title: an american love story
notes: 1300 words of happy!boys, set in/around S2 - no spoilers. Unbeta'd.
Things were a little tighter now, as if the law was cracking down a little harder but that never stopped them, wouldn't come close to stopping them now.
Sheriff in Green River ran them out of town, right after a priest exorcised the last of twelve virgin teenagers. Rangers outside Taft Southwest had it in for them after an incident involving breaking and entering, arson, and grand theft armoured tank. OPP in Southern Ontario weren't very forgiving of multiple gun possession violations, cops along Interstate 5 had badly calibrated speed guns and Kansas State Troopers must have some kind of hit list because whenever they crossed the border there was a car waiting for them, usually on trumped up "resisting" "arrest" charges.
Motel owners were a lot more suspious now, too. Dean wasn't sure why, it wasn't as if they weren't going to get compensated, but it was a pain in the ass to have to hustle extra just to have a place to stay.
They started sleeping in the car a whole lot more. It was Sam's call more often than not, but Dean always got the more comfortable backseat because there was no way Sam could stretch out back there. That was before everything changed again, and now Dean wasn't sure exactly where he stood anymore, because things were different but he didn't know how different Sam wanted, or even if he would allow it. Last motel was three hours ago and it was already nearing midnight, and he didn't know what to do.
"This is ridiculous." Sam muttered, "we're in Connecticut, there's got to be something."
"We probably just keep missing it in the dark. That, or the ones I've seen have all been fancy Bed and Breakfasts or no vacancy."
Dean gritted his teeth, kept his hands on the steering wheel, not touching anything so far as he could. He could feel Sam shifting in his seat, stretching his legs out, pausing after each breath until his body needed to breath again. Dean kept his eyes on the road.
"Give it up, Dean." Sam said, finally, and Dean nodded tightly. "We can park at some state conservation area or something, it's not that cold."
"Yeah, yeah sure." Dean was pretty sure it was that cold.
Dean felt his eyes go wide, his body betray him. "Sam- Sammy. What do you want?"
Sam's eyes opened up, he touched Dean's shoulder and then gripped under his bicep, bringing him across the impala's bench seat.
"I can move myself, you know." Dean stated when Sam stopped manhandling him, and Sam nodded but kept his hands at Dean's sides, let Dean settle down easy across him. "I'm gonna wake up with a sore back and you're gonna have to grab the vaseline out of the kit and fix it."
"Sure, yeah." Sam nodded, and he slid his hands down, skimming down across Dean's hips, the fabric of his jeans, felt him warm and waking up above him.
"Sam," Dean breathed again. "What do you want?"
"You." Sam said, with teeth. He bucked up against Dean, rolled his hips beneath him
This was still so new, so untried and Dean still wasn't sure their bodies would fit together the way they wanted, still haven't tried it exactly right like that. He looked at Sam carefully, Sam smiled.
Unintentionally, Dean shivered, the cold in the air nipping at the bare skin of his hands and the nape of his neck.
Everything was okay. They both wanted... whatever it was they wanted, but they didn't need it, didn't need it to tell each other it was going to be okay, that they were going to be safe. Sam pushed Dean down and across the back of the seat, seatbelt buckles digging into his tense muscles; he groaned and knew it would be worse in the morning.
Sam laid down carefully beside him, shoved against him enough to get under, bodyheat sharing against the cold.
"I'm tired," Sam said quietly, breath tickling against the side of Dean's jaw. He reached back to the edge of Dean's jeans to pull out the knife he kept there, and it was warm.
"So sleep." Dean held himself still until Sam's hand slid up and rubbed across Dean's shoulderblades.
"Don't want to."
In another minute, Sam would drop off, both of them curled together under leather jackets and hoodies and jeans worn three days in a row. Blankets stolen from rare trips on airplanes, feet draping over into wheel wells littered with chocolate bar wrappers and mostly empty Doritos bags that crunched with every motion.
Not yet, though. Sam shifted enough to move their hips together. "Warmer this way," he whispered, and Dean didn't move. Asleep already.
Sam grinned at the guy at the gas station, then shot a look at Dean while he popped some snickers bars into the inside pocket of his jacket. The service station guy tilted his head and looked at the security cameras, Sam chose that moment to yell can you grab some of that aloe vera gel, sweetheart? and the cashier snapped his attention back to Sam, low colour flushing across his face. Sam leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, saying "he always burns, and then I'm stuck rubbing it in, man whines the whole time, wants me to kiss and make it better, I swear he's twelve." Sam straightened up abruptly, motioned around to the gas pump and the gum on the counter. "What's that come to, anyways?"
"Sam." Dean snapped his fingers right in Sam's face, pissed for no reason. Sam looked a million miles away, felt as if he was a million miles gone and Dean really didn't want to know where his little brother disappeared to. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Sam felt Dean's hiss more than he heard it, and it shocked him out of whatever state he was in. He jerked back against the diner's patched leather booth, couldn't help but smile at the waitress that stood there waiting for their order.
"Oh! Uh, sorry. Can I get a burger?"
She jotted something down, and Dean scowled at him, waiting until the waitress walked away before flicking paper straw wrappers at Sam's forehead. "You've been out of it for days, Sam."
"Nothing, it's nothing. I'm just-" Sam shrugged helplessly. "Just happy. I don't know."
Dean had a disbelieving expression across his eyes. "Happy. Christ, Sam, are you OK?" He looked around and then half-jokingly whispered "am I going to have to christo you?"
The waitress came back, plunked two coffees down. Sam instinctively pushed his over to Dean's side while Dean tore open a sugar packet and poured half into his, the rest into Sam's. He pushed it back and Sam stirred some cream in, taking a sip before setting it back down because it was too hot.
"Got a job. Barghest in Maine, north end of the state. Close to Canada, might have cross the border into New Brunswick." Dean flipped the paper he was reading so Sam could read it, pointed to the Strange But True! under the Mutts comic and to the left of the daily sudoku.
"Looks like it. Pattern is clear, nothing we can't handle." Sam glanced at Dean and the corners of his mouth crinkled up, as if he couldn't help it.
The waitress seemed unusually attentive, asking "Can I get you boys anything else?"
Sam caught Dean's eyes. "No, not at all."
"Happy, huh?" Dean repeated, once they'd paid their bill and they were out walking towards the car.
"Yeah," Sam leaned against the impala for a second. "Happy."
Dean cracked a smile and took the offered tape - gas station special edition Journey's Greatest Hits - out of Sam's hand, popping it in and leaning back against the impala, wide open road all ahead of them, sun up and a little to the west. His fingers curled around ten-o-clock on the steering wheel, spread under Sam's palm on the seat between them.