Archive of Our Own

Location: 38, -88
Date: November 07, 2010

"Is your heater broken?" Sam asked. The sun was starting to sink below the horizon behind them, and Dean had been driving with the headlights on for almost half an hour. It was cool in the car, and it'd be edging up on cold before they stopped for the night.

"No," Dean said. He glanced at Sam, then back at the road. "It's just a little rusty. I don't wanna run it if we don't need it."

Sam nodded, not mentioning the fact that they were both wearing at least two shirts, and thick jackets on top of that.

Night fell earlier and earlier these days, and it'd been a gray, dreary day before that, the type of cool weather that felt sluggish instead of brisk. Unexpected cold front, the radio announced that morning, a blast of unseasonal arctic air. Sam had stared at the dashboard during the report, because anything out of the ordinary could mean another sign of the apocalypse. It could be coming after all. Dean hadn't thought it deserved a bigger response than rolling up the windows and sliding in a tape, though, and so Sam spent a bleak day looking over his shoulder, trying not to let Dean see what he was doing.

The car was clean, on top of being unheated, and that was a problem. Sam never remembered to bundle up before they got on the road for the evening because he was used to keeping a hoodie in the back seat, but none of his stuff was rattling around the footwells yet. There was a little more of Dean here — a pair of socks in the back, still neatly folded into each other, a classic car magazine tucked into the cassette box, and a picture of Lisa with her arms around Ben in the glove box, with all the fake IDs — but not as much as there used to be. No take-out containers, no receipts fluttering in the open-window breeze.

The car didn't even smell right. Sam'd rarely noticed it before, when they , unless one of them ripped a few farts, or fucked with all the windows closed, or left food to rot under the seat. He'd been driven around in this car since before he could remember, since he was still tucked safely in their mom's body, and its scent — gas, the hair gel Dean always tried to hide, dirt, a little smoke — was part of the background of Sam's life. He kept waiting to get out of the car, and back into the fresh air.

Maybe Dean wasn't running the heater because the last thing they needed was to actively circulate that wrong smell. Whatever Dean's reason, Sam's hands ached with the chill.

Outside, most of the leaves had already fallen, and lay in piles on the edges of the streets. It must have rained recently, because they were all a uniform shade of brown, and just shiny enough that they'd be wet enough to stick to your boots, if you walked through.

"I think it's a shapeshifter," Sam said.

Dean glanced at him with both eyebrows raised. "What?"

"In Anderton," Sam said. "That's getting the teachers. I think it's a shifter."

Dean turned back to the road. After a while, he asked, "What makes you say that?"

"That way it can get to the kids easier," Sam said. "I mean, we haven't been able to figure out why the kids are disappearing and then turning up a week later. Maybe it's a shifter taking them."

"And bringing them back?" Dean snorted. "Come on, why would it do that?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea, really. But it makes sense, right?"

Dean didn't glance away from his driving. "We can look into it."

Which meant he thought it was stupid, that he was agreeing just to humor Sam. Sam sucked at the inside of his cheek and turned towards his own window. He crossed his arms, and he knew how it'd make him look — defensive, avoidant, all that crap — but his fingers were starting to ache, and he wanted to tuck them into his armpits. He didn't know how Dean was keeping both hands on the steering wheel like it was nothing, or like it was everything.

Sam didn't like the cold very much, since he came back.

He leaned down and picked through the box of tapes, trying to come up with something they could both live with. He was sick of Dean's favorites, and of course none of his own music was on tapes, but he found a Queen cassette in the back of the box and put it in, not bothering to read the label or pick a side. It started in the middle of a song. The volume was turned low, and Sam couldn't really hear it, but it had broken the silence, so he didn't need it very loud.

Once the bassline to "We Are The Champions" started, though, Dean reached for the dial and turned it up himself. He flexed his fingers a few times before putting his hand back on the steering wheel. They both needed gloves, Sam thought. He didn't mention it.

The sky was full-on dark when they passed a billboard advertising a motel, thirty miles up the road. Dean glanced towards Sam's side of the car to read it as they passed, and Sam turned all the way towards the window too, not really wanting to meet Dean's gaze. He'd gotten so used to being alone that he hardly knew how to travel without someone else again. Even making conversation throughout the day was hard, and it didn't help that Sam could barely look at Dean without remembering why they'd spent a year apart, both the reason for the separation in the first place, and whose fault it was that they stayed away from each other. He sighed and kept looking out the window.

They left the sign behind them. Dean went back to staring at the night, and Sam kept watch out to the side. It was a few more minutes, a string of miles later, before Dean cleared his throat and asked, "You ready to stop up here?"

Sam looked out the windshield again, as much of an effort as he could manage. He shrugged, and said, "Yeah, if you want," and really fucking hoped that Dean was. He wanted out of the car, even if it meant going into the coolness of the night, and into another enclosed space with his brother. Just being out, away from the hum of the road and the vibration in his seat that was sapping all the feeling from his legs and ass, would be a good change.

