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In Jericho, Mississippi the gas station clerk says, "He always look at you like that?" as she takes the crumpled bills from Dean. Her eyes follow Sam back to the Impala.
Dean is taken aback; he doesn't know what she's talking about. "Uh, I don't know what you mean."
"Mmhmm," she says, her voice all smug but somehow warm and affectionate, too. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline when she sees that Dean genuinely has no idea what she's alluding to. Leaning conspiratorially close against the counter, she whispers, "Can't tell me you don't see it, boy. He looks at you like you might disappear if he blinks."
Dean is sufficiently freaked out. He thanks her politely and books it back to his baby. It's Sam's turn to drive and he's already running the engine and fiddling with the radio but Dean sees him perk up and track him out of the corner of his eye until Dean is inside too.
::
Just outside Cleveland, Ohio, a younger man makes a snide comment again. He looks at Sam, hovering behind Dean as always, and he smirks. "Y'know, the world won't end if you stand a foot apart," he says through a gap-toothed smile as he pulls up some county records.
Sam clears his throat—Dean thinks he catches a blush creeping into his cheeks— and moves to sit down. Sam taps an agitated rhythm into the old wooden desk as the librarian fumbles on a pair of glasses and helps Dean find the birth certificates he needs.
Dean notices that Sam spends the whole day hovering slightly further away, checking himself every time he brushes against Dean or their shoulder bump. He tucks his feet in under his seat at the diner—something he's never done before—and doesn't swat Dean's greasy fingers as he steals fries. Mostly, though, Dean doesn't mind or care either way. He just notices, is all.
But at night, they both try to brush their teeth at the same time, so Sam ends up plastered to Dean's side and Dean feels his brother's pointy elbow moving against his ribs as he goes about his dental hygiene ritual.
Sam is not even a step behind when they turn off the bathroom light and head into the room.
::
It fucking figures that they find a job in Montana in January. Dean can't stand the cold, the way it makes his bones crick and the joint in his right arm ache. It's been broken too many times and this isn't a helpful situation.
Of course, the spirit decides to haunt a graveyard way up in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, so Sam and Dean are digging up a grave at ungodly temperatures and trying not to get mauled in the process.
Dean is frozen solid, iced through by the time they get back to their motel. Sam is shivering though, and if Dean were a little worse of an older brother—and he says it with pride that he is the best of the best, and no one can argue, not really—he would take the first shower that is rightfully his.
Instead, he strips Sam of his clothes that have gone stiff and brittle with the cold, before pushing him into the shower. Sam whines and lets out a pathetically high-pitched noise when the warm water meets his skin, but he stops shivering and that's good enough for Dean.
Ten minutes later, Dean comes back from the diner across the street with a bowl of warm tomato soup (because Sam is picky and he won't eat it if it isn't tomato). He charges into the bathroom to haul out a wet and distinctly sleepy Sam back out to the room, force him into some clothes and then into his bed.
So maybe Dean feeds him soup and pets his hair and says "Drink it, Sammy, you'll feel better tomorrow. Quit whining, you big baby, just finish it." And maybe Dean falls asleep next to Sam because the covers sure aren't going to keep his brother warm enough through a Montana winter night.
::
Dean flips off the gays in San Francisco when they whistle at him and Sam as they wait around for the mechanic to order a part for Dean's car.
They always share motel rooms. It's not a thing.
::
It's too hot in Plano, Texas when they roll through in August, so Dean is stripped down to his Henley, but God knows Sam insists on his ten million layers of clothing. All the windows are rolled down and the A/C is blasting but the air it shoots in their direction is as bad as the air outside so Dean turns it off.
Sam mutters something, probably complaining about the heat because he is nothing if not a whiny little brother.
"I hate Texas," he says.
"You're wearing an entire Target rack's worth of clothing, Sammy. Just take it off!" Dean mutters exasperatedly.
Sam rolls his eyes and wipes the sweat off his forehead.
The lady looks at them sideways when they ask for one room. She breathes a little easier when Dean says, "S'my younger brother."
Sam finally, finally takes off his shirts—well, most of them: he leaves on his wifebeater—when they're inside the room. He sits on Dean's bed and reads the newspaper over his shoulder. Dean can feel the stickiness of the sweat where Sam's arms—and okay, he obviously missed something because they've at least doubled in size, not to mention the veins popping out all over the place—are pressed right against his own.
