It's dark in the car. Dean's eyes are on the road. His hands are busy.
Sam inches closer in the seat, then closer. He raises an arm as if he's stretching.
Lunges.
"Dude!" The car swerves on empty highway. "What the hell?"
"Uh. You, uh. You feel OK?"
"For the thousandth time, yes."
---
In the library Dean's bent over a book. He's absorbed.
Sam lifts a hand as slowly as tea steeps, up behind Dean's back, then up over the top of his head.
He grazes a hair.
Dean flinches and smacks his arm down. "Seriously."
---
Sunk into the couch, Dean's blowing his nose with dedication.
Sam saunters up and slaps a palm onto his forehead.
Dean starts and shoves the kleenex at Sam. "Get away from me!"
"Wow. Doctor. Tomorrow."
"Aw, damn it."