AN: I guess, if I were to give a dedication, it would be to CallMeAnonymous9. Seriously, if you're down, I have hopes that this chapter will cheer you up. Also, because I took so long to put it up, I'm posting the next chapter immediately. It's really short, but I rather like it.

Disclaimer: The fact that I'm female has nothing to do with it. My name could totally be Eric Kripke.

Warnings: Mild language.

Summary: Pure and utter crack. A witch curses two demon-hunting brothers into being affectionate. What could possibly go wrong?

Dean avoided looking at his brother.

It wasn't anything personal, really. He just had this insane urge to reach out and . . . well . . . touch him. Maybe ruffle his hair or pat his shoulder.

Or hug him.

No, he couldn't give in! He had to resist the witch's curse, dammit. Why did it have to be this particular curse, anyway? Couldn't she have just locked him inside his own mind or something? But no, it had to be some kind of twisted cuddling curse.

Damn her. Trying to ruin him in the eyes of all men, including himself.

Sammy glanced up at him from his chair in the motel room. "Uh, Dean?"

"What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Well, you don't normally stand so close, and . . ." He nodded toward Dean's hand, which was resting on his shoulder. ". . . I just thought that something was bothering you."

Dean snatched his hand off to stare at it, appalled.

His traitorous body was betraying him, going skipping to the Dark Side without even a by-your-leave, giving out affection all willy-nilly, looking to destroy his very masculinity!

Alright, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration. But he was still going to kill that damned witch for this.

He came back to himself, suddenly aware that Sam was looking at him with concern. His hand had settled itself on Dean's arm, his brow furrowed with worry. "Is everything alright, Dean?"

He pulled back, immediately regretting it (and swearing silently and colorfully to himself for it. Stupid curse) when Sam's hand slipped from his arm. "Whoa, boy. None of that touchy-feely crap, yeah?"

Now that he that about it, though, Sam seemed slightly more attentive than usual ever since the witch had escaped. Either he was feeling like a random bonding moment, or the curse had gotten to him, too.

Sam sighed. "How am I supposed to know when something's wrong if you won't tell me what it is?"

"It's nothing," Dean said dismissively.

A frown tugged at his lips. "It's never nothing with you, Dean."

"Sam, drop it. I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Oh, for- yes, Sam. Really."

"Then why is your arm around my shoulders?"

"Huh?"

They both looked at Dean's arm, which was, indeed, slung around Sam's neck. He hadn't even noticed himself doing it.

There was a moment of silence where neither of them moved.

Finally, Dean said, "You know, Sammy, I think we've got a problem here."

"You think? I've been fighting the urge to-to hug you for several minutes now."

"Aw, Sammy-"

"Shut up, Dean. You can't tell me you haven't been feeling it, too."

"Do you have to put it like that? It sounds so . . . wrong."

"Dean, focus. Daniella Moncreif-"

"Who?"

"The witch."

"Oh. Right."

Sam rolled his eyes, but continued. "Remember what she said?"

"'You have great eyes'?"

"No."

"'I want you'?"

"Dean."

"'My sister's cuter than yours'?"

"What? No. She did not say that."

"I was talking to her. She took one look at your long, flowing hair and . . ."

"Dean!"

"Okay, I lied. But you should've seen the look on your face, dude."

Sam looked at him, unimpressed.

Dean shrugged. "You have to admit, it was funny."

"What did she really say, Dean?"

He quoted, "'Oh, my Granth Sahib, can you say dysfunctional? You guys are screwed, boy. What're ya gonna do when it's ya'll against the world and then one of ya screws up, unknowingly gets addicted to a bloodthirsty serial-killer blade, screws up even more and eventually gets turned into a demon, and all 'cause ya could no longer trust your blood kin. You emotionally repressed idiots. Well, lemme jus' fix that for ya, yeah?' Then she kind of cackled a little bit."

Sam paused. "She said that?"

"Yeah. I don't think she meant it to sound so weird, though. On second thought, she is a witch, so she probably did."

"Did she say anything about a sibling of her own?"

"Well, she really did mention a sister."

Sam tilted his head, thinking. "Hm."

"Don't worry, Sam," Dean said casually, "I'm sure Sis-Witch and her girlish looks have nothing on yours."

Sam shot him a look. "Dean, this is serious."

"Nah, you're just insecure."

He let out a breath. "Dean."

"Fine, fine. So, what, she's just trying to get us closer or something?"

Sam's expression smoothed out. "That would be my guess."

"Doesn't mean we have to do what she wants."

"You're leaning on me."

Dean straightened, then paused. He pointed at his brother. "We do not mention this." Ignoring the twinge that came with walking away from Sam, he went over and fell back onto the couch. "So what do we have to do to break the spell?"

Sam furrowed his brow, looking at the screen of his computer. "I don't know. I'll try to find out, but it might take awhile."

"We'll be fine," Dean said confidently. "We're strong enough to withstand the spell, no matter how long it takes."

Dean really, really, really wanted to hug his brother.

It was this same impulse- no, a longing, curse it- that made him stay put when Sam suddenly leapt up from his chair to throw his long, hairy, overgrown Sasquatch arms around him.

It was utterly merciless, forcing him to sink into his brother's embrace despite his protestations, which he voiced vehemently, almost violently.

"Mm."

Sam patted his back while Dean's face pressed into his brothers' shoulder.

He dissolved. His bones were liquid as he slumped in Sam's arms, he could swear he felt his face melting off.

He had no regrets.

They stayed that way for ten long minutes before anyone spoke.

"We should do this again . . . sometime . . . a lot . . ." Dean mumbled into Sam's neck.

Sam kind of hunched into him, like a big, clingy blanket. Except heavier and several times more liable to talk. "Yeah."

"Why don't we ever do this, anyway?" Dean asked, sounding dazed, voice muffled by, well, Sam.

"You don't like chick-flick moments."

"Screw chick-flick moments. This is better."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

Then Dean said, "This isn't gonna wear off anytime soon, is it?"

"Probably not."

"Hallelujah."

We're doomed.

The worst part was, he couldn't even bring himself to care.

Next up: Home alone. Bored Lucifer. Utterly not amused Sam. What could be better?

By the way, Daniella Moncreif is wholly a creature of my own invention, as is her sister. Just in case you were wondering.

Weird Randomness!

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Daniella Moncreif pushed her hair out of her face. "So who's next on the list?"

Her sister, Devon Moncreif, inspected her notepad. "It says here . . . Lucifer Morningstar an' Michael something-or-other."

Daniella tsked. "Looks like we got our work cut out for us, Dev."

Devon shrugged. "Nothin' we can't handle. We'll jus' sprinkle a bit of our special homemade Hug-Fest tonic on 'em and we'll be done."

Her older sibling snorted. "More like a whole tub of Hug-Fest. They're worse than those Winchester boys woulda been."

"Mm," Devon agreed.

There was a brief moment of comfortable silence.

"Hey, Danny . . ."

"Yeah, Devy?"

"What are we goin' to do about that dang Raphael and li'l bro Castiel?"

"We'll give them our Love-Love-Love mix, of course!" Daniella exclaimed.

Devon gave her an admiring glance. "You're the worst, Danny."

"I know. Isn't it great?"

"Extraordinary," Devon said without missing a beat.

Daniella cuddled her sister close. "Aww, you're so cute. You jus' make me want to hold you and adore you and keep you forever."

"So the usual, then."

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