"Alright," Dean said quickly. Sam put his hands back in his armpits, and they both looked straight ahead until Dean signaled for the exit.

Location: 36, -98
Date: January 21, 2011

The car swayed slightly as Dean slammed the trunk closed, and then again when he opened the door and climbed back inside. He'd found their stash of stolen blankets, and Sam smiled to see them. He recognized the one Dean passed him from a motel in Oklahoma, taken the first winter after Jess, and the one Dean shook out for himself came from a chain in Iowa, a few months before Dean's deal came due. He'd snuck it into the trunk when he thought Sam wasn't looking, like Sam wouldn't be able to stay warm if left to his own devices, and only Dean's petty theft would keep him from freezing.

"You want this one?" Dean asked, glancing over the seat and holding up their third blanket. It was the oldest, one their dad had tucked around them when they were small enough to sleep curled together in the back seat on a regular basis, and Sam couldn't remember where it came from.

"Nah," he said, although he knew he'd only get colder as the car cooled down. "You take it."

Dean paused, then shrugged and dropped the folded blanket to the passenger seat. He lay down, using it as a pillow, and snapped his other blanket open to spread it over himself. "Suit yourself," he said. "Lemme know if you change your mind."

"Yeah." Sam had a hoodie as a pillow — he was wearing the other, under his coat — and he lay down too, wriggling to try to spread the blanket over his toes. It was long enough to cover him, if he didn't move much, but the seat was too short, and he could never keep still on it. Sam knew he'd wake up with freezing feet in the night, and then with an aching back in the morning.

But Dean hadn't put on extra layers, so Sam didn't say anything.

The two-lane highway had stretched straight out ahead for as far as they could see, when Dean pulled over. The wind wasn't strong enough to rock the car, but Sam could hear it whipping past, over all that empty, flat land.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, under the blanket, and tipped his head back, looking out the window upside down. They'd driven for hours after sunset and the sky would be dark for hours more. It was covered in stars this far out in the middle of nowhere, and all the constellations Sam could recognize in the city filled in and surrounded with glowing dots.

He readjusted, straightening out, and the blanket fell off his feet. "Dammit," he muttered, and sat up again. The blanket slid into his lap as he leaned to pull it over his feet again, and cool air hit his chest. He cursed and tucked his hands into his armpits under his coat once he lay down again.

The other blanket would be nice.

He looked at the front seat for a moment, then sighed. Dean was used to sleeping in a house, with someone else warm in his bed, and Sam could do without just fine. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Christ, what?" Dean asked.

"We should pick up another blanket," Sam said.

"You want this one?" Dean asked after a moment.

"Nah," Sam said, although the extra fabric to drape over his legs would be awesome. "I'm good. Just doesn't make sense, two of us but three blankets."

"I guess." Dean snorted, almost laughing. "Go to sleep, man."

Sam shook his head and stretched a little further, being careful to stay covered.

It was still dark when he woke up, and it wasn't cool or chilly anymore, but frigid. He'd rolled onto his side while he slept, trying to curl into his own body heat. The position kept his chest warm, which was something, but the blanket had slipped off his feet again, hanging from his knees to the floor. Sam cursed under his breath as he sat up enough to get it, and then as he tried to cover up again. He couldn't lie comfortably on his side in the car, and his body was already protesting having been in that position while he was asleep. But he wasn't warm enough to stretch out all the way, either. The single blanket didn't do enough by itself, and the leather seat on the driver's side, down by his feet, was cool since he hadn't been lying on it.

Sam rolled onto his left side, facing the trunk instead of the front seat, but it didn't work well. He felt unsteady without something at his back, like he'd roll and end up on the floor. He scowled and sat up in the middle of the seat. Maybe the blanket would cover more of him if he took up less room.

It worked, sort of — if he didn't stretch out, then the blanket hung easily enough off his shoulders, covering his lap and his feet. Sleeping sitting up would suck, but he'd done it before.

He didn't even bother to wish they'd stopped someplace. Money was as tight as ever, and getting a room would've wasted time they couldn't afford, either, if they were going to get on this next job before someone else died. He was too tired to drive right now, and if Dean was good to get going again, Sam would have woken up on the road. He knew all that. It didn't mean he liked it any.

"We should get some sleeping bags," he muttered, and tucked his hands back into his armpits. He'd just been talking to himself, and he startled when Dean laughed.

"We used to have some," he said, speaking quietly in the darkness. "Don't remember what happened to them, though."

"They got moldy," Sam said, thinking back. "After the swamp thing in Louisiana, you remember?"

"Kinda," Dean said. He hummed. "They'd be nice right now."

"Tell me about it." Sam rolled his neck from side to side, then winced as that let air in around the edges of the blanket. He wondered if he could tuck it into the neck of his coat, or if that'd pull it too high. "You using the other blanket?"

"Hell yes," Dean said. "Why, you warm enough?"

