Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)

Just keep moving. It's become Sam's mantra over the last few weeks. Keep going, keep driving, keep hunting, keep looking for Dad even though the trail's gone colder than cold. Because the more he stays in motion, the harder it'll be for everything to catch up to him. Yeah, alright, so it's definitely not the healthiest way to deal with things, but it's all he's got. He had no body to bury, he didn't go to the funeral because he couldn't face her family; he doesn't have anything even close to that made-up thing grieving people call closure. He has no explanation for why she was taken away from him – why after everything he had to give up already in his life, the world would still see fit to snuff out his one chance at normal. He never wanted to be a hunter. All Sam ever wanted was to just be a person; to have some friends, maybe a dog, someone to spend his life with, a career that helped people without all the blood and sadness and the constant near-death experiences. There's a famous quote from that movie Fight Club; Brad Pitt's character crashes his car and then calls it a 'near-life experience'. That was Jessica – she was Sam's near-life experience. And now she's gone, and Sam can handle it fine as long as he just keeps moving.

Dean's not exactly helping. Sam doesn't blame him, he has no idea what he'd do if the situation were reversed and Dean was the one who'd lost someone, but it's starting to get on his nerves the way Dean keeps looking at him – with these confused, sad eyes like he's afraid Sam's gonna shatter and start sobbing at any minute. And there's this weird dynamic between them right now; Sam's not sure if it's because of Jessica's death or because Dean's still mad at him for leaving or because it's simply been too long and they haven't figured out how to be around each other again. Everything happened really fast, back all those years ago when Sam left for Stanford. He'd gotten his acceptance letter months before, but he never told anyone – in hindsight that was probably a really bad decision, but Sam was young and scared of how his Dad and brother would take the news and he never quite found the right way to bring it up until the very last minute. One day everything was fine, he and Dean took a shower together while Dad was off at some bar drinking his problems away – Sam remembers vividly how perfect Dean's hands felt on him, how good Dean's wet skin smelled next to his own. Sam remembers crying himself to sleep that night, knowing it'd likely be the last time he'd get to see how beautiful Dean is when he comes. And then the next day, Sam was packing a bag and leaving and Dad was screaming at him to never come back and Dean just stood there, stunned speechless and probably more hurt than Sam will ever really understand, and let Sam walk out the door.

It's the worst at night. Sam misses her. He wishes like hell he could just turn it off, but he can't. He misses her flowery scent and her mess of soft curls that tickled his neck and her small, warm body in his arms. He misses her gentle weight on his chest, and her kind smile, and the way she'd look up at him like he was the most important thing in the world. More than a few times, he's woken up in tears with flashes of fire behind his eyelids. He hates it, but he can't exactly control his dreams. And he knows Dean knows; he hears the way Dean's breathing goes shallow as Sam rolls over and pretends to go back to sleep, even though usually he spends the rest of the night wide awake with his heart racing and his mind spinning. One time, Sam even caught Dean watching him – he was sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, just looking; hovering there like he wasn't sure if he should say something or just go back to his own bed and pretend nothing happened like he had every other time. There was an ache in Sam's chest so powerful he actually thought for a minute he might be having a heart attack; he wanted more than anything to pull back the covers and let Dean crawl into bed with him. But he didn't. Because as much as he wishes it were, this is one of those things that Dean and his big-brother superpowers just can't fix.

"What's up with you?"

Dean's words startle Sam; he jumps a little and looks quickly over at his brother. "What?"

"You're quiet," Dean continues, squinting in obvious concern. "Everything okay?"

"Oh. Yeah, it's, everything's fine," Sam lies. Dean probably doesn't buy it, but he doesn't call Sam out on it either so Sam changes the subject. "She was totally hitting on you, y'know."

"Who?"

Sam shoots him a look. "You know who. Andrea."

The beginnings of a smile twitch at the corner of Dean's lips but he keeps his face straight and focuses on the road in front of them. "Maybe. Or she was just grateful I saved her son. Sometimes chicks can't tell the difference. The whole damsel in distress thing."

Sam laughs quietly. "That's sweet. You know, in a totally archaic kind of way. How many times have you used that to your advantage the last few years?"

"I would never!" Dean declares dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. "Besides, you're the one who had your hands all over her while she was naked and wet. You cop a feel, cowboy?"

"Are you serious?" Sam chuckles and shakes his head fondly. "Course I didn't, she'd just almost drowned."

"Such a gentleman," Dean jokes, reaching over and poking Sam in the shoulder.

"Yeah, unlike you," Sam retorts, and Dean laughs. "So how come you didn't do anything back? She kissed you and you just walked away."

"Well for one thing her kid was, like, right there."

"Uh huh. And the other thing?" Sam prompts.

Dean chews at his bottom lip. "Wasn't really interested."

"Oh." Sam isn't really sure what to say to that, so he settles for not saying anything.

