Dean stared impassively across the misty, darkened graveyard. The newly repaired crypt wall was hard to see now. He could barely hear the faint screaming. Shivering with cold, he got back into the Impala. Sneezing, he swallowed painfully against the florid bruising outside his throat and the raw ache inside.
"She's not getting back out, Sam." He croaked.
"Not ever."
Sam shuddered, leaning against the door, pale and silent.
Dean covered Sam again with his leather jacket. Avoiding sutures, he rubbed Sam's shoulder soothingly until exhaustion won.
"Sleep, Sammy."
Dean sniffled, sneezing wetly.
He edged up the heat, driving away.