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Of all the times and places for Baby to get a flat tire, it would be on the side of a mountain in the earliest hours of the morning, making it a little unbearably cold.
Dean’s groan of frustration was from a combination of factors; the Impala springing a flat, them not being in cell range, the nearest motel (that they’d just left) was miles away, and, of course, it had happened while they were on the way to get breakfast, so he was starving.
He presses his forefinger and thumb hard into his eyes, leaning against the window. “Son of a bitch…” Dean grumps.
Sam, his more optimistic brother, tried his best to spin this into something that didn’t suck as much. “The towing places will open soon, we just gotta wait out a bit.”
“Oh right. Sure thing, Sammy! Then the insurance is going to take for-freaking-ever and we’ll just be sitting out here for who knows how long.” Dean’s nostrils flare a little, that angry spark in his eyes never fading. Sam knew all the signs of his brother being in a very bad mood.
He swallows, doesn’t take it personally, as Dean has told him before not to. “Didn’t sleep much last night?” Sam tries after a moment, more timidly.
“Not a damn bit. So since we can’t do jack shit for hours, I’m going to at least attempt to get some shuteye.
Sam raises both hands, nodding. “Hey I’m not going to stop you.” He knew much better than that. You didn’t get in between Dean Winchester and his sleep, clearly.
As Dean gets out of the car, a sharp icy burst of wind cuts through from where they’re stranded on the side of this mountain road.
At least they’d been able to pull a safe distance away from any possible cars but, as usual, their choice of abandoned roads was proving to be effective. It was just starting to get light outside, the foggy air casting shades of grey all over them.
Once Dean closes the back door and leans back into the leather interior, Sam lets out a slow sigh. He could already feel himself shivering a little in the damp air that had flooded into the car. He slides his seat back and curls into one side, at least trying to maintain as much warmth as he could.
It doesn’t last.
Forty minutes later, Dean was fast asleep, his jacket draped over him like a blanket and Sam, Sam was miserable. His teeth were beginning to chatter. He was so cold. “Screw this.” He mutters with a jaw sore from being clenched, muscles aching from being coiled tightly.
With a little adjusting, he lifts himself off the front seat and into the back, sliding right up against Dean’s sleeping form. Sam curls up against him with a shivery sigh of instant relief. Dean was practically a living furnace. Sam tucks under the jacket a bit, causing Dean to stir lightly.
“Sammy the fuck--?” He mumbles, still half awake.
“Shut up, I know. It’s-- it’s science, okay?” Sam hisses, letting out another shiver. “I don’t feel like freezing to death out here.”
Dean inhales slowly and lets out a small hum of acknowledgement, but his consciousness was still a flickering thing, pulling him shortly back under. There were no more protests or noises of complaint. He could have pushed Sam away, but he didn’t. Sam took his chances and let his own eyes fall closed.
As they’re both coming to, one thing becomes inherently obvious by the slight lifting of the jacket material at its bottom seam where it landed just short of Dean’s lap.
Sure, it was morning, one could reason there was a perfectly natural cause for all this but, regardless of why; Dean Winchester was hard.
Sam doesn’t mean to notice, but once he does, he can’t pretend he hasn’t. A slow glance up shows him that Dean is slowly being pulled out of dreamland. He’s shifting around a bit, causing the cold air to seep through into their little bubble of warmth, which makes Sam lean in even closer in retaliation.
He knew the science was there, backing him up, but also providing the perfect excuse. Getting the blood pumping was a way to stay warm, too, so was friction. Before he can talk himself out of it, Sam is sliding his hand into Dean’s pants.
This does finally wake his older brother up, significantly, as he goes wide eyed but lets out a gasp from finally getting touched where he’d been far too pent up. “Ah, shit…Sammy?” Dean croaks out his shock, slightly turning his head to find out why Sam was doing this, but he doesn’t stop him. He probably should. It just…feels too good. Dean lets his eyes close.
“Don’t say anything.” Sam rasps, leaning in to hide his face in the crook of Dean’s neck as he starts to actively stroke his brother’s length. “It’ll feel good, keep you warm. Don’t freak out…”
“Goddamnit Sammy…” And, if only for the sake of preserving their warmth, with no ulterior motives, Dean doesn’t stop him.
He willingly lets his own brother give him a handjob right in the backseat of their broken-down car on the side of the abandoned road.
The icy wind and mountain sky was the only witness to their insane debauchery.