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Awkwardness is Sam’s middle name right now. Sure, they sang along to ‘Night Moves’ and Dean had looked ridiculously proud of him. Even now, he keeps giving these soft, half smiles to himself as he steers Baby like a blade through the dark night, sharp and fast. Sam likes these smiles because they’re different from the toothy, cocky grins Dean bestows on the world at large. They’re real and private and hence precious. But Dean is waxing poetic about sexual flings. The words tumble out of his mouth.
“You don’t ever want something more?” Dean is incredulous. Sam struggles with the next bit even more. “You don't ever think about something? Not marriage, but something with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?” Somebody like me?
Sam leaves that last part unsaid of course. He’s still afraid that he has revealed too much. Dean looks at him for a long moment and promptly deflects the conversation. Sam lets out the breath he was holding, mind already wandering.
He’s glad that Piper rejected his number. He isn’t sure yet about what had possessed him to try that. Maybe he was still stupid from sex or maybe he was uncomfortable with the random hookup. Maybe ‘cause he isn’t allowed to have the one person he desperately wants. Sam looks at his brother.
It’s always nice being in each other’s spaces. They have their separate bedrooms at the bunker now. Dean is enamored with the idea of having a room of his own. Sam prefers the Impala, Dean within his hand’s reach. He has witnessed enough people feeling homesick, especially back in his Stanford days. Sam has never been homesick in his life. Not in the conventional sense. He has never longed for an actual physical place or even multiple people who make the home. He has only missed Dean fiercely whenever they were apart. A romantic might gush that Dean is Sam’s home. It is a pretty mundane fact of life for him. The bunker can never be a home for Sam precisely because it makes him homesick every night as Dean settles into his memory foam, rooms away from Sam.
Sam pitches the idea of God sending him visions to Dean, half expecting it to be summarily shot down. He’s certain he could hear the ‘You’re an idiot’ underneath his brother’s calm, rational objection. Despite what people, and Dean himself, said, Sam knew that his brother was the smart one. He was a glorified nerd who got into troubles and waited for big brother’s rescue. Dean didn’t need some fancy college education to be perceptive and resourceful as fuck. Dean invented rock salt rounds for God’s sake! Yeah, so Dean definitely was the smart one. Also the pretty one, but Sam will actively avoid that line of thought lest it smother him with images of pillowy lips, goldgreen eyes and the strongest pair of hands he’s ever known. Damnit. Dean must be right about the zombie infection still messing with his head.
Sam rules his mind and body with an iron hand. He’s a highly dangerous, volatile freak. Very bad things happen when he loses control. Like demon blood addiction bad or wanting to fuck your brother bad. Of late, that control’s been wearing thin.
Dean’s settling in for the night. That’s Sam’s cue to stop thinking. He wiggles a bit to find the most comfortable position.
“Ow!”
Dean springs up in his seat. “What Sammy?”
Sex in the backseat often had consequences like a bad crick in the neck. “Nothing.”, Sam snaps. Dean would be even more obnoxious if he found out. Dean opens his mouth to say something else but Sam beats him to it.
“Goodnight jerk.” It’s as close to an ‘I love you’ as he can ever get away with.
Dean’s face softens as he replies. “Goodnight bitch.”
Maybe it’s the zombie infection talking but that sounded like a ‘Love you too’ to Sam.
The sun is almost down when Dean arrives with a human-again Mrs. Markham. Sam hands over her kids and slumps into Dean who half carries, half drags him to the car.
Sam is exhausted. The ghoulpires were nasty and he had severely aggravated his neck crick. Dean’s looking at him all concerned.
“Baby is a mess.” Sam blurts.
Dean snorts unattractively. Sam is fascinated. Staring at his brother, dirty and bloody from a fight, he feels something snapping inside. Years of longing, repeated prospects of losing Dean in the recent past, promise of a new shitstorm on the horizon, it was all coming to a head inside him. Sam braces himself for the impact even as he carries on a conversation about the upcoming fight with the darkness. Then, Dean talks about going home. Sam gives a fond slap on Baby’s dash and surges against his brother.
The kiss is over in the blink of an eye. No more than a dry peck on those lips and Sam feels invincible.
“You know what? I am home.” He meets Dean’s eyes challengingly. “We are home.”
Dean plays the damned Bob Seger song as he pulls them off into the setting sun. He says nothing but Sam sees that beloved half smile playing on his brother’s lips. They will be alright. Sam isn’t delusional to think that things would be easy or smooth hereafter. In fact, they’d be anything but.
Whatever life throws at them next, Sam is ready to fight for his home.