Darkness rushing by outside.
Hot forehead leaning against the cool passenger window.
Jim Morrison singing about Mr. Mojo rising.
Sam opens his eyes and raises his head just enough to see a road sign flash by. His head is pounding too hard for him to focus on what it says.
"Where are we?" His voice sounds thick, rough. God, it hurts to talk.
Dean never takes his eyes from the road, but his voice is reassuring. "About ten minutes from Bobby's place. Go back to sleep, princess."
Sam nods and closes his eyes again, dreaming of a soft bed and clean sheets, and the only real home he's ever had.