AN: This is a prompt I received on tumblr. You can send me one as well, either in a PM here, or on ask

Dean snaps the credit card in half with an air of finality and flings it into the shadows between the trees around them. Sam glares at him reproachfully, but before he can go off on a tangent about throwing trash mindlessly away and what kind of consequences it has for the environment, Dean levels a glower of his own at his little brother and receives a shake of Sam's head in return that clearly says he's helpless.

But Dean doesn't have time for this now, and honestly, not the nerve. They just spent the last of their cash on gas and food, and Norton Gates's credit card has been refused. There isn't even a bar in this small town of Bumfuck, Nowhere where they could hustle pool for a room at the dingy motel at the outskirts of town whose sign reads Starl g t Mot l, since half of the light bulbs have given out, the others are flickering worryingly.

Another night in the Impala it is then, and Dean tries to steel himself already for a day spent with a strained neck and a complaining back, but they both have driven the whole day and are now too tired to pull an all-nighter to get themselves back to the bat cave without ending it wrapped around the next tree.

Next to Dean, Sam settles back against the Impala's hood with a sigh, the metal still warm from a day of driving and the engine ticking silently as it cools off. The day's been alright, not too hot, not too cold, but now that the sun's down and the stars come out, it starts to get a bit chilly. Dean thinks about the blankets in the trunk and wonders if they're gonna need them tonight. He's gonna leave the backseat to Sam, what with him being a Sasquatch and a whiny bitch, and he doesn't want to listen to him complaining the whole day tomorrow about his back and the crick in his neck from having to sleep on the front seat. He's a good brother like that.

"How long's it been since we've done this?" Sam asks out of nowhere and snaps Dean out of his thoughts. He doesn't catch up immediately, and grunts instead around his beer bottle before downing the rest of it at once. Sam, of course, understands. "I mean this," he says and makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, a bit of his beer sloshing over the mouth of the bottle and landing on baby's hood and his jeans. Sam just goes on without acknowledging neither the wet stain on his pants, nor the annoyed glance Dean shoots him—because really? He just spent hours polishing his baby's hood before they went on the hunt. "Sitting on the car, drinking beer and looking at the stars."

Leaning down to take another beer from the ice box, Dean considers. He blinks up at the stars and twists the cap off, because he has no idea how long it's been. A while, he guesses, not since he came back from Purgatory, at least. Sam seems to think the same, because he's looking at Dean that way again, his eyes a swirl of emotions Dean doesn't want to sort through, so he looks away and points at Ursa Major and says, "remember when I taught you the names of the constellations?"

Sam snorts, a sound that's half exasperated, half amused, and shakes his head. "Yeah, well, you made most of the names up. Told me Ursa Major was called Soup Ladle and Orion's Belt actually was a collar around Virgo's neck because she's kinky and has the hots for Leo."

"Yeah, well," Dean says with a sly grin and waggles his eyebrows, "you have to admit that my version's far more interesting." Sam laughs and shakes his head, scooting closer until their thighs and shoulders are aligned, their hands not quite touching yet, but close. Dean stares at them and realizes he'd only have to move his pinky finger a bit and he'd feel Sam's against his own. The thought makes an odd warmth pool in his stomach and he looks away, takes another sip from his beer.

There's a moment of heavy silence. It's not awkward, but not fully comfortable either, way too filled with foreboding and things both don't dare to say, yet know it's there.

"I missed this," Sam finally says, whispers, and Dean's chest constricts, aches with the pain and regret he hears in his brother's voice. He wants to make it better, turn and pull Sam against his chest and rub soothing circles into his back until it's gone, until his little brother shows him that dimpled smile again, laughs like he did all those years ago when it was just them against the world, when Ruby, Hell, Angels, the Apocalypse, the Leviathans and Purgatory where unheard of or still abstract concepts to them.

Instead, he moves his hand the last inch, entwines his fingers with Sam's and squeezes, not looking away from the dark blanket dotted with stars above them. He hears Sam shift, sees him look at Dean's profile in his peripheral vision. For a moment, he fears Sam will say something, like he always does, will start apologizing and vomiting his feelings, will press him to do the same, but Sam doesn't. He just looks, and when Dean finally turns his head and looks at him, there's a small smile on his lips, and it's not sad or wistful or any of those other things.

It's happy and warm, and for the first time in Dean doesn't know how long, he's content.