"Do you think you could..." Sam hesitated and stared down at his hands, then the ceiling, anywhere but at his older brother, clearly searching for words. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then blurted, "Do you think you could come into the bathroom with me while I shower and keep a hand on me while I get off?"

Dean stared open-mouthed at his younger brother, who kept his eyes closed, then finally peeked sideways to see what reaction Dean was going to have. 4 different expressions flashed across Dean's face in a split second: confusion, disbelief, horror, before returning to the world weary default his beautiful face tended to wear. Sam would almost have sworn he also saw a flash of arousal in those green eyes, a quick dilation of the pupils before Dean composed himself.

"Dude," Dean replied, sounding pained, "I know you told me that the only time Lucifer-vision is turned off is when we're touching, but don't you think this is going a bit far? We're sharing a bed now, we keep our knees touching at restaurants, and I let you tuck your feet under my leg while we're driving. You barely let me take a leak by myself. Isn't that enough?"

There had even been some very uncomfortable moments one morning when they woke up spooning with Dean's morning wood pressing against Sam's ass. But they decided to deal with it the way they treated most things they didn't want to deal with, they both acted like nothing had happened.

To keep Lucifer-vision turned off in Sam's head, they'd been in nearly constant physical contact for weeks, ever since Sam realized that it wasn't the pain in his injured hand making Lucifer disappear but his older brother's touch. When Dean pressed Sam's hand to remind him what was real, he could see the world with clarity. And more importantly, without Satan.

Sam had been able to use the pain on it's own for a little while to keep his visions at bay, but it was never as effective as the first time, and as Sam's hand healed, the efficacy wore off. One afternoon, Dean happened to clap Sam on the shoulder during one of Lucifer's renditions of 5000 bottles of beer on the wall, which shut off the fallen angel until Dean moved his hand away. Sam yelled for his big brother to come back when Lucifer started over at 1, and when Dean touched his shoulder again, Sam realized that he could have some peace and normalcy in his life. As long as he and Dean were touching.

"I know it's a lot to ask," the younger brother replied, clearly embarrassed, "but I haven't been able to...you know...in months. Any time I start, uh, getting anywhere the Prince of Darkness pops up and starts mocking me. You try keeping it up while he critiques your technique and watches REALLY closely. He even holds up score cards, and he's tougher than the Russian judges."

Dean stared at Sam deadpan, refusing to dignify the figure skating reference. "Dude, I was in Hell for 40 years. I can keep it up through anything. ANYTHING."

Sam looked away, then back at his brother. "Point taken, but I don't have that, uh, skill set, so could you help me out?" He paused, looking thoughtful, "Or maybe we could have a 3-way? You love 3-ways. We could pick up a waitress..?"

"A 3-way should have one dude and two chicks. That's the way God intended it," the fair-haired brother nearly yelled, standing up and pacing the room. "2 dudes is the bad kind. We are NOT doing that."

Dean stopped pacing and looked over at Sam. Sammy. The younger sibling he'd spent his whole life taking care of and protecting. He knew Sam was in pain, and if he could help ease that, he should. Dean closed his eyes, exhaled, and squared his shoulders.

"Fine. Go get in the shower before I change my mind. But I am not touching your ass."