He peels himself away, and it's so sweaty that there's a faint slick sound as the arms pull apart. "Gonna go for a cold shower. Can't fuckin' stand this heat," he says, and Sam nods, lies down on Dean's bed and rolls over onto his stomach.
Dean rolls his eyes and heads to the bathroom.
Dean can't sleep that night, the hot air is too heavy in his lungs and he hates the feel of it on his skin. His neck and biceps are burnt and hurt whenever he moves too insistently, so he spends the night reading A Brave New World, some old copy he had lying around. Sam is still passed out face down on his bed where he left him.
They go out for breakfast when seven a.m. rolls around, and it's a little cooler but not by much. Dean is surprised that Sam only wears one layer to the diner. He doesn't even steal the bacon off his brother's plate but he does pin Sam's foot under his because that's what happens at breakfast.
When they get back to their room, the maid is standing there with the manager. The manager looks from them to the one unmade bed and tells them it would be best if they hauled ass out of there.
Dean doesn't immediately register what's going on but Sam grabs their stuff, throws it into the trunk and they drive out of there leaving a trail of dust.
There wasn't even a legitimate case in town for all their troubles.
::
Dean says, "You think it's ‘cause we're so handsome?" on a highway cutting through Arkansas.
Sam raises his eyebrows but doesn't look up from his book.
"The gay thing," Dean clarifies.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Remember what I said about overcompensating?"
"Fuck you," Dean manages half-heartedly while simultaneously keeping the Impala on the road and smacking Sam lightly.
::
"It's a couples night special: two for the price of one!" the all-too-zealous ticket vendor says when Sam and Dean get to the front of the line.
Dean sighs. Only a crappy date would take someone to see the new Hulk movie.
::
Sam makes them stop in Rhode Island so he can sit in a green field and enjoy the mildly hot summer. Dean complains and bitches but Sam sits there placidly smirking because he knows Dean will end up pulling over. Dean knows Sam knows that it's because Dean is a considerate and obliging person.
Dean falls asleep ten minutes in and wakes up an hour later with his head on Sam's thigh. Sam's face is set: the hard angle of his jaw and tense line of his eyebrows express his concentration. He looks like he did when he was just learning to read, Dean thinks. Maybe not fondly but certainly with a little pride because, if Dean may take credit for this, Sam was the best reader in his class.
"You look constipated," he offers sleepily, blinking the sun out of his eyes.
And Sam laughs like he hasn't in too long. He laughs and he laughs and it's not even his idea of good humor but his ribs are shaking like gentle quakes that ripple down to his thighs where Dean can feel them. Dean cracks up too, lets out a low rumble that builds to a deep, throaty boom until they're both wiping tears from their eyes.
"You're an idiot," Dean says when he gets up. He offers Sam a hand.
Sam yanks him back down and they scuffle, tumbling in the grass and getting green stains on their faded jeans and shirts. Sam ends up putting all his weight on Dean and wins the fight, but Dean says, "I'd win too if I weighed 800 pounds, Sammy," all smug bravado as usual.
Sam gets off of him and they climb back into the car. Sam's face is red for miles.
::
They visit Bobby because they've got no current leads and need a vacation anyway. Dean's been driving more hours than he wants to count and Sam's entire wardrobe is covered in something's insides when they pull up.
Dean can feel Bobby's exasperated sigh. He also feels the relief coming off the old-timer in waves.
He and Sam fall asleep on the couch watching an old Cary Grant movie. He's not quite sure how they fit, but when he wakes up in the morning his legs are tangled with Sam's and there's too much hair in his face.
Dean manages to pull free and pads over to the kitchen in his bare feet to find Bobby munching on a bowl of Cheerios and reading an ancient Japanese spell book. Bobby's feet are up on the chair beside him and they look exactly like Dean expected them to; they're hunter's feet, gnarled twisty toes and hard soles. Dean remembers the soft soles of Sam's feet against his on the couch.
He sits across from Bobby and starts peeling an orange he grabs from the fruit bowl. Bobby says, "How's Sam?"
Dean knows he doesn't mean it literally. Bobby doesn't even mean to remind Dean to take care of Sam. He's asking Dean more than that. Dean just nods, answers, "He's fine. He's got me."
When Sam saunters into the kitchen yawning and stretching with his hair stuck up all over the place, Bobby doesn't move his feet and it doesn't even matter because both Dean and Bobby know—for certain, past the point of maybes and ifs, for certain like the sun will rise in the east tomorrow morning—that Sam will take the seat next to Dean. Sam sits down so his entire side is pressed against Dean's from their ankles to their elbows.
