Final part. The stitches have to come out. This one's for sidjack. Thanks for the inspiration and the beta and the delicious ideas, lady!
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing?" Sam's tone is battered.
Dean flicks his eyes to Sam's face in the bathroom mirror. "I'm pulling these stitches out. So?"
"So. I can help you."
"I got it."
"Dean, you can't even reach. Ow. Stop."
"I got it, Sam." Dean's wince belies his confident tone.
"You're making it all red."
"They gotta come out."
"You need to pull them out straight."
"I'm trying. It's hard to reach."
"So, I can help you." Sam's tone is quiet, his face sincere as he stares at Dean's reflection.
Dean looks at Sam in the mirror again. Holds his gaze. Then sighs and drops his hands to the sink. "Fine."
Sam moves in slowly, pushes Dean's bicep forward, tilts his head to get a better look.
The first brush of his fingers has Dean jerking forward and gripping the sink tight. "Don't tickle," he barks.
When Dean looks up, Sam's grinning. "Sorry."
Sam's next touch is firmer, braces Dean's side.
Dean steals glances at Sam's reflection as he works. Sam squints in concentration as he focuses on his task. He inhales sympathetically whenever Dean flinches, moves more gently.
Sam's eyes flick up, catching his gaze before Dean can look away. Dean holds it for a second, searching, before looking back at the tile.
"All done." Sam's hands fall away. There's no playful slap at the healed skin.
"Yeah. No problem." Sam doesn't move. "Dean?"
"I still want to be your brother."
Dean breathes deep and looks at Sam hard. A minute ticks by. Sam's gaze doesn't waver. Dean digs deep. "Okay. Yeah. Now, move bitch."
Dean pulls his t-shirt over his head. Vows to take it one day at a time.