If We Don't Talk About It, It Didn't Happen

The rumbling purr of a powerful engine hummed in the dim interior as the Impala flew down a dark, rain-slicked highway in Northern Indiana, headlights spearing the night.

In the driver’s seat sat Dean, one hand gripping the wheel, the other lightly tapping his leg with bandaged fingers to the music drifting from the radio. His wrapped wrist protested the movement, but he ignored the complaint in favor of occupying his mind.

And in his right jacket pocket, tucked close to his side, sat Sam, one arm wrapped around himself while the other gripped the soft cloth lining that surrounded him, providing a bit of comfort.

The four-inch-Winchester shivered, unable to keep his mind from replaying what had happened only a couple hours earlier. That stupid werewolf had come out of nowhere at that recently abandoned house, getting the drop on Dean and scaring Sam senseless from his defenseless position under a nearby desk. And no matter what Dean said, it most certainly wasn’t his fault that he’d screamed like a little girl; that thing had been ginormous compared to him! He had every right to sing soprano in those situations, damn it!

Uneven vibrations startled him out of his thoughts and he clutched at the pocket lining for support. Must be Dean fidgeting; he never could stay still for long, especially in the car after a hunt.

Normally, Sam himself would be out on the seat or perched on Dean’s shoulder by now, but as it was early December, the temperature dropped rapidly at night and the Impala’s heater wasn’t the quickest. As often as he was stuck in that pocket, sometimes for most of a given day, Sam couldn’t deny that it was warm, located right next to Dean’s side as it was. He was resigned to wait, therefore, until the temperature in the car was decent, preferring being somewhat cramped to becoming a tiny ice cube with legs.

Sam shivered again – whether from leftover nerves or the cold, he wasn’t certain – and burrowed deeper into the recesses of the pocket, trying to pull some of the fabric around him. Dean could probably feel him squirming, but the younger brother could care less; warmth was top priority at the moment.

When he finally managed a position that blocked the cold seeping through the slit that was the pocket’s opening, Sam curled up tight and sighed. He’d be out in a little while; the Impala never took more than fifteen minutes to warm up.

So when the pocket opened slightly mere seconds later and a large hand snuck in, Sam was only the tiniest bit surprised. He watched, vaguely amused, as the fingers lightly touched his leg, then slowly moved up his body until they reached his waist. Familiar with the routine, Sam raised his arms so Dean could hook a couple fingers around him and haul his tiny self out without pinning him unnecessarily.

The fingers, however, apparently had no intention of doing that and instead continued gently creeping up his little frame until they were beyond his head. Sam shifted a bit, curiosity flaring as the long digits curled around him. Dean hadn’t pulled him out of anything in this manner in a long time, knowing that it was a little restricting, so why the sudden change?

His answer came when the hand settled into the pocket after wrapping completely around him, leaving an opening right above the younger Winchester as he lay on his back in his brother’s palm. The question of why hovering on his lips, Sam took a deep breath to shout his inquiry when suddenly Dean’s thumb moved in. Practically covering his chest, the small digit began rubbing with utmost care.

Sam blinked in confusion, body tensing subconsciously as the thumb stroked gently. Then the warmth seeped in.

Almost instantly, the tiny Winchester relaxed, a deep sigh of contentment practically deflating him as he sank into his brother’s light grasp. A rumble of amusement thrummed through him and Sam smiled, knowing Dean was enjoying every second of this.

On an impulse, the younger Winchester flung his arms around the calloused digit above him, hugging it tight to his chest. Immediately it stilled, frozen out of fear for the tiny person’s safety. Oddly elated, Sam just chuckled and squeezed it tighter, feeling the thumb gradually lose its sudden tension. The fingers around his little body wrapped just a bit tighter, warming him further.

Outside the pocket, Dean smiled, cupping his tiny brother in one hand as he navigated the slick asphalt with the other. He would, of course, vehemently deny that this incident had ever happened, but for the moment he was content to just go with it.

Rumbling contentedly, the Impala disappeared into the foggy darkness on the road.