He opened the door of their motel room as lightning split the sky behind him. Standing in the doorway, duffel in hand, he flicked on the lights and took in the décor, or lack thereof. The room was small, nothing special. Brown carpet and paint with a simple tv stand and a small desk with no chair. Two small beds sat without as much as a nightstand in between. Not much to look at, but he was thankful for a room without medical equipment and straps on the bed.
He stepped back against the door, opening it fully as Dean came through with his own duffel and their weapons bag. The older brother deposited the bags on the closest bed and stepped back to stretch his arms above his head, locking his right hand on his left wrist for added extension. As Dean started to remove his drenched jacket, Sam maneuvered his leg behind him, gently closing the door with the toe of his boot. He stalked tiredly to his own bed and placed his bag on the foot. "You take the first shower." Dean instructed, obviously expecting no arguments as he plopped onto his bed, toeing off his boots before pressing buttons on the tv remote.
"Okay," came Sam's quiet reply.
Dean looked away from the screen and watched Sam fish clean clothes from the bag before he shuffled off to the bathroom and closed the door. He sighed, switched off the television, and placed the remote onto the mattress, running a hand over his tired face and through his hair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he allowed his head to fall back against the headboard when he heard the shower start. Throwing his legs over the side, he walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The rain was really coming down. He could not help but to allow his thoughts to linger on Castiel. The angel that had originally damned Sam to his psychotic fate had been his brother's saving grace. Just when he thought he could never forgive him… Hand still on the curtain, he looked back at the closed door when the shower went silent.
A few moments later, the door opened, his brother emerging from a billowing cloud of steam. His t-shirt and sweats sagged slightly, and Dean was then certain Sam had dropped some weight while riding the crazy train. The younger sibling sat down on the foot of his bed, lazily pushing his bag to the floor. Letting his arms rest across his knees, he dropped his head, still processing the events of the past few days. Dean's heart ached for him, but he knew his brother. Sam would recover in his own time, in his own way and he would just have to be patient.
Dean dug through his bag and came away with fresh clothing, discarding the duffel to the floor before heading toward the shower. Halfway, he paused. Sam would recover on his own, but, chick flick rule be damned, he still needed to let his brother know he was there. Reaching out, he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing slightly. They stayed that way for a few lingering moments before Dean let his arm drop to his side and disappeared behind the bathroom door.
His yearning for a hot shower satisfied, he emerged, throwing the wet towel into the corner. He sensed the change in the room immediately and eyes instinctively searched for Sammy. The lump under the blankets in Sam's bed reassured him that his brother was safe. He approached his own bed, pausing between the two, eyes fixed on his brother. An exhausted Sam lay on his side, one arm invisible under the pillow, the other splayed out in front of him. His breathing was slow and even, mouth slightly parted. Dean sat on the edge of his own bed, relishing a few more moments. He knew the coming weeks would be filled with guilt and anger and remorse, as that was the life of a Winchester, but for now, Sam was okay. Sliding under the blankets, he gave one last glance to his brother and reached up for the light switch.
"Thank you, Cas."
Lightning lit up the small room once again, but at least the rain had stopped for now.