Sam parroted back, "Hell no." He thought for a moment, then sat forward on the edge of the seat. It left his back uncovered, but he could also look at Dean, stretched all the way out with his feet under the steering wheel and head by the passenger seat. Sure enough, he had both blankets tucked around himself, overlapping so his feet and shoulders were both covered. Sam clamped down on the pointless jealousy and said, "Here, gimme the keys. I need to get into the trunk."

Dean shook his head. "And let all the cold air in? Not likely."

"Dean, c'mon." Sam leaned his chin on the seat and frowned back at Dean. "It's freezing in here. I want to find my pair of sweats to put on, too."

Dean closed his eyes, frowning as well, and then sat up. He gathered up his blankets and pushed them at Sam, a warm bundle of fabric. Sam didn't understand, but he gratefully burrowed his hands into the blankets anyway.

"Move over," Dean said, and shoved at Sam's shoulder before climbing over the seat to join him.

"What?" Sam asked, even while he moved to make room for Dean. Dean moved towards the driver's side and leaned against the door, then patted his right leg, two muted claps.

"C'mere," he said. He took the blankets from Sam and started draping them over himself: one over his legs, one behind his shoulder, and one over his chest. Half the fabric hung to his side, and he raised his eyebrows at Sam. "Seriously, man, get over here."

Sam paused another second, but then scooted over. Dean lifted the blankets for him and Sam held the edges up as he moved underneath. The layers of fabric would have been warm on their own, triple the amount of cover Sam had before this, but this was warmed from both their bodies, and Sam smiled as he covered up his feet.

Dean was a hot line against Sam's arm and thigh, everywhere they touched. They tucked the edges of the blankets underneath themselves, and Sam was so much warmer than he'd hoped to be that night. It felt like having Dean next to him raised the temperature by thirty degrees.

"This was a good idea." Sam sounded surprised even to himself.

Dean snorted. "Obviously. Now go back to sleep."

Sam shook his head but leaned back against the seat. That let cold air under the blanket again, though, so he readjusted, trying to lean on Dean's shoulder after a moment's pause. Dean sighed and shifted, but it still didn't work. Sitting next to each other, Sam was quite a few inches taller than Dean, and he had to wrench his neck to the side in order to rest against Dean. He huffed tipped his head back on the seat again.

"Christ," Dean said. He squirmed around until he could force his arm behind Sam and around his shoulders, like they touched this much on a regular basis or something. Sam opened his eyes, holding still for a second, but Dean was manhandling Sam into place anyway, using the same sure, just-this-side-of-painful handholds he'd used for as long as Sam could remember. He pulled until Sam slumped down slightly, so he was level with Dean's shoulder, and then tugged, so Sam was nestled against his chest, under his arm.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam said, frowning, but — it was warmer like this, with Dean behind him as well as next to him. Sam kept his eyes open, but he started to relax, one muscle at a time.

"Hmm?"

Sam paused. This had been Dean's idea; Dean had put them here. "Tell me if your arm falls asleep," he said after a few seconds.

"Count on it," Dean said. "Go back to sleep already."

Sam frowned, but eventually he did what Dean said, and closed his eyes.

It'd been years and years since they'd slept like this, pressed close enough to keep each other warm. This was the first real contact they'd had since Dean came back on the road. Sam took a deep breath, calming the slight bit of panic he felt. These days, touch meant something was wrong. Someone was badly hurt, or dying, or back from the dead, which only meant they'd died in the first place. It wasn't calming, or soothing.

Someone who touched Sam was someone he could lose.

But Dean was warm regardless. Sam checked the blankets one last time, making sure they were both covered, and tried to focus on the sound of Dean's breathing.

When he woke up again the sun was rising, and Sam was almost too hot. They'd let the blanket fall off their chests as they slept, and Sam's hand had just fallen to their legs, startling him awake. He tried to turn and look at Dean without waking him up, and realized he must have had his hand in Dean's collar, hooked there while they slept. Dean's chest was still rising and falling steadily, and when Sam looked at him, his face was slack and relaxed. Sam glanced at the trafficless road ahead of them and yawned, and he sucked at the inside of his cheek for a moment before laying his head back down on Dean's warm shoulder, and closing his eyes again.

Location: 47, -117
Date: April 18, 2011

The rest stop was full of families, tumbling in and out of their cars and driving up the lines for the bathrooms. Dean had parked at the far end of the lot, where spaces marked for cars gave way to overnight truck parking, and he and Sam were on the hood, having lunch in the shade of a blooming tree. The Alcohol Consumption and Tobacco Use Prohibited signs were pretty clear, but Sam was people-watching in between bites of his second gyro, and he saw several people smoking in parked cars. He figured he and Dean were fine, drinking beer out of travel mugs. Not the best idea ever, but their last job went fine, they didn't have another lined up yet, and on the off chance they both got too drunk to drive, they could just nap for a few hours.

"Pass me that carton, would you?" Dean asked. He pointed at the saffron rice on Sam's other side, and Sam handed him a styrofoam container and an individually-wrapped spork. Dean hummed as he pried off the lid, and Sam could smell the rice, rich and fragrant.

