AN: Sorry for the long delay! Just one more chapter of this fic to go and hopefully, it won't take me as long as this one did.

Chapter 4

Their third year in Wyoming, a storm blows through one weekend. It's cold, so cold that they can feel it penetrate their layers and their skin and work its way into their bones, but instead of snow, they get sleet and freezing rain. It starts late in the middle of the night, early on a Saturday, and the rain's still coming down when Dean wakes up around nine thirty. Sam's already drinking his first cup of coffee in the kitchen, staring out the blurred window above the sink. The heat's on in the house, but he feels too exposed in his single layer pajamas. A shiver jerks through his body, and he turns around intent on the sitting room opposite the kitchen, where he can curl up on the sofa and search the TV channels for local weather forecast.

But Dean comes in, shuffling in his socks as usual, looking like he could go right back to bed. Sam pauses and watches him find the coffee brewer, pouring the coffee into the mug Sam left out for him. Dean takes a few sips, sighs and hums in satisfaction, then looks over at his brother as if noticing him for the first time.

"It's crazy out there," he says.

"Yeah," says Sam. "I hope you weren't planning on going anywhere later. I think I heard it's supposed to be pretty bad all day."

Dean gives a small shrug and drinks more coffee.

Sam goes on into the sitting room and settles on one end of the couch, switching the old TV set on with the remote. He finds the weather channel and waits for the local segment to come on.

Dean comes toward him and stops in the threshold of the room, leaning against the wall jamb. For a few minutes, they're both silent, listening to the television. The anchor reports that heavy rain and sleet will last throughout the day in Sublette, Lincoln, Sweetwater, and Uinta Counties and move east across the state starting tomorrow evening. It's thirty-five degrees outside and feels more like thirty with wind chill, but it's not expected to snow.

"You think Cas is up?" Dean says, awake and alert now, his voice smoothed out.

"I dunno," says Sam, glancing at him. "But you're not going next door without putting some real clothes on."

"Maybe I'll call him later, see if he wants to have lunch here."

Sam shuts off the TV. "Aren't your feet cold?"

Dean looks down at his white socks. "Not anymore. I'm not really feeling breakfast, so I guess I'm gonna go find something to do. Check my email or something."

He starts turning his back on the room, when Sam says, "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam hesitates, looking at his older brother with a little bashfulness. He's suddenly aware of the warmth of his coffee mug against his palms.

"What?" Dean says.

"You mind if... I'm kinda in the mood for... you want to just hang out in my bed? With me? For a little while..."

Dean smiles. Sam expects a wisecrack, but Dean just says, "All right."

Dean leads the way down the long hall to the back of the house. He shuts Sam's bedroom door behind them, and Sam drains his coffee and leaves the empty mug on his dresser. They climb into the bed on opposite sides, and Dean sets his coffee down on the night table. Sam's got sheets as soft as Dean's, purchased at the Bed Bath and Beyond in Casper not long after they moved in here, but instead of a thick comforter like the one on Dean's bed, he has two blankets: one flannel and a quilt. Sam runs hotter than Dean—in the summertime, he sleeps with just the one sheet some nights—but he does like to be warm in the winter.

He lies on his right side facing Dean and looks at his brother for direction. Dean rolls toward him and under Sam's arm, pressing his face into Sam's chest and wrapping his own arm around Sam's waist. Sam hugs him back, his bottom arm folded and shoved underneath his pillow. Dean breathes him in, eyes closed, instantly flooded with a sense of comfort and security. Sam's eyes are half-open, as he listens to the rain and breathes, feeling Dean breathe with him.

Sam spent most of his life chasing after the things he didn't have in childhood: safety, stability, peace, home. The years in between Stanford and Wyoming wore him down to the point where he'd almost given up on those desires for good. Every time he thought he'd finally cut a break and found what he was looking for, it was snatched away fast: Jessica, Dean, Amelia, Dean. His apartment in Palo Alto, the Men of Letters Bunker. He'd experienced peace and home and safety enough that he knew what they were, he knew they were possible, but he could never hold onto them.

The last six months of his hunting career, he was so tired of the job and the life that he started to get sloppy. If he was going to die the soldier's death at the end of a short life, so be it and why bother trying to stall? He wasn't afraid anymore. At least dead, he wouldn't have to worry about the next loss, the next big mess, the next time he'd survive his brother. Maybe heaven was the only place where Sam could have a piece of what he wanted. The Horseman Death promised him once that he could ensure a permanent rest, so Sam knew the next time could be final.

But Dean saw him. Dean recognized that Sam had finally reached a point of resignation, and while he was selfish enough to keep his brother alive and hunting at any cost, he wasn't selfish enough to watch Sam settle for joylessness.

So they quit. And Sam discovered that everything he ever wanted to feel, he could have with Dean, on a quiet property in the middle of nowhere. The first time it hit him that he was feeling safe and at peace, with his brother instead of without, it brought tears to Sam's eyes.

Lightning cracks loud somewhere in the east, and a roll of a thunder booms, reverberating through the walls of the house. Dean squeezes Sam to him, and Sam smiles a little bit, letting his eyelids drop the rest of the way. Neither of them intended to make this cuddling thing a habit, but they're both glad they did, even if they'd never admit it out loud. Nobody knows they do it, except Cas, and nobody needs to. This is for them, for each other.

Dean listens to Sam's heart beating, the most beautiful sound in the world to him. He's cocooned in warmth and softness, and he has nowhere to be and nothing to do. Nothing to fear. He's happy. Comfortable. He hopes he and Sam have years more of this.

Sam rolls over eventually, and Dean curls around him on cue, pressed to Sam's back.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam chuckles to himself.

"What?" Dean says, slurring the word.

"I just remembered that time I shoved snow down your shirt last winter," says Sam.

"Bitch. Don't forget I got you good for that."

"Yeah, I know. Jerk."

They stay in bed until Dean's stomach grumbles.