Sam woke up the next day, and was mostly surprised. For one thing, he didn't have a hangover. For another, Dean (his brother…?) was sitting at a table in his motel room, cleaning a gun.

"Morning sunshine." The guy pulled on a grin, and Sam saw right through it. If they were brothers, he guessed that'd explain it. The way he seemed to see through every one of this guy's mannerisms, to all the pain beneath.

In a brief moment of affection, Sam found himself wanting to take that pain away. To make him better. Be the brother he hadn't been.

"You ok? You don't look so good."

Dean snorted, but again, it seemed a little forced. "Yeah, you should've seen yourself last night."

Sam pressed a palm to his forehead. "No hangover. Can barely remember anything though…?" He let his voice pull up at the end, fishing for answers to the strange, cold gaps of darkness in his memory.

"That a fact?" Dean looked speculative. "Well, first of all, you got into drag and tried to pick up a hooker named George…"

A pillow hit him in the face before he could finish the sentence, and Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's shit eating grin.

"Real mature."

"Coming from the guy who has….a slinky in his backpack?" Sam had spotted the bright colours the night before, and now he basked in his triumph as he withdrew the plastic toy.

"That's my stuff! And it…it's related to a case." Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Uh huh. What, poltergeist in Toys 'R' Us?"

Dean flushed. "Yeah, something like that."

Sam shook his head. "Whatever man. I'm gonna go get a shower, and then…" He paused. He honestly hadn't thought that far ahead. Nervously, he glanced at Dean, who was sitting in the light of the window, grinning.

It was so much like Sam's earliest memory: his brother smiling, freckles and light, it physically hurt. And it gave him the courage to say what he did next.

"Could I maybe hitch a ride with you?" Sam shrugged, running a hand through the back of his hair, and fighting away the butterflies that still tried to eat through his stomach when he went to trust people. "Just…seems like we have a lot of catching up to do."

Dean's smile was blinding, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. And Sam found himself smiling back, so widely his cheeks hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled like this. Chuckling, he raised an eyebrow. "So that a yes?"

"I guess it is."

In the car, which Dean had explained was their Dad's, Sam had never felt more at home. The smell of leather was bringing up new memories. Tickle fights with Dean in the back seat. His Dad blaring rock and the two of them singing along while Sam giggled in the back seat.

Sun shone in through the windows, the boot was armed to the teeth. And Sam wasn't alone. He glanced at Dean, fingers tapping to ACDC, and found himself smiling again, almost giddily.

He had a family.

And maybe, just maybe, this time he'd get to keep it.

(And in Dean's head, he crossed off the first day. 364 to go.)