It was the first really sunny day they'd seen since tracking a vampire through Seattle, and Sam closed his eyes when he popped the last of the gyro between his lips, tipping his face up to the sky. The wind blew over his face, through his hair.

Next to him, Dean sneezed.

Sam looked over and saw him wiping his nose on one of the paper napkins from lunch, and Sam laughed as he opened up his rice.

"If you'd just take the freaking Claritin, you wouldn't keep doing that," he offered.

Dean glared at him over the napkin. "It'll pass in a day or two," he said. "Did the same thing last year — sucked for a while, then I got over it."

"You've been saying that for two weeks now," Sam said. He took another bite and smiled at Dean around his spork.

Dean wadded up the napkin and dropped it in the bag from the Greek deli fifteen miles back. Sam had grabbed a small tower of napkins while Dean paid, and maybe half of them had already been sneezed into and discarded.

"And you weren't here last spring, either," Sam said. "Completely different set of allergens. I think it might be you, not the trees."

Dean sniffed, but apparently that didn't do the trick well enough, because next he gave a great rumbling snort, like he was about to hock a loogie. Sam wrinkled his nose and looked away.

Next to him, Dean sneezed again. Sam laughed and grabbed the small plastic carton of baklava. He handed Dean another napkin and then opened the dessert, trying to get covered in as few flakes as possible.

"You want yours now?" he asked.

Dean held up one finger while he blew into the napkin and tossed it towards the bag. "Yeah," he said, and took the box from Sam.

They'd been parked long enough for the engine to stop ticking. Sam scooted back far enough to lean against the windshield and stretch out his legs. It was a little slice of baklava, three bites at the most, and he didn't worry about trying to make it last. He licked the flakes from his fingers, folded his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes.

The sun felt hot on his face although the air was still cool, and the car was warm underneath him as well. Sam sighed and stretched, almost rubbing himself against the metal. He listened to Dean quietly chew, then take a swig of beer, and then he moved the trash before lying down as well.

"We need to get going soon," Dean said.

Sam hummed.

"Eventually." Dean yawned and shifted, bumping Sam with his elbow and knee. Dean pulled his arm back after a moment, maybe after he finished stretching, but kept his leg in place, and Sam opened his eyes long enough to raise an eyebrow at Dean.

Dean's eyes were closed, though, and he was smiling a little as he let the sun soak into him. Sam paused, then sighed and let it go. It wasn't much, the pressure of Dean's knee above his own. He closed his eyes a little, so the sun wasn't as bright, but he could still see the small white buds on the tree above them.

"Don't fall asleep," he said, and nudged Dean's knee.

"Not," Dean said. "It's just nice."

"Uh huh." Sam glanced at Dean again and found his head tipped back, exposing his neck and chin to the sun. Sam looked around, but the families were all on the other side of the lot, and there weren't any truckers out and about. Sam kept looking anyway, just making sure.

"You know," Dean said, "the only thing that would make this better is if we had the engine going."

Sam snorted. "Seriously?"

"Like the world's best Magic Fingers," Dean said. "Complete waste of gas, but a man can dream."

"I'm not sure it's more of a waste than all the quarters you pour into those beds whenever we run across one," Sam said. Dean grinned, crinkling up the corner of his eyes, and Sam smiled back, not caring Dean couldn't see.

"More privacy with a bed, though," Dean said. "Can't really pull this off —" he slapped the hood with one hand — "without a garage or something."

"I probably should be concerned you've put so much thought into this."

Dean opened his eyes long enough to leer at Sam, then closed them again. "I should be concerned you haven't. C'mon, man, don't tell me you never thought about it."

"I don't fixate on motel beds, or cars, like you do, so no," Sam said.

"Good thing, with the type of cars you pick when left to your own devices."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was never very subtle about his thoughts on what Sam drove.

"It's almost enough to make you wonder what jackass taught me about cars in the first place," Sam said.

Dean smacked him in the chest without opening his eyes, then immediately pulled his hand away and scrambled for a napkin before sneezing again. Sam laughed at him, even harder when Dean sat up and blew his nose.

"Fucking spring," Dean muttered, still sitting with his legs straight in front of him. Sam looked up again, letting the sun hit his face while he watched the branches overhead. Dean took up most of the rest of his field of vision.

Location: 33, -101
Date: July 01, 2011

The grass on the roadside was starting to die, turning from green to gray in huge patches. They'd been chasing a heat shimmer at the horizon since the sun got well overhead. The seat was hot, and Sam sucked in a breath every time he forgot and brushed his arm over the upholstery.

He'd put on a button-down shirt this morning, like usual, and so had Dean, but both of them had first rolled up their sleeves and then taken the shirts off entirely. It hadn't been enough relief, and Sam wished he'd put on a white undershirt instead of the charcoal one he was actually wearing. The A/C couldn't keep up with the heat index and the cloudless sky, and Dean'd turned it off a hundred miles ago, pushing the gas pedal down a little further instead.

Traffic was nonexistent since they passed the exit for the Interstate a while ago: no one behind them, no one beside them, and no one coming the other way.

