I do not own these boys, nor their angst. If needed, I have space available for both.

Reviews are gushy brownies straight from the oven


Jess had bugged him for two years to go on a road trip to see her parents up in Oregon. He'd resisted: flying would be easier… they're coming down next month… we're both so busy with school.

Something about the idea of a road trip for fun made Sam feel unbelievably lonely. The road was home. The Impala was home. He had made a place for himself at Stanford. A good place. Jess would always be one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

And maybe one day she would have been home. But at its core, to Sam, home had been pranks in the back seat, loud music, leather seats, stops at crappy convenience stores, and his dad yelling, "Boys, you don't want me to come back there."

Motels had been where they slept, or occasionally a rundown apartment. But the road was their home. When they'd been big enough for one of them to sit up front with Dad, it had only lasted an hour or two and they'd be crawling in the back for a game of license plates, or ghost, or just to talk.

Once in a while as they'd gotten older it had been just the two of them. About when Sam hit sixteen. Those had been the best days.

They'd been off fighting evil, but it had always felt like a weekend party when the parents left home. Which it kind of had been. The shared front seat became home too.

The years at Stanford had been good ones but Sam couldn't have handled the time on the road to Oregon. No leather seats, loud music, stupid jokes. Home without Dean wouldn't have been home. Without Dean he wouldn't just have been lonely, he'd have been alone.

Now it was easier to understand that. They'd been back on the road almost two years. But back then, when he'd been trying so hard with Jess, he'd avoided looking into it too hard. And two days on the road would have made homesickness inevitable.

Sam opened his eyes, looked over at his brother zoned out in the drivers seat. Dean was staring straight ahead, mouthing the words to Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, tapping his thumb on the wheel. Yeah, this was good.

At the lengthy gaze Dean shifted his eyes over to Sam, "You doin' okay over there?"

"I'm good."

"We're about forty-five minutes to Georgia. We can make Blue Ridge in two hours. Need to stop for anything?"

"No, I've got everything I need right here." Sam leaned back, propped his head on the headrest, kept his eyes on Dean.


Dean looked over at Sam. Sometimes it scared him how much those words applied to him too. As they made eye contact Dean flashed Sam a genuine smile. God, it was good to be home again.