Hello everyone! I promise I did not disappear off the face of the Earth. :) I'm really REALLY sorry for the long delay. I've been having a difficult time of it the last few months. My ability to concentrate has been absolutely non-existent and I can't tell you how many times I've sat down in front of this chapter trying to finish up the last few tweaks and edit it. Hopefully I've gotten some stuff worked out and will be back on track from here.
Huge thanks to my wonderful Beta, L.H. the 2nd, who has kept encouraging me (both in writing and in other aspects of life) and has been so great at reading these chapters and helping me when I'm stuck. :)
Thanks for your patience and hope you enjoy the chapter. :)
Chapter 10
Sam was relieved when Dean didn't continue pressing the idea of staying because Sam didn't feel strong enough to argue about it. In a way, he felt stupid for insisting they leave. It wasn't fair of him to be pushing his brother to get them home. Dean was run down and sick and killing himself to make sure Sam was ok. He'd been doing all the driving and would continue to do so because, at this point, Sam knew he couldn't drive even if he wanted to.
Which he didn't.
He wanted to be in his own bed, the bunker door safely locked up tight. And he wanted to know his brother was safe behind that door with him. He wanted not to be in pain, not to feel like hell, and he kind of wanted to get drunk and forget the last week.
Through half-opened eyes, he watched Dean packing up the few items he'd unpacked. Dean was moving slowly; like he was weighed down by a hundred tons of rock. Or as if he were 100 years old. Sam realized how selfish he was being. It would be better for Dean's sake if they stayed where they were. Another day to rest and recover; he obviously needed it. It was childish to be in such a hurry. The hotel was nice. The bed was comfortable even if it wasn't his own. They were safe and could recover.
Sam opened his mouth to suggest they stay, then changed his mind. He looked more closely at his brother, looking past the fatigue and the worry etched into his features, and saw something else. Beneath everything else, Dean appeared relieved. Concerned and still on high alert, but relieved. Maybe going home was what they both needed even more than another night in a strange place. Dean said it was only a few more hours to the bunker.
They could do it.
At least that's what Sam told himself. Of course, he couldn't even sit up without assistance, so he might be a tad optimistic. Sam shook his head and pushed the blanket aside. He could and he would sit up and get ready to go on his own. He was fully capable.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Sam stopped with one foot on the floor and looked over at his brother. Dean had both hands full, eyes narrowed. He was on the care-taker defensive and Sam knew diffusing his brother when he got like this was a delicate operation.
Sam mentally crossed his fingers. "I'm getting ready to leave?"
"Yeah?" The gear in Dean's hands thumped to the floor and he crossed the room in a couple strides. "Where's the fire? You said you needed some time to wake up."
"And now I'm awake." Sam grabbed Dean's arm to help pull himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
"Well take it easy will you? No one here to impress." Dean steadied him when he swayed. "I'm already impressed, ok? You took out how many werewolves?"
Sam smiled and held up three fingers.
"Exactly. While shot and bleeding and half dead. So you don't have to act so tough. I know you're tough. How about you make this a little easier on both of us and just let me hhelp you?"
And it sounded so good that Sam nodded and sighed heavily, not even a little ashamed when he allowed his brother to support a bit more of his weight.
"Ok."
"Ok?" Dean sounded doubtful.
"Yeah. Ok." Sam waved his fingers in surrender. "I don't feel good. At all. My side is killing me and I don't feel good enough to sleep which is all I want to do so can you help me get to the bathroom then get us the hell out of here?"
Dean laughed outright and it did more to relax Sam than any medication in the world. Sam smiled as his brother gently pulled him to his feet. Dean steadied him and said, "So needy. So whiny. What a baby."
"Remember, this needy, whiny baby saved your ass," Sam huffed, putting a hand out against the doorframe. "Go away."
"Bossy, too." Dean held his hands up and backed away, somehow looking better than he had in days. "Don't take forever in there, I wanna hit the road. You keep dragging your feet and we're never gonna get home."
Sam slammed the door in Dean's face to hide his own grin.
And then he took his own sweet time. Washed his face. Brushed his teeth. Twice. And then he had to sit down on the edge of the tub when his legs refused to hold him up for even another half second.
Well crap.
He was supposed to be letting Dean help him. He'd just agreed on that. And now here he sat. On the edge of the tub. Proving a point. And failing.
There was a knock on the door.
"You need another few minutes to sit in there acting tough?"
"No," Sam called back, "I'm good."
The door opened immediately. Dean looked him up and down and shook his head.
"Shoes?" Sam asked, holding out his toothbrush.
Dean rolled his eyes, but took the toothbrush and left the room. Sam took the opportunity to catch his breath. Half a second later and Dean dropped his boots on the floor in front of him.
