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They're in an empty field, in a no-name town, but the moment feels momentous. Dean's "no chick flick moments" rule seems contradictory seeing as this was his idea and it's probably the most romantic thing they've ever done. He tries not to think about it though, it's easier to pretend that this is normal, that this is something brother's do. There's a blanket of stars overhead, the warm metal of the impala's hood at their backs and little space between them as they stare up at the night sky.
Dean's hands shake but it has little to do with the cool night air. There's a twisting in his gut that always comes when they're alone like this. Sam wants to say something, anything to break the silence but he doesn't trust his voice. So instead they both take a drink of their beers and try to look at anything but each other.
They both have it, that ache inside their chests, clawing and scratching it's way to the surface just begging to be free. It's hungry, this sickness that runs through their veins.
The silence is loaded, hangs heavy between them with all the things they want, but can't bring themselves to ask for. They've never given it a name, this thing they don't talk about "love, family, whatever it is" but they're unraveling at the edges, slowly pulling apart at the seams.
They're just two lost boys who don't realize that what they're searching for is right beside them. Too hung up on words like Responsibility and Family to ever reveal the sick truth of their hearts. Two halves of the same soul that would fit together perfectly, if only they'd take the chance.
Dean's Sam's protector. The words "watch out for Sammy!" Engraved in his brain. He'd never make the first move, no matter how bad he wanted it. Would never risk losing his little brother again.
And Sam, he's been fucked up over Dean for a long time. It's why he ran off to Standford. Now that he's back, it's not any easier but it's better than living without him.
They're both hurting, wanting things they convince themselves they can never have.
Two brother's who would, and will, sacrifice themselves for the other, time and time again, because it's the only way they know how to say I Love You.
Those words burn on their tongues but they swallow them back, wash them down with another swing of beer and then another until there's nothing left but the sweet buzz of alcohol in their veins.
They don't speak as they stare up at the night sky but their finger tips brush and they curl into each other, taking comfort the only way they know how.
They stay that way for what feels like forever, both of their hearts gnawing with the ache of that love....
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