#sorta for

dean scoffs.  ‘ you’re the baby.. baby. ‘  sam rolls his eyes. he takes the side of dean’s face in his hand, holding him still. the other hand, his dominant hand, meticulously apples eyeliner to the inner fold of dean’s lid, careful not to touch his eye. dean struggles with keeping from flinching, but he does his best, eye twitching mercilessly. when sam is satisfied, he retracts, and dean takes the moment to comically blink, opening his eyes over-wide and slamming them shut.  ‘ okay. now the other eye. ‘   dean groans, but it’s lacking any real teeth; sam swaps sides, looking at him with a delicate but focused expression that dean always thought was cute, remembers him doing it when he was a kid. he hardly struggles this time, still as the tip of the liner recolors his skin. 

‘ is that it? ‘ ‘ what? no. dude, that’s just eyeliner. and i hardly put any on in the first place -- you have big eyelashes. ‘  ‘ i’m not sure how i’m supposed to take that. ‘  ‘ uh .. well, you’ve got round eyes and thick lashes -- you don’t need a lot of attention to them. there’s other stuff i need to do. ‘ 

dean scrunches up his nose, but says nothing else. sam pulls out a thin tube, twists one end. dean knows this is mascara -- had a girlfriend who asked him to put hers on back in high school. sam lightly brushes his lashes, but hardly does anything else; it’s over faster than dean expected. 

then there’s a powder kit, and dean looks at sam, who lifts his brows.  ‘ i feel pretty. ‘  he says, sees the telltale dimples press into sam’s cheeks, and the sense of satisfaction that swells up inside of him feels like a balloon. sam  smooths the pad over the edge of his cheekbone. 

it feels like an era before sam makes this short, popping sound, then hums. he affectionately runs his hand over dean’s head, who is half tempted to swat him away, that’s my move, sam, but instead he lets it happen, gives him a stare that’s meant to be serious. the amused crows feet betray him. sam reaches for the handheld mirror, turns it. 

dean is genuinely surprised by the work sam’s done. he does not ‘look like a chick’, as he had sarcastically speculated. sam’s strengthened his features, covered up a few imperfections. a few years have left his face. sam’s even remembered the nicking scars that dean’s forgotten.

‘ see. you look good. ‘  ‘ i feel like i’ve got a pound of chalk on my face. ‘ 

sam flares his nostrils. dean cuts him off. 

‘ but ---- i gotta hand it to you, sammy. you did do a good job. i didn’t think you could make me look even better. ‘