"Get out some Zep," Dean said, and gestured half-heartedly at the box by Sam's feet. "This is just not an Appetite for Destruction stretch of road."

Sam laughed, but he ducked down to look through the box anyway. The air from the window blew over the back of his neck, and Sam closed his eyes. He held his hair off his neck for a moment and made a low noise, letting the wind cool everywhere sweaty, and then he found Led Zeppelin II, and put it in.

He tried to stretch out his legs, and wound up sitting sort of sideways, leaning as close as he could get to the window, to keep the wind in his hair. He hitched his left knee onto the seat and stretched his right leg out, almost pushing into Dean's half of the car.

Dean was as close to the same position as he could get while still keeping the car in gear and going down the road. His left arm stretched across the open window and he held the steering wheel at six, with only his right thumb. His knees were splayed open, and Sam could see sweat glistening along his hairline, and in the creases of his elbows.

Sam tipped his face into the stream of air and brushed his fingers through his hair. He'd probably look ridiculous when they stopped, but it was hard to care right now.

"You need a haircut," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You need a new air conditioner."

"It works fine when it's not triple digits," Dean said.

"So, not when you need it most," Sam said. "Awesome."

"Fresh air, man," Dean said. "Important for a growing boy."

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes. The car kept humming underneath them, while "The Lemon Song" bled into "Thank You," and then Dean cursed under his breath, and started slowing down.

"What?" Sam asked, but he saw as soon as he looked: orange barricades ahead blocked the road, all lanes on both sides. Beyond was a cloud of dust, and as the Impala stopped, Sam heard the beeps and bangs of a construction crew. In any case, the ROAD CLOSED sign, followed by a list of suggested detours, made things pretty clear.

"Well, we know why there wasn't any traffic," Dean said. He braked until they stopped, then parked on the side of the road. It was stiflingly hot without the air blowing through, and Sam got out immediately. It was bad outside, too, without a roof over his head, and with the road reflecting heat, but there was a slight breeze, and Sam stretched his arms over his head.

Dean left the engine running and slammed his door before coming to stand with Sam. They both looked down the road for a while, then Dean shook his head. He leaned against Sam's door, resting his shoulders against the top of the door and his hips against the bottom, so he was supported even though the windows were down.

"The map thing on your phone work out here?" he asked.

Sam frowned. He didn't know if he had service out here, and sure enough, his phone only had one bar when he checked it. "Looks like we're stuck backtracking to the Interstate, at least," Sam said, once his phone cooperated enough to find their location. "We can take it north, and eventually that'll go up far enough to meet up with this road again, on the other side of the construction."

Dean made a displeased noise. "Or?"

Sam zoomed out and waited for the results to refresh. "Or we go back to the loop and take it around south. It'll take us longer than the other way, but it goes right through Brownsdale eventually."

"So we're looking at a coupla extra hours no matter what?"

"Pretty much." Sam glanced towards the sign, but none of the listed detours would be any quicker.

Dean pushed away from the car and walked a few feet towards the construction. He kicked a rock and then stood there glaring, and Sam took the opportunity to go lean in Dean's spot against the car.

"Can you check to see if they've got the other roads fucked up like this?" Dean asked, and came back to the car again. He rested more on the back door than the front, and he stood too close to Sam, pressing their arms together, while Sam tried to look up road work.

"Dude, it's like 200 degrees out here," Sam said. "Step off."

"Did you seriously just say 'step off'?" Dean asked. Sam shook the phone slightly, like that'd help, and stared down at the screen instead of looking at Dean.

"Not my fault you didn't notice construction signs until they took up the entire road."

"Nuh uh, that is completely your fault," Dean said. "Shotgun's navigation. You know that."

"That'd be why you fall asleep as soon as I get behind the wheel?" Sam glanced at Dean and grinned, biting the tip of his tongue.

"They should've had better signs," Dean muttered, looking past Sam down the road.

"Pretty sure they did, bud. You notice we're the only ones stopped out here, trying to figure out where to go next."

"Whatever," Dean said, with a long-suffering sigh. "C'mon, which way's the best out of here?"

"Looks like either." Sam tilted his phone a little, to show the map to Dean. "Lit up green all the way there."

"The red part's us, huh."

"Yep." Sam put his phone away and looked at the construction as well. He was pretty sure Dean worked on buildings, not roads, mostly because Dean would have plenty of commentary on how those assholes were fucking something up if he'd done it himself, but Sam didn't want to check.

He looked back to Dean and found him still up against his side. He'd been leaning a little, to look around Sam at the roadblocks, but he shifted his gaze when Sam moved, and they were staring each other in the face.

Dean's hair looked soft, like he'd sweated all the gel out of it, and the left side of his face was pinker than the right. Sam probably looked the same, Dean's simmering sunburn reflected on the opposite side of his own face. Dean's cheeks were stubbly, and his lips were pink, too, and raw, chapped, like he'd been biting them. Sam hadn't noticed him doing it, but then he didn't usually sit around watching Dean's mouth, the way he was now. Dean's big, pink mouth, just slightly parted —

Sam shook himself a little and looked away, over all the dying grass. Weird. That was weird.

