Sam is so hard it hurts. Dean doesn't squeeze, doesn't caress. He just allows his hand to rest companionably on Sam's thigh.

Corn, telephone poles and the occasional farm house zoom by. The Doors turn into Steppenwolf. Steppenwolf turns into Led Zepplin. Sam turns into a quivering mess, wishing Dean would just pull over.

Dean's eyes don't leave the road, and Sam's afraid to look at him. His heart is pounding like a teenager on his first date.

Experimentally, he puts his hand over Dean's and ever so slowly guides it to the spot where he wants to be touched.