Ohhhhh, waking up in the car was always so much fun. (Not.) The car wasn't wide enough (totally not her fault) for Dean to completely stretch out in the front seat, or for Sam to completely stretch out in the back, (that would pretty much be impossible in any car) so Dean woke up leaning against the front passenger door and gave a quick look over the seat to see Sam folded up into the space in the back. He was still asleep, (cramped but asleep) so that was good.

The sun was up, enough at least to make the world visible, and the inside of the car would be getting too warm too soon, even with the windows rolled down. They were parked beneath some trees, next to a wide creek (or a narrow river, it all depended on which part of the country you were in) and the night had passed unremarkably.

(For once.)

Dean pulled himself around to sitting upright in the passenger seat. He scrubbed his face and pushed his hand through his hair and covered a yawn. Time to get this show on the road. (Literally.) He got out of the car (quietly) to go take care of business, then rummaged some water and junk food out of the trunk (there was still some protein bars in there, and Hostess cupcakes) to hold him over until he could drive them to the nearest diner. (Nearest to whenever Sam woke up.)

Refreshed with a bottle of water (warm), a protein bar (jaw-achingly chewy), and a cupcake (which was SO not pie), Dean started up the car and got back onto the road.

The tires whined over the road (Sam once had the nerve to compare the sound to something called 'Musetta's Waltz'. Whatever that was. It couldn't be good) and Dean checked the rearview every couple of miles to see how Sam was doing, if he was waking up, (which would be good) if he was having a nightmare (which wasn't good but Dean could always wake him up just by calling out to him) or worse - a flashback or hallucination (worse, because it took longer to bring Sam back out of those and he'd have to pull to the side of the road so he could reach over the bench seat to accomplish it.)

But Sam slept on, pillowed on a duffel half-full of laundry, half-covered with their old army blanket (it probably wasn't really an army blanket, it was just a yuk-green wool blanket they'd had forever, but Dad always called it an army blanket) with the wind through the windows blowing his hair and flapping the collar of his shirt.

Dean could count hundreds of times this exact same situation had taken place (minus Sam's flashbacks to hell of course). Mostly when they were growing up (when Dean was always shotgun, and Sam was always holed up in the back seat with a book or twelve to pass the time.) Sam could and did sleep in the back seat as deep and snug as if he was in a real bed in a real room.

Once they were back on the road together, though, after Stanford, after Sam was grown up (sort of grown up), for the first few years, Sam never slept that much, (what with Jess, Dad, Madison, and Dean going to hell and all) and when he did sleep, it was almost always in the car, (he slept in motels only when Dean was in the room and only when Dean was awake in the room.) And when he did sleep in the car, it was always in the front seat. (No matter how many times Dean pointed out that Sam would be more comfortable in the back seat.)

But Sam had begun sleeping (actually sleeping, not just dozing restlessly) in the back seat again a few years back (when it seemed he'd finally let himself believe that Dean was well and truly back from hell.)

So now, Dean kept driving, keeping an occasional eye on Sam in the back, water and junk food at the ready for when Sam finally woke up.

That moment came another hour or so on into the morning, another forty miles down the road. A look into the rearview showed Sam blinking, then picking at the blanket, then pulling in his arms and legs, tensing instead of stretching his muscles (because Sam stretching completely, comfortably and without mishap was hard to do in this or any car.)

Dean took occasional glances at him, he didn't want Sam to feel like he was being stared at while he was just waking up. (But he was soooo cute when he was just waking up.) Whatever was going on in his head, whether the trauma or the memories or hallucinations or some combination of everything, these days Sam fell asleep faster and slept longer than he ever used to, and he also took longer to wake up. So Dean let him have the time it took to push his bangs off his forehead that the wind blew right back (cute), scrub the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands, (cuter), then squint and blink around at his surroundings like he needed to figure out where he was and what was going on (seriously cute.)

"Dean?"

(Where are we? What time is it? Did I sleep too long? Are we going to a hunt?)

"The one and only."

(Everything's fine. We're good. Nothing to worry about.)

"Okay."

(Thanks.)

"Water?" Dean held the bottle up.

(You're welcome.)

"Hmm?"

In the rearview, Dean could see Sam rubbing his eyes again. (So seriously cute.)

"Water?" He said again and shook the bottle a little for emphasis.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks."

Sam reached forward to take it, then sat back and drank it down in a few swallows. Then he scrunched around so he could rest his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes again for a little while.

All in all, things hadn't been too bad lately. (That is, based on the Winchester definition of 'bad'). Tense, maybe, but not bad. Sam's hallucinations came slightly more often than occasionally, but he always managed to fend them off, usually by himself, sometimes with Dean's help. 'Big & Bad' hadn't been anywhere near their asses any time lately. They'd managed to successfully complete some mundane hunts. Things were - not bad. (Dean could so totally get behind 'not bad'.)

