It comes on slow. After endless dragging hours and elusive snatches of sleep, the steel-grey sky and first hesitant twittering bird signal the coming dawn. He closes the laptop and knuckles sandpaper eyes before getting up and crossing the room, knees creaking loudly in the quiet motel room.

His brother breathes steadily; he lightly palms his forehead and lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Eyelids flutter and tired eyes look back at him, weary with illness but free of the fevered glaze. His voice grates against a raw throat. "Hey."

He grins. "Glad you're back."