A/N: This was written for the "Delight in Dean Comment Fic Meme" on spngenlove, in response to the prompt: "Traffic jam." As always, thanks to Wave Obscura who beta'ed this ficlet.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.

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It's hotter than Hell, out there - Dean would know - and it's also very hot in here, to tell the truth. They haven't moved in what feels like forever. Some people have even gotten out of their cars and are having lunch on the side of the road, for god's sake.

Sweat's running down Dean's face, and he can taste salt when he licks his lips; it runs down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin and to the leather of his seat. He has opened the windows, but there's simply no air outside, and all it does is let in the suffocating smell of other cars' fumes. The steering wheel is burning hot, making touching it almost unbearable.

Dean's fucking unamused.

Sam's huddled against the door, and his eyes are closed but Dean's not so sure he's sleeping. Kid had a rough night, is probably nursing a headache right now, and Dean hates seeing his brother so miserable, he hates the heat, fuck, he even hates his goddamn car.

Sorry, baby, don't really mean it, I swear.

On an impulse, Dean angrily honks the horn. Immediately, other horns can be heard, from all around him - out of solidarity, or maybe to tell him to shut the fuck up.

Sam winces, lets out a whimper, and Dean feels a pang of guilt.

"Sorry, bro," he apologizes in a low voice.

"Dean..." Sam whines.

Dean recognizes the tone, knows what Sam wants to say - make it stop, Dean - but doesn't because he's all grown up, now, fucking badass hunter, and he doesn't need his big brother anymore, does he?

"Try to get some sleep, Sam," he sighs.

Sam groans in answer, and puts an arm across his eyes to protect them from the unrelenting sun. He just looks so young, like that, it makes Dean ache inside.

He sighs again, tilts his head back. He can feel a headache of his own build behind his forehead, and if they don't move sometime in the next five minutes, he's gonna kill something, preferably in a slow and painful way.

He sees a state police officer on the side of the road, and calls for him. The man comes up - he's a huge guy, with a bushy beard, and Dean feels hot just looking at him.

"Yes?" the man inquires.

"What's going on?"

"There was an accident, about three miles down the road."

"Oh. Uh, anyone get hurt?"

"A couple of kids were killed."

"Fuck," Dean says, because he has to say something, but in reality he's feeling too tired to feel much.

"Yeah." The man pauses. "But it has started moving again, over there." He smiles suddenly - maybe it's the beard but it almost looks wolfish, and Dean has to contain a shiver of unease, even knowing he's just being his fucking paranoid self, and that this man is only a man.

"Just be patient, sir," the officer goes on. "Trial's almost over."

"Ok, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The man nods his good bye.

"It's almost over, Sammy," Dean says brightly when the officer is gone.

"Mmh, ok," his brother mumbles sleepily.

Trial's almost over. That's what the man said.

If only, Dean thinks.