Sam came slowly awake again, (he always seemed to fall asleep from the top down, and come awake from the bottom up) yawning without opening his eyes, trying out a cautious stretch of his arms. Then he suddenly sat forward, leaning his arms against the bench seat.

"Hey."

(Do you have food?)

Dean lifted one of the protein bars up to him.

(Don't I always?)

Sam started to take it, but then his attention latched onto something else in the front seat.

"Cupcake." He said. (I want that instead.)

"Hey." Dean waved the protein bar. (Protein first, sugar after.)

"Pfft." Sam grabbed the protein bar and only sat halfway back. (Fine. I'll eat it. But I'm staying close to that cupcake.)

It took Sam a minute or so longer to eat the bar than it normally would've, but being exhausted slowed him down. And he was still exhausted if the dark eyes and slow movements were anything to go by.

Not so exhausted however that he didn't notice Dean moving his hand on the seat.

"Hey." (My cupcake.)

"Relax, Princess." (Relax, Princess.) Dean held up another bottle of water. (Since you already finished the other one.)

"Oh. (sorry.) Yeah. (I didn't even realize I drank it all.) Thanks. (did I mention, sorry?)"

Sam took the bottle and set it on the seat next to himself, then he finished the protein bar and held the empty wrapper over the seat where Dean could see it.

(Cupcake, now, please?)

Dean didn't even have to look at Sam to know he was getting the Sammy eyes. And even though Sam could reach the cupcake without trying, Dean handed it up to him. Sam took it, but didn't sit back and didn't open the plastic wrapper around his confectionary prize. He folded his arms on the back of bench seat and rested his chin on them.

"You okay?" Dean asked. (Something you want to tell me? Something you need to tell me?)

"Tired." (Just tired, nothing more.)

"Why don't you stretch out again, then?" (Scrunch up, really. But you know what I mean.)

"Mmmmm…" (Yeah, I know. But I don't want to and I don't want to tell you that I don't want to because I don't want you to tell me all the reasons I should. I want to just sit here.)

So they drove awhile that way, Dean keeping track of Sam out of the corner of his eye, Sam watching the road out the windshield, blinking blinks that took his eyes longer and longer to open up from, until they were closed more than they were open. Until they were just plain closed, and Sam was asleep.

(Dean noticed that he managed to not let go of the cupcake though.)

Another half hour down the road, Dean started thinking Sam's neck might not appreciate his sleeping arrangements (and totally not because Dean's stomach was agitating for something more than protein bars and cupcakes.) The signs at the side of the highway were proudly announcing the restaurants, gas stations and tourist shops coming up in another mile or three, so now was as good a time as any for wakey wakey.

"Sam? Sammy? Saaaaaaa-Meeeeeee?"

"Hmm." (okay, I'm awake. I'm just resting my eyes.)

"You up for some real food?"

"Hmm." (yes.)

"In or through?"

"Hmm." (what was the question again?)

"In or through?"

"Hmmm." (In.)

"Sure?"

"Hmmm." (positive.)

"Okay."

Dean chose a national chain restaurant (because the food is always the same, no matter where, so it wouldn't be too hard for groggy-Sammy to make a choice) and parked near the corner of the building.

"Sam? We're here."

"Hmmm." (already? Okay.) Sam lifted his head and stretched his arms out in front of himself and opened his eyes and propelled himself out of the car. He shut the back door and walked to the sidewalk that led to the front door of the restaurant and stood there waiting for Dean.

Before Dean shut his own car door though, he walked up to Sam and held out his hand.

(Cupcake.)

In answer, Sam put his hands and his cupcake behind his back.

(My cupcake.)

Dean kept his hand where it was and cocked an eyebrow.

(Dude, you're not seriously giving me the 'I lost my shoe' face, are you?)

Sam lifted his chin a little. (No. So what if I am?) But then he set the still-wrapped-cupcake into Dean's hand. (I still want that later, you know.)

Dean took it back to the car and made sure Sam saw him place it very (very) precisely on the passenger side of the front seat, then shut the door and joined Sam on the sidewalk. Sam didn't move though, he was staring at the car. He still looked exhausted.

Dean cleared his throat. (Can we get a move on, here?)

Sam gave a last look at the car then scowled at Dean.

(Jerk.)

Dean took a deep breath and rolled his eyes.

(Bitch.)

They walked to the door of the restaurant and though Dean was ahead of him, Sam took a few steps to get to the door first and held it open for Dean.

(I guess I can still put up with you though.)

Dean smiled and patted Sam's arm with the back of his hand.

(For that, you can have two cupcakes.)

Sam smiled too, and they went into the restaurant.

The End.