"You care which way we go from here?" he asked.

"Not really," Dean said. "But we should get a move on. It's like being high out here."

It is not, Sam was about to say, but he hadn't realized he was standing so close to Dean, and he blinked to find Dean so near. He still couldn't tell if Dean's lips were dry or bitten. And maybe Dean was right, maybe it was like being high, because he was leaning in to find out with his mouth, brushing his lips against Dean's. Sam was suddenly pinned, with the car at his back and Dean at his mouth. They stared at each other, their lips still pressed together, and then Sam felt the smooth inside of Dean's lips as he opened his mouth.

Sam stepped away before he could find out if Dean was going to say something or — or kiss him back, or what.

"We should take the loop," Sam said, casting about for anything to say. He stared down the freeway, at the sizzling haze at the horizon. He could feel Dean's gaze heavy on the the back of his neck, but he didn't turn. He didn't know why Dean had opened his mouth, and he sure as hell didn't know what Dean was going to do next. He was having a hard enough time figuring out his own motivations without trying to make sense of Dean's on top of that.

Sam took deep, measured breaths as he stared down the road, trying to calm down his suddenly fast breathing. The shimmer of that horizon was a long way off. Sam'd spent most of the day chasing it with Dean at his side, and he knew he would never reach it on his own. Hell, he wouldn't even be able to walk far enough to find some other idiot to hitch with. It was Dean or the construction crew, and a choice between his brother and a gaggle of strangers wasn't much of a competition. Sam lowered his head to take Dean's punch on the forehead instead of on the nose, if one was coming, and turned around.

Dean was still leaning against the side of the car. He'd braced his hands behind him, one in each open window, and he frowned at Sam with his head cocked to the side. Sam had taken plenty of last looks at his brother over the years — every time Dad took Dean but not Sam on a hunt, and then later looking through dirty bus windows, before kicking him out of his dorm during spring break sophomore year, staring down at his intubated body in a hospital bed, over and over in Florida, and eventually burying him in a forest, and then before Sam hurled himself into an impossible hole in the ground, and finally, peeping into the house where Dean'd found a family. Now there was this too, one final glimpse of Dean against the car, on the side of the road, in the heat.

Dean stared at Sam and Sam stared back at him, drinking in the relaxed lines of his body. This was pretty much okay, as last looks went. Most of his others had been much less pleasant than this.

"Loop sounds fine," Dean said eventually, and pushed himself away from the car. "C'mon."

He headed towards the back of the car, towards Sam, and it was a huge effort for Sam to hold his ground, lift his face, and look his brother in the eye.

"It's fine," he repeated, and raised his eyebrows. "It's fine with you."

Dean shrugged. He stopped right before Sam, the front half of his boots edging into Sam's personal space, and Sam didn't know what to do, whether flight or fight.

"It's fine with me," Dean said. He raised an eyebrow, barely lifting it. With Dean's proximity, the constant noise of the idling car, and the baking heat, Sam didn't really know what they were talking about.

This was the weirdest part: if Dean meant the literal road they'd take from here, or if he meant the kiss that'd thrown Sam for a loop, Sam was okay with it either way.

He sucked the inside of his cheek and nodded, holding Dean's gaze. "Yeah, okay," he said, and then let out a huge, shaky breath when Dean leaned up and kissed him again.

It was premeditated, Sam guessed, and therefore better: it wasn't fast, or mostly accidental, but instead there was the steady pressure of Dean's mouth against his own, where they'd only touched once before. When Dean exhaled, Sam felt it on his face. He tilted his head a little and parted his lips, drawing Dean's bottom lip into his mouth. Dean swayed and grabbed Sam's waist, and then they were kissing, Sam sucking at the smooth inside of Dean's lip, and Dean slipping his tongue into Sam's mouth. They'd put their hands inside each other's bodies before, but that was always blood-splattered and painful, digging things out of each other and trying to get everything sewn back into place. This was easy simple pleasure, though, and Sam tried to ignore the uncertainty in the pit of his stomach.

Dean backed them up slowly, then pressed Sam against the car, rubbing their chests together in the process. Sam pulled back long enough to check Dean's face, but Dean hauled him back. Sam closed his eyes after a moment, against the sun and the blurry intimacy of his brother's face pressed so close to his own.

He moved one leg to the side, making room for Dean to stand between his thighs, and Dean sank closer. They couldn't stay like this for long, with Sam leaning against the rolled-down window, but he clutched at Dean anyway, fisting a hand in his shirt over the small of his back. Dean kept kissing, almost tickling Sam with his tongue, neither too deep to be unsexy nor too chaste to be uninterested. These were kisses that'd gotten Dean laid all across the country, kisses that said I'm good at this, but more importantly, I'll make it good for you. Sam responded just like those girls in bars always did. He wanted whatever Dean would give him, but here was the thing: Sam already had everything Dean would give him. He'd gotten Dean's youth, Dean's soul, and now Dean's kisses were just the cherry on top.

