It's strange how quiet everything is now that Sam is gone. Even a month later, everything's quiet. Too quiet.

Yeah, most of that is probably me and Dean not talking as much. Dean more than me. And the way Dean is usually all talk and all action, especially with his brother, anything less than his usual is a lot of nothing.

We're at a motel, me and Dean. Idaho. We had a salt and burn in Shells Lick and all Dean had to say about that name was 'hunh'.

Now we're at a motel in Grangeville. I'm out at the car, checking belts and oil and air pressure. Dean's sleeping off the concussion the ghost obliged him with just before I burned its bones to ashes.

I keep expecting Sam to be there. To be here, with us. I look at our motel room and expect him to be there, behind the closed door, at the table, sitting there with a book or his computer or a gun that needs cleaning.

But he's not there. Not now, not any time soon, maybe not ever.

And that's on me.

So I'm giving the car a once over before I go back to the room to give Dean another once over before I go get us some dinner.

It's been a long while since I've had to get us dinner on my own. Usually we either all go to eat somewhere or the boys go to get it, either together or Sam by himself because it's the only chance he ever gets to drive the car.

But today, it's me.

I wonder if Sam'll have enough to eat at school. If they'll have enough food to keep up with him.

I wonder if him eating without us feels as strange to him as us eating without him feels.

I slam the hood and go to the back of the car to put the tools away. I only just shut the trunk when the door to the room opens and it's been a month and I expect to see Sam there.

But it's Dean. He's pale, he's unsteady, he's got a hand pressed to the back of his head, he's squinting and looking around like the big, black car parked right in front of him might not be the one he's looking for.

"What're you doing out of bed?"

"I – um – dinner? It's almost six. You going for dinner? I can go with you."

"You can go right back to bed. I'll bring dinner back to you."

"No, I'm good. I'm up. I'm dressed. Whole nine."

"Whole nine, hunh?" I have to ask him after I look him up and down. "Whole nine includes socks, you know. You seem to be missing those."

He looks down to his bare feet, but he's hardly tipped his head when he's reaching out for the door or the wall or anything to keep from tipping himself right over.

"Hey, c'mere, c'mon, I've got you." I catch him in time to keep him from eating pavement and turn him towards the room. "Back to bed, Tiger. Tomorrow you'll be fit to be vertical. Maybe."

He doesn't argue until I get him to the bed and he sits down when he should be lying down.

"Dean – head on the pillow."

"You think he eats enough?" he asks and I give him a squinty look to give myself time to answer without sounding as wrecked I feel.

"Sam? 'Course he does. C'mon, lay down."

"It's quiet without him."

"Yeah, it is."

"You think he's OK out there without us?"

I think, no, of course not, how could he be? but for Dean's sake I say, "Sam's tough, he'll be fine." Then, because maybe it needs to be said, I add, "He took me on, didn't he?"

Dean hmpfs like he wants to laugh but it hurts and he presses his hand against his head again and squints. "Can we check on him?" he asks.

"He's not gonna want to see me."

"I don't care. I want to see him. We can check on him without him seeing us, can't we?" Then he lays down. "I'm not really hungry. Can we just order something in?"

"Sure thing."

I pull the blanket over him, phone in an order for pizza and wings, then check my maps for the fastest route to Palo Alto.