The vast Arizona sky stretched overhead, the sun punching a whitehot and blinding hole in an otherwise serene canvas of crystalline blue. A stretch of road sliced through the red desert like a solid black ribbon in a redheaded woman's hair.

Dean swallowed thickly. He was thirsty. So damn thirsty. And there wasn't a rest stop anywhere up ahead, only friggin' mountains. Of course, Sam had guzzled down the only waterbottle they had left over an hour ago, using the fact that he sweated like a demon staring down a well of holy water as an excuse. The should-be lumberjack was sitting in the passenger seat beside him, his stupid face turned broodingly towards the window.

"Why's it gotta be so goddamn hot?" Dean complained hoarsely. He swabbed the back of his hand across his forehead, which was about as useful as if it had been a fish.

"Maybe you should take your leather jacket off, Dean," Sam snapped back. "I bet that would help you not to have a heat stroke."

Dean rolled his eyes, but took his hands off the wheel to shrug his jacket off. He had kept it on because the air was on, but that had gone out hours ago. The Impala veered infinitesimally to the left, and Sam's hand shot out to grab the wheel.

"C'mon, Sam, I know what I'm doing!" Dean griped, chucking his coat in the back seat and slapping his brother's hand away to reclaim the wheel.

Sam sighed angrily. "Look, Dean, it's hot, we're both on edge-"

"You're on edge. I'm cool as a freakin' cucumber over here."

"-and it's been almost twenty-four hours since we last slept. I think we should just pull over."

"And what? Stand in the desert?"

"No, a rest stop, Dean-"

"What rest stop? Do you see a rest stop? Because all I see is mountains."

"There was one like, fifty miles back!"

"We're not going backwards. We've been in this car for days already, I'm not backtracking."

"Okay, but we're in the middle of a desert, with a single road leading through the middle of nowhere, chances are there won't be another place to stop for hours."

Dean stared straight ahead indignantly while Sam watched him, expecting an answer.

"No, Sam, I'm not turning around. If you're you're tired, take a nap. If you have to piss, piss out the window. I'm. Not. Stopping."

"Dean, I'm thirsty, we're both probably dehydrated."

"Lick the sweat off my face then."

Sam finally shut his trap, looking at his brother shock mixed with irritation. "Really, Dean?"

"Yeah, go ahead. I'm sweating buckets. Or, hey, maybe you could suck the sweat right out of my shirt."

"Dude, that's gross."

"Well, it's either that or go all Bear Grylls and drink your own... piss." Dean yawned near the end of the sentence. "Hey, do you want to drive for a while?"

The younger brother was about to protest, but Dean saw the look on his face that came when something dawned on him.

"Sure, I'll drive for a bit."

"Okay," Dean replied, slowing the car down and pulling over. "But just know that I'm so in tune with this car that I will feel it if she turns around."

Sam nodded, but he didn't look convinced. It didn't matter to Dean though, as long as he got a nap without them having to stop or turn around.


Dean is suddenly in the middle of a dense, hot forest. It's raining, but the rain is warm, and it trickles down his face. He's soaking wet, but he doesn't care- the rain is a nice respite from the oppressive heat.

Suddenly he hears a low growling emanating from the dense underbrush where the sun doesn't reach. He tries to back away slowly, but the growling merely intensifies to a snarling, the sound ripping from the throat of some savage beast.

The growling ceases abruptly, and Dean can hear the rustling of leaves. He remains incredibly still, like a statue, and hopes the creature will get bored with him and run off. But then he feels hot breath across the side of his neck, sending chills down his spine and pangs of fear shooting into his stomach. A wet tongue glides across his throat, and laps at the rain that drips from his jaw. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his teeth, tries his damndest to stay absolutely frozen.

He feels grip at his shoulders. Not paws, but warm human hands. They pull him forward and shove his head back, to gain better access to his neck, but the person doesn't bite into his neck to suck his blood like he was expecting. It just keeps lapping the rain off of him, tasting him, as if it didn't want to hurt him at all it was just... thirsty.


Dean opened his eyes. He wasn't in a forest anymore, surrounded by lush green, and it wasn't raining. He was reclined in the passenger seat of his beloved Impala, dripping not with rain, but sweat.

The car had stopped. Sam was leaning over the space between their seats, and his face was buried in Dean's neck so all the older brother could see was the top of his shaggy brown head. Sam had apparently taken his suggestion seriously, and was licking the sweat off of him.

Dean wanted to stop him. Really, he did. But Sam's tongue felt so nice on his neck, much better than the sweat did.

Sam started to lift his head up, so Dean shut his eyes to avoid an awkward confrontation. He expected Sam to just turn back around and start driving again, but instead, Dean felt hands slide up under the front of his shirt, ghosting across his abdomen. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, felt his damn nipples harden, but he held back the shivers. This wasn't some chick that was feeling him up; it was Sammy, his goofy little brother.

Hot, wet breath fell across his stomach, followed by a tongue that trailed between Dean's abs. Sam pushed his brother's shirt up further, and when he licked Dean's nipple, the other couldn't stand it anymore, and pushed Sam's face away.

It was awkwardly silent as Sam sat back in his seat, staring dead ahead, a guilty look on his face. Dean covered himself back up and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the warm feeling in his cheeks and the warmth pooling in his abdomen.

"Aren't you going to start the car?" Dean asked gruffly, looking absently out the window.

"No."

Dean finally turned towards Sam. "And why not?"

"Because I love you Dean."

Dean swallowed hard. "I love you too, Sammy-"

"Probably not the way I love you."

There didn't need to be an explanation of that. Sam was staring at Dean's lush lips like he had been staring at the empty water bottles on the floor earlier. Only this time, he did it while sloppily trying to cover up a erection in his lap.

Dean cleared his throat and looked away again, trying to gather his thoughts. When he swiveled back in his seat, Sam was right there, grabbing his face, forcing their lips together. And then Dean had that moment, where his resolve was hanging on by a thread, but then Sam's tongue glides across his lips and all that flies out the window and suddenly he's kissing back, and its Sammy's tongue in his mouth, but he can't really bring himself to care because if he's really being honest, then this is what he's wanted all along.