They'd been kissing long enough for Sam's neck to stiffen up when he felt Dan's dick twitch against his inner thigh. Dean sucked in a breath and paused, then put his hands on Sam's chest and pushed himself upright. Sam's lips dried out in the heat, and he resisted the urge to touch them. He and Dean both still had their hands on each other. Dean was hard in his pants, and Sam was in the same condition, and they'd been on the side of the road this whole time, but no one had seen. It had only been them.

"The loop," Dean said, although he didn't look away from Sam's mouth. "C'mon, I'm not doing this on the side of the road."

"Where are you doing it, then?" Sam felt Dean's cock jerk at the question, but Dean stood up, taking his hands off of Sam.

"Not here," he repeated. His gaze flicked from Sam's mouth to his eyes to his chest and back again, and then he looked away. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Sam licked his lips, and Dean walked around the car, getting back inside. "Where's out of here?" he asked through the open window, just to be contrary, and then got in when Dean tapped the horn. It was hot but at least the car gave them some protection from the sun, and Dean put the car into gear without looking over. He drove over the rumble strip, and the median, and the other rumble strip.

"We're lucky it's a grass median out here," he said tightly.

"Uh huh," Sam said. He stretched his arm along the back of the seat, so his fingers just brushed Dean's hair. Dean swallowed and then looked at Sam, taking his attention almost entirely off the empty road.

"What the hell was that, man?" he asked. He kept both hands planted on the wheel.

Sam shrugged. He glanced out the windshield and saw Dean had them riding the white line between the lanes, and turned back. "Dunno." He shrugged. "It just happened."

"Funny sort of thing to just happen."

"We've had weirder. Sort of." Sam paused, then turned to look out the window. "You think it's too weird?"

Dean stayed quiet, long enough that Sam steeled himself and turned back to him. "May as well give it a shot," Dean said then. He was looking out the front again, eyes fixed on the road, but he was smiling a little, crinkling the skin at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. Sam looked out ahead of them, too.

"You think?"

Dean snorted. "You kissed me. Pretty late to be having second thoughts, man."

"Pretty sure that's why they're called second thoughts," Sam said. "Because you have them later."

Dean huffed again, and Sam glanced his way, saw how tightly Dean was gripping the steering wheel.

"Yeah," he said, softer, and smiled when Dean looked at him. "Let's give it a shot."

Location: 39, -83
Date: October 21, 2011

"I think it's safe to call it," Dean said, as they walked off paved parking lot and onto the grass field. It was marked as overflow parking, but even at the end of the day, the Impala was the only car there. Dean insisted on leaving her by herself — he said he didn't want her to get dinged, but Sam thought he'd been trying to find someplace that would be dark and secluded by the time they left. Perfect for being ambushed, but also perfect for messing around. Sometimes Dean was obvious.

"Call what?" Sam asked. Dean clearly wanted him to ask, and if he didn't oblige, he'd be stuck with Dean repeating himself.

"Best county fair ever." Dean waved the last bit of his funnel-cake-on-a-stick as if to prove his point. Sam snorted.

"I'm pretty sure that's the only county fair we've ever been to," Sam said.

"That wasn't haunted," Dean corrected. "We've been to plenty."

Sam laughed. "God, you have low standards."

"Hard to be disappointed that way." He tilted his head to the side and took another bite. "You're definitely missing out on this. I told you you should have gotten one."

Sam dodged Dean's free hand in order to grab a piece and popped the bite into his mouth. It'd gone cold, but the funnel cake was still covered in partially crystalized powdered sugar, and that was hard to mess up. Next to him, Dean started carrying on about not meaning he was willing to share.

"Shouldn't have brought it up, then," Sam said. He licked his lips, and then laughed when Dean moved a few feet away from him as he finished eating.

A brisk breeze had blown every so often as they'd decided whether the Ferris wheel was haunted or just out of order, and since then it'd settled into a chilly, cloudless night. Sam zipped up his jacket as they kept going through the field. Without trees or any other cars to break it, the wind smelled crisp and wintery. A few leaves crunched underfoot. Sam put his hands in his pockets and kept walking towards the car, keeping pace with Dean.

Dean finished his funnel cake after a few more steps and dropped the stick to the ground, then moved beside Sam again. Their arms brushed together as they went, way too often for it to be accidental, and when Sam looked at Dean, he was smiling to himself. He'd tilted his head back, probably looking at the stars out here in the country, and Sam eyed the stubbled line of his neck. He wanted to put his mouth there, but they were almost to the Impala, and he figured it could wait.

Dean fished his keys out of his pocket when they reached the car, but he didn't unlock it just yet. Instead, he walked around to lean on the trunk, playing with the key ring and looking up again. Sam joined him, resting his weight on the car and kicking one foot up against the bumper. He leaned into Dean more than he probably needed to.

"Look," Dean said, and nudged Sam's arm. He was staring up at the sky, and Sam looked, too, at the expanse of stars laid out above them.

