It’s 6'5" and meaty, has hair too long and skin too tan, laughs at his own jokes, and sometimes it punches Dean breathless going 85 on a highway in the passenger seat fast asleep.
The way the city lights reflect against the raindrops on the window where his face rests against it and paint it with watercolor dreams makes Dean weak in the knees so he feels lucky to be driving, Christ, he’d fall down flat if he saw all that beauty standing upright. He tries to focus on the road and not the way Sam’s breath leaves a cloud of dust on the window. He tries to focus on the road instead of the way Sam’s hand is resting on top of his own, always seeking Dean even in sleep.
He tries to focus on the road instead of the way he loves Sam in every stupid way he can think of.