"I don't want to fight with you anymore. Jesus, all we've been doing is fighting lately." Sam's voice is small inside his head, like he can barely hear himself, but he knows Dean can hear him just fine.
Dean sits down at the other end of the couch and drops his head into his hands, letting out a long sigh. "Guess it is, ain't it?"
Sam scoffs.
"Sammy..."
Whoa. Hasn't heard that one in a while. Sam chances a shooting look over at his brother, hopeful.
Dean's head is still down. He doesn't say anything else.
Sam wilts back into the cushion.
Dean sighs again. Opens his mouth. Still doesn't say anything.
It hits Sam like a thousand pounds to the chest. Dean's trying to talk to him. He just can't. They've never had that problem before. He has to do something; can't let this get any worse than it already is. Before he can really think about it, he's settling down in Dean's lap and curling up against him like a kitten, pressing their lips together as gently as he can.
Dean hesitates for a minute from the pure shock of it but gets with the program before long and places his hand on Sam's hip, kissing him back slow and sweet. When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against his brother's and whispers his name again. "Sammy."
It sounds different this time, Sam thinks. Like maybe, somehow, there's a chance that things will be okay.