"I suppose you expect me to put your shoes on now." Dean was already leaning down to do so.
"You're the one who said I should let you help me."
"This wasn't quite what I meant. It's been like three decades since I taught you how to tie your shoes." Dean pushed himself to his feet, one hand braced to his ribs, the other gripping the edge of the sink. "Look. I gotta fuel Baby up. And get some coffee. We still got some time. How about you sit tight-"
"On the tub?"
"You're the one who sat there. You wanna sit tight on the couch while I go get the gas?"
"No." Sam shook his head, grabbing Dean's arm and dragging himself to his feet. "No. I'm coming with you."
"Fine. You just want some coffee."
Sam didn't bother to comment. He didn't really want coffee. But he also didn't want to be left behind.
"It's not the same thing," Dean said softly, guiding Sam out of the bathroom.
"What?"
"It's not the same thing. I'm not gonna leave you behind again."
"You didn't," Sam said, understanding what Dean was thinking about.
"How did I not?" Dean tightened his grip on Sam's arm. "I walked out of there and-"
"Did what you had to do to save Corbin and Michelle," Sam cut him off.
The pain bled from his voice as Dean said, "I was coming back for you."
"I know you were." And Sam meant it. He was one hundred percent certain of the fact. He caught Dean's eye, saw the acceptance of his statement and felt a little better. He smiled. "You always do."
Dean returned the smile briefly, then they were both concentrating on staying upright and getting out of the hotel room. Every step sent a fresh bolt of pain stabbing through his side and radiating through his entire body. By the time they reached the parking lot, Sam was limping and unable to stand up straight.
"Ok, Sammy, right here. You're here."
Sam braced a hand against the side of the car while Dean pulled the passenger side door open. Sitting down took everything Sam had left and he mostly zoned out as Dean ran back inside to grab their gear.
"Still with me?"
The door slammed and Sam tilted his head to glance at his brother. "Always."
Dean smirked and started the engine. "We gotta stop for gas."
"You said that."
"Yeah. And coffee."
"And coffee," Sam repeated, the very thought of coffee turning his stomach.
"You don't want coffee." Dean leaned over and pressed the pillow to his side. "Hug your pillow."
Sam hugged his pillow.
"Anything sound good?" Dean asked, checking for traffic, then pulling out onto the street.
"No," Sam said, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.
He didn't bother to open them when the car stopped and Dean got out to pump the gas. Moments passed while he drifted in and out of the drug-haze that settled over him whenever he wasn't paying enough attention to fight it off. The opening of the driver's side door alerted him to his brother's reappearance.
"Sam?"
"Hm?"
Dean nudged his shoulder. "Breakfast."
Sam forced his eyes open, ready to turn down whatever Dean was trying to offer him.
"Smoothie." Dean held up a cup.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah." Dean shook the cup in front of his eyes. "Pretty sure it's a smoothie. Protein. Fruit. Calcium and vitamin D. All mashed up into something that calls itself a smoothie. Isn't that what you keep telling me?"
"Uh...that's not quite how I put it, but yeah." Sam took the cup. "Thanks."
"Just take your time. Don't need you throwin' up all over the car."
"I'm gonna say this once." Sam took a sip of the smoothie. "Do not talk about throwing up? At all. Got it?"
"Got it. Radio ok?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"I don't know." Dean flipped the radio on but kept the volume low. "You got a headache?"
"Surprisingly, right now that's about the only thing that doesn't ache."
Dean grimaced.
"You?"
"Head. Ribs. Everything in between." Dean took a sip of coffee, then settled more comfortably in the seat.
Sam studied him, then, belatedly, asked, "You ok to drive?"
There was a moment of hesitation, then Dean nodded. "I can get us there."
But no further, Sam thought, sensing Dean's exhaustion in his tone and the preciseness of his answer.
It was going to be a very, very long trip.
It was going to be a very, very long trip.
Dean took another sip of coffee, watching the first drops of rain splash against the windshield. Sam was slurping on his smoothie, but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. At least he was trying. Setting his coffee cup back in the to-go tray on the seat between them, Dean turned the volume down a bit more on the radio.
The miles passed in silence and Dean found himself counting. The minutes. The miles. Each breath Sam took. It didn't take long before fatigue began pressing down on him. Dean checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.
They'd been on the road for half an hour.
Dean decided not to think about how much further they had to go. He tried to think about the music on the radio or the little towns they were passing through or what he wanted for lunch, but nothing worked. All he could think about was how much his head hurt and how tired he was and how sick his brother was and how lucky he was that Sam was still alive.
"Hey, Dean?"
