Sam was sitting cross-legged on the hood of the Impala, face turned up into the pouring rain.
Soaked to the skin, he didn't move. Not when his brother sat down beside him; not when Dean checked him over for a non-existent fever.
After a couple of minutes, Dean said quietly, "Pretty wet out here. You ready to come inside yet?"
Sam didn't answer. His eyes were closed, drops of water clinging to his eyelashes. A half-smile played around his lips; his breathing was deep and even, meditative.
Dean flipped up the collar of his jacket and settled in to wait.