The Pick-Up
Dermatillomania: a psychological condition that manifests as repetitive, compulsive skin picking.
There was almost no skin left on your thumb. Approaching the boys had been awkward, but you sucked up your pride and did it anyway. So here you were, at the hospital entrance, alone with the younger Winchester. Dean was pulling the car around, and the anxiety and uncertainty had caused you to relapse and pick up the old bad habit of skin picking.
"Wow, Dean's talk really did a number on you." Whipping your head in Sam's direction, "He told you?!"
"Not really, I just assumed. He just mentioned that he actually beat you in an argument."
"I'll kill him."
"I think it's a good thing. I've never seen you this rattled before."
"I am not rattled. I'm just thinking."
"Well, maybe you should think less."
"Maybe you two should think more."
"Don't get snarky on me. I know it was uncomfortable, but that's all part of growth!"
"Is there a fee to attend this TED talk?"
"Y/N,"
"Yes! Okay, Jesus, I'm uncomfortable. Bask in it! I don't do this, okay, I don't do heart-to-hearts, I don't do teamwork, I just don't. And I hate talking about it."
"Well, deal with it. We've gotten used to being a trio. Dean even said 'having you around doesn't suck' - despite yesterday. Which, in Dean Language, is basically a love letter." Sam's puppy dog eyes and goofy grin let you know that while playful, he was still being sincere. You didn't enjoy it, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world either.
The sight of the sleek black vintage car had never brought so much relief. Dean hopped out of the front and helped lower Sam to his seat. While you expected to give short concise responses and minimal eye contact with the man who had thoroughly put you into your place, he had acted as if nothing happened. You didn't know if it confused or angered you. Probably a bit of both. And to further the frustration, he turned from Sam in that moment and gave a ruffle to your hair. Immediately smacking his hand away, you glared. "That is not now, nor will it ever be a thing. You are not a little league coach, and I am not a toddler playing T-ball." He lowered himself into the driver's seat with a, "Then why are you pouting?" as he closed the door behind him. You had to take a deep breath and look at Sam. He gave a small smile and a tiny shrug in response. You can't kill him in public. You had a feeling you would be repeating that mantra often in the upcoming endeavors.