"Hm?" Dean glanced over at his brother.
Sam had his head resting on the window and was holding the smoothie out with a shaking hand. Dean grabbed it and set it next to his coffee. The cup was almost half empty which was encouraging.
Apparently that was all Sam had wanted because as soon as the cup was out of his hand, he curled up closer to the window and tightened his grip on the pillow as he closed his eyes.
Any other time, Dean would have given him a hard time about it. Of course, any other time, Sam wouldn't have needed him to take the cup from him because he wouldn't be sitting there with a bullet hole in his gut. Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, Dean's mind replayed the awful scene in the cabin for what had to be the thousandth time.
Every single detail stood out with perfect clarity and he had to look back over at his brother again to reassure himself everything was fine. And it was. Everything was fine. The panic faded with the passing mile markers. After about twenty miles, he could breathe a little easier. After fifty, the pressure in his chest faded. By mile one hundred, Sam was sound asleep and Dean felt as relaxed as he figured he was likely to under the circumstances.
The headache settled to a dull throb and his hands were shaking. The coffee wasn't doing his stomach any favors, but he kept drinking it to ward off the fatigue.
He drove for a solid two hours before he had to pull off to get more coffee. Sam slept through the stop and after another ten miles, Dean started thinking about plans for after they got home. He was going to need to run to the store because he was pretty sure there was nothing edible left in the kitchen.
His mental inventory of the refrigerator ground to a halt when Sam gasped. Dean automatically eased up on the gas and looked over at his brother. Sam was pushing himself up from where he'd been slumped against the door. Pale and obviously troubled, Sam shoved the pillow aside and reached for the door handle.
"Sam?"
"Pull over." The words were a pained, yet intense, whisper.
Dean didn't waste time in discussion; he eased the car to a smooth stop on the side of the road.
"You gonna be sick?" Dean asked, turning the car off and preparing to be of assistance.
Sam didn't answer, instead opening his door and struggling to get out. Grabbing the keys, Dean got out of the car, feeling very slow and yet managing to reach the other side of the car before Sam even had a foot on the ground. Dean wanted to stop him from going anywhere, but didn't because he could see the blatant panic in his brother's eyes. Assuming it had been a nightmare to yank Sam from his sleep, Dean understood the fight or flight response.
So Dean hauled him out of the car and allowed Sam to squeeze the heck out of his left shoulder to steady himself. Dean kept his grip gentle, but tried to ease Sam back against the car so he didn't wind up on the ground.
"No. Let me go," Sam said, voice rough as his grip on Dean's shoulder turned into a weak push.
"Where?" Dean took a step back, but didn't release his grip on his brother. "Talk to me, Sam. Where do you need to go? You awake?"
"Yeah." Sam panted, squeezing his eyes closed and tugging at his jacket.
"Yeah what?" Dean prompted. Sam was the color of paper and fighting to pull his jacket off. Dean shook his head, wanting to know what the problem was, but deciding keeping Sam from falling over was more important. So he helped him get out of the jacket. "Sam?"
"Yeah, I'm awake."
"Ok. Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?" The rain had stopped but it was a bit too nippy to be standing around having a side of the road freak-out. "How about you sit down?"
"No."
"No?" Ok, maybe it was a bit too nippy and he was a bit too low on patience for the side of the road freak out. Dean shook his head, trying and failing to meet his brothers eyes as he asked, "Why can't you sit down?"
"Can't...need to…" Sam's voice trailed off as he motioned up the road.
Nightmares and freak-outs were par for the course, but this was getting ridiculous. "You're barely on your feet. Talk to me here."
Sam grabbed at his arm, pulling himself straighter and finally meeting Dean's questioning gaze. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Sam said, "I needed to get out."
"I figured that. You're out. Now can you sit down?"
Instead of answering, Sam attempted to pull away again. Dean allowed the movement, leaving the discarded jacket on top of the car as he maintained his grip on his brother's arm. They made it to the trunk before Sam ran out of steam. Dean propped him against the trunk and some of the tension melted out of his brother. A car sped by, but Dean didn't even glance at it; full concentration on the situation in front of him.
"Better?" he asked after a few seconds passed in silence.
Sam nodded, but he really didn't look like he felt much better. He looked shaky and upset.
Trying again, Dean prompted, "What happened?"
It took a couple uneven breaths, then Sam said, "I got too hot."
"I would've turned the heat-"
"Felt like I was suffocating."
Well, crap. Dean's stomach turned at the thought. From the expression on Sam's face, his stomach was turning a few loops, too. Dean steadied Sam as he settled more heavily on the edge of the trunk. "Nightmare?"
