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“Dammit!”
Sam can hear Dean swearing up a storm from three rooms away. He’s halfway to the bathroom that Dean’s replacing the faucet in before his brain realizes Dean’s not in mortal danger—he’s just doing some plumbing. His heartbeat slows incrementally, but speeds up again the moment he sees Dean. He’s in a dirt-streaked white tank top, sucking on his thumb. Sam looks away to the half-finished sink.
“Everything okay?”
“Dropped a piece of pipe on my thumb. Stupid.”
“Let me see.”
Sam forces himself to come within smelling distance of Dean so he can inspect the damage. Dean thrusts his thumb in Sam’s face, and Sam gets a whiff of B.O. He wills himself not to get hard. The thumb doesn’t look too bad. “You probably won’t lose a nail, but you might want to ice it.”
“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Let me finish up here first.”
Sam drops Dean’s hand. Dean doesn’t move away immediately and there’s a second where Sam can’t seem to stop himself from looking at Dean’s mouth. Then he pulls himself together and turns away. “I’ll find you an ice pack.”
“Thanks, Sammy.”