"Yeah," Sam said. He slumped down a little to make it easier on his neck as he looked up. "When was the last time we were even out someplace where we could do this?"

"Probably not that long," Dean answered. He stayed still for a moment while they both looked, then slid off the edge of the hood and nudged Sam's knees apart, standing between them. Sam smirked a little, resting more of his weight on his elbows, making Dean come to him.

Dean rolled his eyes but planted his hands at Sam's sides. His arms pressed against Sam's rib cage, holding him in place through their jackets, and his hips fell snugly to Sam's, his legs against Sam's inner thighs. Dean's smile faded some as he leaned in the rest of the way, but he didn't close his eyes, or look away. He held Sam's gaze the entire time, past blurry and into full-on out-of-focus, and Sam stared back at him, almost crossing his eyes in his attempt not to break the moment, to stay there with Dean.

A crowd cheered somewhere on the grounds, followed by the sound of an electric guitar, and the live music portion of the night must have started up. Neither of them turned back towards the lights. They kept looking at each other, pressed so close that Sam could feel each of Dean's breaths leave his body. Finally, just when Sam thought they were about to slip back a few decades and get into a staring game, first one to laugh loses, Dean nudged his chin forward, and put his mouth to Sam's.

Sam tried to keep his eyes open while they kissed, to keep holding the eye contact, but he couldn't manage. Dean slipped his tongue just inside Sam's lips, and he sighed and closed his eyes, but he opened his mouth.

They kissed there for a while, leaning precariously over the trunk. Dean was warm on top of him and around him, against the cool evening wind, and Sam lowered himself onto the rear window, moving slowly so Dean could go smoothly with him. He ran his hands over Dean's back, now he didn't need to prop himself up, and then managed to get them between Dean's layers of clothes. Dean hummed and rubbed his hips against Sam's, and Sam made some embarrassing noise back when it nudged their dicks together, through their clothes. He hitched his leg around Dean's thighs and pulled them closer, trying to arch up into Dean, but Dean pulled back. He leaned on arm on the window, just above Sam's head, and looked down at him, barely smiling again.

"You wanna take this somewhere else?" he asked.

Sam looked around at the empty field on all sides, and the flashing lights on the other side of the parking lot. There was a road out of the place, of course, but it was one of those two-lane country set-ups, and they'd be in for a long trip before they got someplace to rent a room.

"Like where?" he said, and leaned up, trying to get to Dean's mouth again. "There's no place around here besides the ground. And no."

Dean shook his head, and patted the window twice. The impact shook Sam's head slightly. "Back seat, man."

Sam laughed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. Dean bit at his neck while it was offered up, more nibble than anything else, and Sam bumped his chin against Dean's temple when he calmed down some. "You're a walking cliché."

"I'm taking that as a yes." Dean pushed himself up and held a hand out to Sam, once he had his feet under him. Sam took it, hooking their thumbs together and wrapping their fingers around the back of each other's palms, and Dean pulled Sam right into himself, fitting their bodies together vertically just like they'd been molded to the angle of the car.

It was still cold inside the Impala, once they untangled long enough for Dean to unlock it, and they had to move junk off the back seat and onto the floorboards before there was enough room for them both. They just made out for a while, each trying to get into the middle of the seat at once, but wound up with Sam on his back, one knee bent and its foot planted on the floor. Dean sprawled back on top of him, warming Sam enough to make up for the chilly upholstery underneath him.

It was too close to winter to really undress, but they lost the jackets, and then, once Dean found a blanket, their shirts. They kept their jeans on, and their boots, but Dean tugged the blanket entirely over their heads, tucking them away with their breath and their body heat, and it wasn't too cool to put their hands on each other. There was no headboard to knock against a wall, no neighbors to catcall in response, and when Sam got his hands around both their dicks at once, the rocking of the car just made it easier to thrust against each other, to keep up the rhythm until they both came.

They pulled the blanket down before they'd caught their breath all the way, and Sam laughed again when he saw they'd steamed up the windows.

"You want to just stay here tonight?" he asked, rummaging through the junk on the floor to find something he could wipe his hands on.

"Do I look like I want to get up and drive right now?" Dean asked, mostly talking into Sam's chest.

Sam snorted and lifted his shoulder a little, jostling Dean. "Sit up and lock the doors then."

Dean grumbled about it, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders for the fifteen seconds it took to lock up, but he found another on the floor, and spread them both out when he lay back down. They squirmed around as they toed out of their boots, and then Sam got his hand under Dean's chin, tipping his face up to kiss him one more time. Dean huffed but he kissed back without any hesitation, sucking lazily at Sam's mouth.

Sam's leg would go numb if Dean stayed right on top of him, and they'd both have a variety of cricks and aches in the morning if they spent the entire night on the same seat, no matter which position they chose. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean anyway, keeping Dean's heart beating as close to his as he could manage, and Dean wormed his hands under Sam as well, one under his shoulder and the other in the small space between the back of Sam's neck and the seat of the car. They kissed for a long time, warm in the car they'd heated on their own.