The Pay-Off For Having Faith

14

"These look great, Dean."

Sam reached out to touch one of the canvases on which Dean had drawn protection symbols, and brushed his fingertips over the surface.
"These actually make some pretty kick-ass art."

His brother flushed slightly at the compliment, pleased smile touching his mouth. He kept his eyes on the canvas he was hanging as he shrugged and said, "I guess they're okay."

Sam raised his eyes to the symbols-turned-art, which now hung above the bed. Dean had scrubbed his drawings off the paint with soapy water and magic erasers at some point in the middle of the night, save for those on the back of the door and the Devil's Trap on the ceiling, and now a row of canvases hung in their place.

It looked pretty awesome.

His eyes shifted to Dean as the other finished hanging the last one and climbed off the bed to stand next to him again. His saw his brother's gaze move to some point near the closet, saw his brow furrow after a moment.

"They don't keep him away, huh?" Sam asked softly, in reference to Lucifer, as he motioned to the canvases.
"No," Dean muttered after a moment, "They don't seem to have any effect on him."

Dean's eyes shifted to the corner again; several moments later, he reached out to brush his fingers along Sam's shoulder, his face troubled. Sam remained motionless, allowing his brother to ascertain that he was, indeed, real. Those searching fingers slipped to the back of his neck, soft touches which elicited a shiver from him. It was when Dean's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, that Sam exhaled sharply, full-body shudder running through him.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes returned to him, burning with concern, "Did I hurt you? 'm sorry.."

"You didn't," he shook his head, "It's - I actually kinda liked that." What he had just confessed dawned on him as Dean tilted his head, studying him.
"Yeah?" his brother murmured, and the sound of that low-pitched, rough voice lit up every nerve in Sam's body. Sam's eyes widened and he tried to backtrack with a stammer, "I didn't mean it like – That's not – I –"

Realizing that he was failing in covering up his slip, he chose the next best course of action: he blurted out, "I gotta hit the head," and fled the room.

When he had locked himself in the bathroom, Sam jerked his cell phone out of his pocket and sent out a quick text to Jessica: I was three seconds from pouncing D just now. Wtf. Help!

He received a response fifteen seconds later: On my way. Don't panic. Want to video if you're pouncing.

Sam groaned and banged his head against the bathroom door. Leave it to his best friend to be completely amused and not-helpful about the situation.

"These are cool," Gabriel was standing in front of two pictures hanging on the living room wall. They were two of the canvases on which Dean had painted protection sigils, at John's request (something which had caused Dean to fall silent for a while, lost in thought); John had hung them on the wall earlier that morning.

"Dean painted them," Sam informed as he joined his friend.

"Really?" Gabe glanced over at Dean, whom was leaning against the living room doorframe, watching them, "They're pretty good. They Japanese or something?"

"Or something," his brother agreed, glancing at the paintings and then back to them.

Gabriel gave Sam a look, then asked, "Well, what do they mean?"

"Protection."

"Yeah? Cool. From what?"

"Your mom," Sam supplied with a smirk when his brother hesitated.
Gabriel snorted a laugh and told him, "I need some for my house, then. Did I tell you she threatened to ground me over that prank we pulled on Gordon the last week of school?"