A soft brothers thing: Sam and Dean taking a vacation. Lying out on the beach all day, getting sunburnt and freckled and swimming in the ocean. Sam puts his hair up in a bun and Dean makes fun of him but doesn't mean it. They're both relaxed and content and without a care in the world.
The first time they go in the ocean, it catches them by surprise. How big the waves are, how salty the water is, how it seems to grab at them and pull them under. They’ve swam in lakes before, in rivers, but this isn’t anything like it. Dean thinks he’s drowning, gets back on the shore. Sam’s left standing there, looking back at his brother, not understanding why he’s leaving already. When Dean grabs a bottle and sits down, he goes and gets him.
You’re not giving up that easily.
They walk in hand in hand, not because of any sentimental reason, not for support or strength, but because Sam’s pulling Dean back. He throws him in the ocean and Dean splutters, grabs Sam and makes him fall in, too. They struggle, but after that one big wave, the ocean is calmer. And so, they stay in a little longer. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Half an hour. Forty minutes, then an hour. They’re raisins when they get back up - salty raisins, the kind that nobody wants to eat. The towels feel so warm and soft around them when they finally get to sit down and open up the cooler: Dean throws his previous bottle back in, it’s way too hot now to drink, picks up a new one. He reaches out and tugs at Sam’s bun, grinning, then opens his bottle. Sam chuckles, shakes his head and looks back at the ocean - it reflects the bright sunlight, looks a deeper shade of blue than the sky above.