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The hiss of the shower filled the untidy, cluttered room and Sam listened to it carefully, his hands locked together in his lap, shaking slightly, picturing what was happening.

The water would be as hot as Dean could bear it, or the shower could provide, and he'd stand under it for a while before reaching for the soap, his eyes open and blinking furiously, every lean, mean muscle outlined by water, waiting for the finger painting of froth and bubbles to obscure the delicate beaded lines.

He'd soap up vigorously, hands moving fast, the coursing water undoing his work, and he'd sigh and tilt his head back, eyes finally closed, and let the cooling water pour down as his hand groped and then twisted the temperature to cold, cold, cold.

That's when he'd scream, loud and happy.

Dean didn't scream tonight. The water shut off and he walked into the room, a towel around his hips and another in his hand.

That was new, too. He wouldn't usually bother drying off, just sprawl naked and wet on the bed, shivering and grinning and waiting for someone to warm him up.

Sam watched Dean's hand take hold of the tuck of the towel and his mouth dried with wanting and missing and needing. Remembering.

Dean hesitated and then pushed the edge of the towel in deeper, anchoring it firmly.

Didn't matter.

The towel wasn't hiding anything and neither were Sam's jeans.

"All yours, if you want it," Dean said.

Sam walked past him to go to the shower.

"Didn't mean that," Dean murmured with the ghost of a memory of an echo of a smile spicing his voice and doing more than it should to wake Sam's body.

"Things have changed."

Dean's fingers were warm around Sam's wrist, stroking softly down across the palm of his hand.

"Change them back."

Sam shook his head without looking at him.

Still slept curled up against Dean's back though, breathing in the smell of cheap shampoo and drooling onto his skin.

They hadn't changed that much.