Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye. His mouth pulled down at one corner into the smallest bit of a smirk, into the slightest suggestion of a would-be smile.
Sam looked up from the weathered book he was studying and his mop of bangs fell across his forehead. "What?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.
Dean rolled his shoulder with a shrug. "Just thinking, Sammy."
"Oh God," Sam mumbled. "Better stop before you hurt yourself."
The younger sibling's eyes flitted back to the page he was on; his attention was there. Dean was a distraction.
Dean gave the almost smirk again and this time when his gaze momentarily left the road to check on his brother, they held a reflective fondness that his face could not hide.
His brother. His best friend, his comrade in arms... in some ways, his child. Having Sam in that seat felt right. Felt like Home.
"Bitch." Dean said.
Sam looked up, evaluating, his distracted manner grew focused for a minute as he took in the word.
He was clear, present, in the moment. He pursed his lips and answered. "Jerk."
Their words seldom held any weight. It was really the silent spaces in between.