This. This is what Dean lived for.
Endless highway, no destination in sight or mind, just him and the road and his baby, cruising along at some obscene hour of the night or morning.
A muffled noise from the passenger side of the car caused Dean to glance over, a fond smile crossing his face as he saw his little brother's face ease back into a peaceful resting expression.
Sammy, right at Dean's side, where he should be.
Dean smiled again; there was no danger of anyone seeing, of anyone accusing him of having a chick-flick moment.
Just him, his car, his Sammy.
Sam let out a small moan and sat up more fully, rubbing his eyes. Dean swallowed back his smile; better not let Sammy see the fondness in his older brother's eyes.
"Where are we?" Sam grunted, trying to stretch out his outrageously long legs.
"Wyoming." Dean answered.
Sam kept scrubbing his face, looking about 16. "Back hurts." he complained, trying to twist around to get the kinks out.
Dean shook his head: kid wouldn't stop growing. "Not my fault, moose."
The puppy dog eyes silently slew Dean, and he focused back on the road. Sam's fingers beat out a rhythm on the seat between them. There was a soft, almost affectionate feeling in the silence. It got that way, when they were driving at night. It was like the darkness and low hum of the engine took them back, back to when Dean still kissed the top of Sam's head and hugs were a daily occurrence. Back to before, when neither boy had to worry too much, because Dad would always be there to work it out.
Sam yawned cavernously, and tilted sideways along the bench seat, curling his legs up so that they touched the passenger side door, and laid his head on Dean's right thigh.
"Dude, what'd I say about chick flick moments?" Dean asked, swatting at Sam's head, though he didn't sound nearly as affronted as he should have.
"I can stretch my legs out more this way." Sam pleaded, looking up again at his brother, confident in his powers of persuasion.
A moment passed, the Impala humming away, eating up the endless miles to nowhere.
"Fine." Dean sighed, and Sam snuggled his cheek against his brother's leg. Dean's hand carded through the almost curls at the back of Sam's neck, almost unconscious of the movement. There were a few moments of silence, and then Dean heard Sam's voice softly singing.
"... But now it's time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way. For now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it's headed my way..."
Dean smiled, adjusting his grip on the Impala's steering wheel. Sam's fingers gently picked at the seam on the knee of Dean's jeans.
The miles kept flying away behind them, his brother's voice quietly washed over him, singing his favorite song, and the Impala hummed beneath him. Dean was happy.
"Sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do..."
At moments like this, Dean Winchester loved his life.