Dean slides over his unfinished glass of juice and pours another helping of cereal into his bowl, handing Sam a second spoon and setting the bowl between them. Dean catches Bobby's eyes on the spoons but he's too tired to wonder what Bobby is thinking.
::
It rains for a week straight in Louisiana and Dean gets a cold. He knows he's unbearable like this but his nose is stuffed up and his throat feels dry and he's generally miserable.
Sam leaves the room and comes back with extra sheets. He makes a warm nest for Dean and brings him back tea and every kind of chocolate bar he can find when he makes a run to the mini-mart across the street. Dean eats them all and drinks the tea without complaining. Sam watches him, oddly quiet, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Dean wakes up as a little spoon in the arrangement of bodies. He would object, but Sam is too warm and solid at his back, and he's sick so there's no point in wasting energy.
Sam buys him more tea at breakfast but gets him double chocolate donuts to negate the effect. Dean is pretty sure he smiles for the rest of the morning. Sam smiles back, so maybe this whole cold and miserable state isn't a complete failure.
::
In Massachusetts, in some rural middle-of-nowhere town, Sam and Dean both get sliced up by a wendigo before they manage to roast it alive. They're both too tired and too hurt to patch each other up afterwards.
They cause enough of a hassle in the small medical centre that the nurses give in and let them share a room.
::
In Belfast, Maine, Dean gets bored and ends up taking a walk on the waterfront. Sam catches up to him later—ten minutes, to be exact—and ends up falling into step beside him, their strides synchronised to smallest movement.
Dean says he wants pie later, and so they end up at a small pastry shop. Dean gets a slice of the apple and one of the banana cream, and he orders a slice of cherry pie for Sam even though Sam pretends like he doesn't want any. Sure enough, Sam devours it in healthy bites as soon as it's set in front of him.
Dean smiles proudly. He says, around a mouthful of mashed piecrust and apple filling, "I knew you loved pie."
::
In Lawrenceville, New Jersey, they fall asleep on the same bed watching reruns of The Cosby Show after an exhausting day of literal witch hunting.
Dean drools onto Sam's shoulder and tucks his head under Sam's chin. They wake up like that and neither says a thing about it.
::
"That guy's been staring at you all morning. Probably wants a piece of that ass," Dean hears a small, stocky Jewish lady tell Sam as she jerks his head in Dean's direction.
He sees Sam look over without much regard but he can feel his cheeks go warm. He turns back to his article and desperately tries not to watch over Sam's every move.
::
Dean falls asleep draped over Sam in North Carolina again. Half of his body is covering Sam's, leaving the other half on the lumpy mattress. His nose is pressed into Sam's neck when he wakes up.
"Dean," Sam says, sleepy and content. And Dean doesn't know why he does it just then, why that moment was chosen, but he shifts over Sam more completely, and Sam parts his legs—automatically, like this isn't the first time—letting Dean settle into the dip between them.
Dean manages a hiss when he feels how hard he is and Sam's equally full cock brushes against his own. Sam lets out a deep breath.
Dean brings the tips of their noses together, breathes through his mouth and he can almost taste Sam's breath on his tongue when he inhales. His face is too close to Sam's to focus, but Sam is blinking rapidly now—quick fluttering movements completely opposed to the static press of their noses, of their groins—and then he places a big hand on Dean's back and Dean grinds down slowly, deliberately against Sam.
Dean swallows audibly and brings his lips down to Sam's at the same time that Sam lifts to meet him. He opens his mouth, feels Sam lick inside in soft, quick motions and then they're kissing for real and he's rutting against Sam and tangling his fingers in his brother's shaggy hair.
Dean pulls back for just a second and Sam says, very quietly, "Didn't think you'd . . . y'know this . . . " and it feels like a warm gust of air against Dean's lips.
Dean leans in close, his lips following the curve of Sam's jaw. "Thought you'd think I was a freak," he whispers, a little, anxious laugh bubbling up.
Sam turns so that their mouths meet again briefly. "God, Dean," Sam says, breathlessly like he just realised something. His hands settle on Dean's hips, pulling them down to meet his upward motion.
Dean's breath catches, but he knows what Sam was trying to say. He's not sure how he missed it all this time either; the signs were right in front of his eyes the entire time. "Yeah, Sammy. Yeah."
fin.
Death is one moment, and life is so many of them.
- Tennessee Williams