The road twists and turns in front of them and for a few minutes Sam's hypnotized by it – by the way the setting sun turns the pavement bright and shiny, like it's wet even though it isn't. It's nice here, in another lifetime Sam might suggest they stick around for a few days, maybe go camping or something. Wisconsin is a nice change; he likes trees and lakes a lot more than endless wheat fields. There's something depressing about getting in the car when Sam knows he'll have nothing to look at but crops and sky all day long. It's too big; too much open space. Usually it makes Sam dizzy and feel a little like if he doesn't watch his back he'll get swallowed up. It's this weird, irrational fear left over from his childhood but it never really goes away; like his own personal vertigo. Probably because it reminds him of way too many cross-country treks when he was a kid – leaving another school behind, leaving a classmate or two that he actually liked in the dust behind them and disappearing into monotonous oblivion.

Sometimes Sam wonders if he died, if or when some creature or spirit finally gets him, if anyone but Dean will even notice. He supposes they do save people; like today, Andrea and Lucas would both be dead if him and Dean hadn't been there, but it's the anonymity of it all that makes Sam resent this lifestyle. They swoop in to a town and they rescue the pretty girl and then they're gone again in the next breath. Nobody ever knows who Sam is; they never stick around long enough. And Sam loves Dean, of course he does, but even still, it's lonely, living the way they do. Jessica … in a lot of ways she was more than just his college girlfriend. She was his anchor – the one thing that tethered him to the real world. The thing that made him feel like maybe, if he tried hard enough, one day he could belong somewhere. But that all went up in smoke when she did. And looking back now, more and more Sam's starting to doubt whether he ever really had a chance.

"You surprised me today. With, uh, with Lucas," he says finally.

"I did?"

"Yeah, you … you were really good with him." Sam sniffs and adjusts his seatbelt for something to do with his hands. "All that stuff you said about Mom, it … you got through to him. I think you really helped him."

Dean sort of shrugs. "Guess so."

"It's true," Sam insists. "After, um, after Mom died, you and Dad … you hardly ever talked about her, either of you. I mean, Dad would go on about how perfect she was when he was drunk, but anytime I actually asked him about it, he'd clam up. You both did, I … I don't know. I get it, I guess. I was just a baby, I never knew what it was like to know her and loose her, you know?"

Dean nods thoughtfully. "What's your point?"

"It was just nice. To hear you talk about her, to know that you still think about her."

"I think about her every day," Dean says stiffly, maybe a little defensively, and Sam bristles.

"No, that's – I didn't mean it that way. I … I don't know what I meant. I'm sorry." Sam sighs and digs his fingers into the inside corners of his eyes. "I'm saying all the wrong things."

Dean shakes his head. "It's okay."

"I wish I could remember her, that's all," Sam continues, staring out the window at the trees as they fly past them.

"I think it's better that you don't," Dean replies heavily.

Sam doesn't respond. He isn't quite sure what Dean meant by that, but he doesn't want to talk about it any more. And besides, knowing Dean, he probably wouldn't elaborate even if Sam did ask. He slouches down in his seat and leans his head back against the top of the bench seat.

"Do you think things are ever gonna be like they were with you and me?" Sam closes his eyes and tries to focus on the rumble of the impala beneath him. He hates the screen of tension between him and Dean since they've started living together again – hates that he can't figure out how to fix it. He's accepted that they'll most likely never be together like they used to be, there's too much time and tragedy between them now for that. And honestly, Sam's not sure if he wants that again with Dean. He doesn't know what he wants at all, about anything. They haven't even talked about it; Sam assumes they never will. It's one of those things they're both painfully aware of but purposely ignore because it's easier. But more than all of that, Sam just wants his brother back.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks slowly; Sam can hear the wary uncertainty in his voice.

"Not – not that," Sam mumbles, turning his head away so he doesn't have to look at Dean. "I meant … I don't know. I should shut up now."

Dean doesn't say anything for what feels to Sam like a really long time. He turns up the radio and puts a little more pressure on the accelerator – never a good sign. Dean drives too fast when he's angry, and that was the last thing Sam meant to do but he keeps his mouth shut. Almost three songs and twice as many miles go by before Dean heaves a heavy sigh and spins the volume dial back down.

"I just … I guess we don't know each other very well right now," Dean says. "Sometimes it feels like everything's the same, like you never left, but then … other times you're like a stranger. I'm trying, Sammy, I really am. But I don't know how to do this."

"I know," Sam agrees miserably. "I kinda hate it."

"Give it some time, okay? You … whatever else's happened, you're still my little brother. That's forever. Hell, it's the only thing in our life that is."

Sam rolls his head back to the left and chances a glance at Dean – his brother is smiling reassuringly and it makes Sam feel a little bit better.

"You should sleep," Dean continues decisively, effectively ending the discussion. "You look half-dead. I'll wake you up when I'm sick of driving."

"Yeah. Okay," Sam agrees reluctantly. He sort of wants to keep talking; he feels like they're never gonna get to know each other again if one of them keeps cutting the conversation short, but he is exhausted and he doesn't have the energy to argue. So he slides a little further down the seat and lets his eyes fall closed again. The last thing he's aware of before he drifts to sleep is the warm, comforting feeling of Dean's hand gently cupping the back of his head.