As I said the challenge word is spent.
The cabin was dark and cold but dry and Dean gratefully settled Sam onto the dusty cot covering him in the tattered but clean blankets he found in the trunk at the base of the bed.
"Y'okay...S...Smmy?"
Dean's voice quavered with his own pain, as he checked his brother's bandaged forehead, and he hitched his own broken arm closer to his bruised body as Sam mumbled his reply.
"M'okay, Dean. Just...c...cold...Can you...l...light a fire?"
Dean limped to the fireplace, praising whoever had left kindling in the grate and a matchbook with one unspent match on the hearth.
"Coming up, Sam!"
Thanks for reading.