He's pretty sure his pinky is broken.

Sam is half dead from exhaustion on the seat next to him. Dean wants to slide his hand across and massage his brother's shoulder, but with one hand resting quietly on his left knee and the other driving, it doesn't work.

He can't remember the last time he's been this tired. They've been hunting for weeks, trying to get every son of a bitch that got out all those months back.

He forces his eyes to stay open as he stares ahead at the road before him. The road he's spent his entire life staring at.

"I need a break, I want to go home." Sam mutters.

And just like that Dean slams on his breaks, turns his head to see behind them then pulls the car around, doing a messy U-turn.

They drive for three more hours before Dean pulls off into a rest stop to catch a few hours of sleep. Sam's long since fallen asleep, his head resting inches from Dean's lap.

Dean takes a second to wonder how his brother folded himself like that then leans back and closes his eyes.

He wakes before Sam and starts the engine again. He wants to be there by the time his brother wakes up.

And thanks to his inability to read speed limit signs they do. Sam wakes up, groggily lifting his head just as Dean pulls into the three-mile driveway.

Sam for the first time, smiles. Dean grins back then hops out to unlock the gate and dial in the code for the security. And just like that-their home.

But it's not a home. It's a place they crash at every once in a while. But it's theirs, and that's what makes it home to them. It's not someone else's and their just borrowing it for the weekend, it's theirs. With their stuff, Dean's first leather jacket that's ripped to sheared, Sam's books from Stanford he couldn't bare leaving. That box of photos and old books they got from Lawrence two years back… it's all there.

Sam rests his head against the window; he stares out at the thick woods that line the long driveway. He smiles slightly as they pass a young tree; he planted that last summer when Dean had broken his leg for that month. Yeah, it wasn't much, but it was there home.

When they reach the end of the driveway, an opening among all those trees finally appears. It's not big, two rooms, a living room and a kitchen combined. The bathroom is connected to the bigger of the two rooms. Dean had crumbled but Sam had insisted, they needed a home base.

"You get to bed, I'll unload the important stuff then do the rest tomorrow." Dean says, gently pull the eyes out of the ignition.

Sam pushes open his door, "Dude, I've been sleeping for hours-you go inside. You look like you're going to fall over."

Dean rolls his eyes and follows his brother to the truck, they both grab their bags, two guns, a bag of salt then slam the truck closed.

"Come on," Sam leads him up the stairs then sets aside, Dean's got the only set of keys.

Ten minutes later they crawl into the twin bed of the smallest room. Sam shivers as his bare legs lay against the cold sheets. Dean huffs then pulls his brothers legs between his and uses his free hand, that Sam isn't laying on, to rub up and down Sam's body.

"We should have turned on the furnaces." Sam muttered, burning his face in Dean's chest.

Dean rolls his eyes, "I did, Sam. But we ain't putting it to 75…I'll die. We got it on 60 and that's good."

Sam tilts his head up to glare, "I hate you, you always make me freeze."

"What the hell do you care? You always molest me anyways, I'd rather not be dying of heat because I've got you trying to nuzzle your way inside me, and the room's a temp above hell." He realizes his mistake to late.

And just like that Sam pulls away from him, he pulls his head off Dean's arm, unhooks their bare legs, and moves over a few inches so they can't even feel each other's body heat.

Dean mentally kicks himself. "Sam,"

"Just go to sleep," his brother says. His tone is all to formal and brotherly.

Dean turns so he's staring the ceiling. Three hours later he's still awake and he knows his brother his crying.

Sam wakes up before Dean. He cooks their breakfast, eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, then turns on the radio to a low volume. He puts on the small counter top in the bathroom then turns on the facets and stands under the shower.

He lets the near scolding water burn his skin, until he's sure he's used half the hot water, then he easily turns on the cold and evens it out. That's when his brother pushes open the curtain and steps in behind him.

Sam's still mad, he's always mad but even more so now, and so he chooses to ignore him.

Dean doesn't pay any attention to his brother's mood; instead he simply circles his arms around Sam's waist and leans forward to lay his head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry,"

Sam sighs, he always does this. Sam wants to be strong, he wants to yell and scream, he wants to shout "If you were really sorry you wouldn't have made that damn deal" but he doesn't. Instead he gives his head a steady nod and lays his arms over Dean's.

They stay like that for some time, Sam starts massaging the parts of Dean's arm he can reach, slow steady stokes he knows his brother will never admit to loving.

Dean's the next one to speak. "I'll make this place a fortress so you can stay here. I bought enough salt to cover the house and a path to the Impala. I also got us some paint so we can put up some devil's traps and whatever else you think you might need."

This actually confuses Sam, or maybe Dean pressing into his back is finally getting to him. Either way, "What?"

Dean lifts his head and rests his chin on top Sam's shoulder. "So you can stay here."

"I'm not staying here." Sam says.

Dean's hands tighten around his waist. "Why not Sam? This is home…you can be safe here. I'll make sure you'll be safe here."

"You're my home Dean, you make me safe." Sam snaps, "I don't want a bunch of symbols and salt, I want you."

Dean slowly pulls off his brother, letting arms drop. Sam turns, facing his brother, letting the lukewarm water beat against his back.

Dean stares at him, "That's why I'm doing this Sam, to keep you safe."

Sam says nothing, he leans forward and kisses his brother, suddenly eager to ignore his brother's impending death and his own agonizing future.

Sam smiles slightly as his brother pressing him against him, always eager for more interesting activities.

Dean once told him when he was little that home was where the heart was…and Sam had no intention of letting his home go.

Sam blinks back into the present, he snatches his brother hand between a tight fist, stopping Dean from kissing a trail down his body. "Dude-you're pinky's broken."

Dean smirks, "Oh yeah, forgot about that.."

"How the hell do you forget that you're fingers broken?"

Dean gestures to Sam's own body, "Been a little busy…don't worry Sammy, we'll get to it. Let's just finish up here first."

Sam drops his brother hands, allowing his brother to kiss him…. this was home.