I wrote this on my phone, and I'm too lazy to edit, so sorry about any mistakes.
No warnings, just a small bit of fluff.
When Dean was 14, it finally dawned on him that kissing and cuddling your little brother wasn't exactly normal - or accepted. The odd looks in public should have been a clue a long time ago, but Dean didn't give a crap about anyone outside his family. Dad never said anything; he raised an eyebrow once or twice when he caught them spooning in bed, but he probably chalked that up to bad heaters in shitty motels.
Dean remembers when he was 12, and Sam was 8; Sam gave him a quick morning kiss on his cheek like he always did before school, and Dad said, "Sam, aren't you too old for that?"
Sam had merely huffed, said 'no' and stuck out his tongue. Dean thinks he remembers his dad chuckling, and he never said anything about it again. After all, Sam hugged and gave his dad fast pecks as well before he left on hunts.
Now, though, sitting in a room with three other kids his age, two of them talking about how much they hated their younger siblings. Judy turned and leaned into him, saying, "God, they're just the worst, right, Dean?"
"No," he replied immediately. Sam was… Well, Sam. He loved him; he wanted to always look after him. As Judy shrugged, and the others continued the conversation; that's when he realized. He knew they weren't normal of course, but this was something a bit weirder.
The next night, after Dean showered and flopped down onto the queen bed to sleep, he felt a familiar bundle of warmth wiggle up to his back, and a small arms reach over, splaying its finger tips over his ribs.
"Get off," Dean grumbles, wrenching away from Sam. Instantly, he had a lump in his throat and a heavy feeling in his stomach, but it was too late to take back his words.
Behind him, Sam was still for a couple of minutes before he cuddled back up to Dean's back.
"Buzz off, Sam!" Dean yelled, reaching behind him and pushing his little brother away.
"What's going on over there?" John's voice came from the desk. He hadn't even looked up, shuffling the papers around until he found whatever he was searching for.
"Nothing," Dean mumbled, voice muffled from the pillow he pushed his face into. He barely kept himself from flinching when he heard a soft sniffle behind him.
"I'm going to be out late, probably until 7 or 8." John said as they neared Sam's school. "So, Dean, pick your brother up and walk home today. There's pizza in the fridge from yesterday."
"Fine," Dean said.
"Okay, Sam?"
"Okay," Sam replied, voice small and tired. He barely slept last night, and neither did Dean.
The car stopped, John patiently waiting for his youngest son to get off before he drove the two minutes to the middle school. Dean felt Sam's arms wrap around him, knowing Sam was about to kiss his cheek, he moved away, pushing him again, "Stop."
Sam pulled away, frowning and looking up to his dad. John smiled and shrugged, leaning over and kissing Sam's forehead. Sam smiled and hugged him, slipping out the door.
Dean waited outside the elementary school with a scowl, kicking the ground with the top of his foot.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, running up to him with a bright smile. "I drew a rocket today! Want to see?"
"Sure, Sammy." Dean grinned, forgetting his "space issues" as they began to walk to the hotel, Sammy leaning into him with one hand clinging at his belt loop. He reached over, putting an arm over Sam's shoulders.
It lasted ten minutes, until Dean looked up and saw one of his classmates. He frowned and shrugged Sam away from him, burying his hands in his pockets and ignoring Sammy's quivering lips.
"Are you mad at me?" Sam's voice was small, staring at Dean from behind the couch, eyes and fingers peeking over the top. Dean looked away from the tv, turning and frowning at Sam.
"…no."
"…" Sam shuffled uncomfortably. "Did I do something wrong?"
Dean's frown deepened. "No."
Sam's eyes fluttered closed, and his face started to become red, one hand pawing at one of his eyes.
"Sammy," Dean said, reaching over and petting his hair. "Don't cry…"
"I d-don't understand!" Sam hiccuped. "You're ignoring me!"
"No, I'm not.. I'm…" Dean shifted, trying to explain. "It's weird! Brothers don't hug and kiss that much!"
Sam gave Dean an accusatory look. When no one spoke, it eventually melted into a sad, pleading look. "But… I love you."
"I love you, too, Sammy." Dean sighed, aggravated at himself. "Oh, come on, come here."
Sam bolted around the couch, jumping and landing on Dean, arms reaching around his neck.
"Oh! Jesus Christ-" Dean huffed, taking one knee to his ribs and the other to his thigh. He laughed, hugging his brother to him tightly. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered, kissing his temple. "Won't do it again."
"Better not, jerk!" Sam said, wiping his tears on Dean's t shirt, making himself comfortable.
"Whatever, bitch." Sam punched Dean in the chest at the insult, screwing his face up at the curse word.