Did You Just…?
Dean Winchester, hunter-extraordinaire was a man who prided himself on his reflexes. His speed when it came to pulling someone out of the path of danger. His skills at ducking out of a flying objects path. His ability to make his rock salt shots hit home almost every time. This reflex, however, was one he didn't know he had. He had heard of it, sure, but had never experienced it. Usually the only people with this particular reflex were parents, not guys with sasquatch sized little brothers who more often than not got their pretty boy ass in trouble.
The new little trick presented itself en-route to a job. Not somewhere there was a lot going on and this quirk would have gone unnoticed. No, it had to be in the Impala, where he was alone with Sam.
The entire situation seemed to be in slow motion. The road was long and straight, lined by tall, full trees. The sun was high in the sky, which was odd to Dean because most of the crap they pulled usually happened late at night. Everything was normal; Survivor blaring through the speakers, Sammy typing away on his computer. His fingers were drumming steadily on the steering wheel, and he was surprisingly relaxed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small fuzzy creature dart out onto the road and Dean's awesome reflexes kicked into gear. First he spotted the animal. Good. Next his foot hit the breaks. Also good. Then…Then it happened. His arm flew out, his hand slapping across Sam's chest. Not so good.
The interior of the Impala fell silent. Dean looked down and across to his hand, stretched out across his brother's chest. Sam looked down at the hand as well, then up at his brother. A heavy, awkward silence stretched between them. Dean yanked his arm back and pressed on the gas.
A smirk spread over Sam's features. He shifted in his seat to look at Dean. "Dean, did you just-"
"Oh, you so did, dude."
"I did not!" Dean kept his eyes locked securely on the road.
At this point, Sam was full-out laughing. "You totally just 'hockey mom-ed' me!"
Dean's foot pressed down a little harder on the gas.
"Admit it, Dean, you-"
"I was not trying to save your pretty ass from becoming a Sammy-cake splattered across the highway," snarled Dean, despite the fact that he was doing precisely that.
"Yeah, whatever dude."
A/N: This goes with a piece of art I saw and loved.