the Men of Letter's compound. (Sam has no idea where he found those either.) Sam glances at the marks Dean made on the walls, and he can almost see the water main bursting and the two of them (and all the books) disappearing in a wall of water.
"Just, maybe we should consult a professional for this, Dean," Sam protests. Dean gives him an annoyed look.
"Sam, I turned off the water. Besides, I used to build homes all the time. I know what I'm doing."
Sam's protests die. "What? When?"
Sometimes reading Dean is like trying to decipher something in Greek. And sometimes reading his brother is really easy, and Sam knows he's turned to the chapter of "stuff we don't talk about ever." Dean's irritated now, a raw nerve exposed, even as he tries to hide it. "Look, why don't you, I don't know, go file something, Sam. Leave me alone so I can build our goddamn home."
Dean turns away, busying himself with safety glasses and another look at the blueprints. Sam fidgets, knowing he's got to fix this.
"It guess it would be nice to do laundry here," he offers slowly, waving a hand. Dean glances at him. Sam smiles. "Saves us quarters for Vegas."
Dean huffs. He's amused though, and Sam knows he's fixed it when his lips twitch toward a smile. The moment is gone just as quickly, Dean shooing him away so he can start work.
Sam wanders away, smile growing. Dean building homes, he thinks. Dean building their home.
He would be good at that.