A/N: Another drabble. The boys are not a couple in this one, but if you just tilt your head and squint…

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

Dean returned the to motel room to find Sam holding a small object.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Sam hid the book underneath the pillow behind him on the bed.

A skeptical raised eyebrow greeted him in response.

"What?" Sam asked.

"You tell me it's nothing and then you put it in an 'off-limits' place, clearly indicating that it's something you don't want me to know about."

Sam sat there with his mouth open, eyes roaming.

"And now you're thinking up a lie," Dean supplied.

Sam's lips scrunched together thoughtfully.

"And now you're thinking up a way to deny that you were thinking up a lie," Dean added.

Sam took a breath as if to speak and folded his arms haughtily.

"And now you're going to shift the focus by telling me I'm being ridiculous."

"Goddamn it, Dean, stop narrating me!"

Dean grinned. "And now you're yelling because I got you nailed."

"Gah! Fine!"

Sam pulled the book out from beneath his pillow and chucked it at Dean's face. Dean ducked out of the way and the book hit the wall behind him.

"Jesus, Sammy! You could have put out my eye!" Dean tried to sound stern, but he laughed all the way through his admonishment.

"I hate you, Dean!"

Dean turned away from Sam to kneel down and pick up the book. Without looking back he said, "And now you're sitting against the headboard with your arms folded and a big grumpy frown on your face."

That one earned a pillow thrown at his head, and Dean sputtered more satisfied laughter. He grabbed the book and stood up, opening the cover and eagerly flipping through the pages. They were all blank.

"It's a journal," Dean said indifferently.

"Go to hell," Sam said, arms tightly folded.

"Dude, come on. All this fuss over a journal? A journal that you haven't even written in, at that. Why would you try to hide this?"

Sam turned his face away from his brother defiantly.

"Sam, you're allowed to have a journal."

"Oh, right, and like I'm ever going to be able to write private things in it now that you know it exists," Sam huffed.

Dean looked around the infinitesimally small motel room. "Uh, I don't know if you've noticed, bro, but there aren't many minutes of your life that I'm not present for. Not saying I would go thumbing through your dear diary," he snorted. Sam raised another pillow in preparation for launch, but Dean held up a hand of surrender. "But if I did, I can't imagine I would read anything I don't already know."

Sam glanced into Dean's eyes with an expression that softened somewhere on the edge of hope.

"I mean..." Dean amended smugly, "unless you're writing love poems about me or something."

He chuckled, amused at his joke, and Sam's hopeful stare immediately transformed into red hot rage. He stood up and stormed out of the room, snatching the journal out of his brother's hands on the way, and slammed the door violently behind him. Dean stayed glued to his spot, stunned into silence.

"What'd I say?" he asked the empty air.