Sam shrugged one shoulder, then grimaced. Pressing both hands against his side, Sam said, "Wasn't really sleeping. More of a memory, I guess."
"Sorry."
"It's ok." Sam's smile faded almost immediately. "Just needed to….get out."
"I know. Doing better?"
Sam nodded.
"Need a little longer?"
Another nod.
Dean checked the time. He was allowing five minutes before he called an end to the impromptu rest stop. All five minutes passed in complete silence. Dean was about to open his mouth when Sam spoke up.
"Where are we?"
"About forty minutes from our front door."
"Ok." It sounded like Sam was steeling himself for what was to come.
"How you holdin' up?"
"I've been better."
"Yes, you have." Dean turned and studied his brother more closely. What he saw wasn't encouraging. It wasn't unexpected, but it wasn't encouraging. They needed to be home and Sam needed to be comfortably drugged to his eyeballs.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
Sam leaned a little more heavily against him and said, "I don't think I can sit up any longer."
"I'll make room in the back."
"Thanks."
"You ok to sit here till I-"
Sam nodded.
Dean took a moment to ensure Sam was indeed going to remain upright before he left him at the back of the car alone. Hurrying to the back door, Dean pulled it open and shoved the few items he'd stashed on the backseat onto the floor. He pushed the laundry bag up against the door for a makeshift pillow. Dean reached over the front seat for the actual pillow, then walked back toward the trunk.
Sam hadn't moved from where he'd left him and he didn't look up as Dean approached.
"You good to go?" Dean asked, pressing the pillow into his brother's arms.
"Need to lay down." Sam tilted toward him.
"I know." Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, "Backseat's all ready for you. Not as luxurious as when you were about a third as huge as you are now, but it's better than nothing."
Sam didn't answer, just allowed himself to be eased off the trunk and guided to the back seat. It wasn't anywhere near as easy as it had been when he'd been about a third as huge as he was now, either, but Dean managed to get his brother settled in the back with his head resting on the laundry bag. He had his knees drawn up and his boots on the seat, but Dean wasn't going to worry about the upholstery right now. Dean tossed Sam's jacket over him, but Sam pushed it away.
"Ok?" Dean asked, patting his brother's leg.
"Ok." Sam sounded half-asleep already.
Dean smiled, then backed out of the car. Closing the door, he took a moment to stretch out his stiff neck and back before heading for the drivers side.
Forty minutes till they were home.
Twenty minutes away from the Bunker, Dean pulled the car over to the side of the road again.
Stomach churning, he put the car in park at the same time he pushed open his door. Sam was going to wonder what was going on, but even as he considered saying something, Dean's stomach did a complete back-flip and he was lucky just to get his door open and not wind up with puke on his boots.
Doubled over, still sitting on the edge of his seat, Dean's eyes watered at the pain ripping through his side. He braced a hand to his ribs as he threw up over and over and regretted not snitching another of the nausea medications from his brother's supply. Breathing shallowly, Dean willed himself not to throw up again, but apparently his willpower was about as done in as he himself was. Hurling all over the rain-slicked pavement, Dean also regretted drinking the coffee. It had been necessary because his focus was almost depleted, but it had been brutal on his unsteady stomach.
He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head hang as he tried to get his breathing under control. The headache he'd been fighting all morning pounded behind his closed eyes and he considered taking an ibuprofen, but the thought itself left him gagging and spitting again. He must have emptied everything out though, because nothing came up this time.
Groaning at the agony in his side and head, Dean sat there, sweating and sick. He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he felt a tap on his shoulder, Dean glanced up. His head swam as he tried to figure out what he was going to tell his brother.
But Sam didn't say anything so Dean just took the bottle of water Sam had tapped against his shoulder. Taking a sip, he rinsed and spit a few times before finally daring to take a drink. Sam didn't say anything and Dean was grateful. It took a few more minutes before he felt steady enough to fully sit up and check the back seat.
Sam was sitting up, arms braced on the back of the seat, head down against his arms. He didn't say anything or move, so Dean didn't bother initiating a conversation. Instead, he pulled his feet back into the car and closed the door. Setting the bottle of water aside, Dean glanced over his shoulder again. Sam was still resting his head on the seat back, apparently intending to stay where he was. Dean started the car and heard Sam sigh heavily.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes to get home.
Dean focused on the road ahead and pressed his foot resolutely to the gas.
It may only have been twenty minutes, but it was the longest twenty minutes of the entire trip.
Twenty minutes that passed in complete silence. Dean was fighting to remain focused past the headache and nausea and Sam had never moved from his position resting against the back of the seat. Huddled there, he looked as miserable as Dean was certain he felt. When he parked the car in the garage at the bunker, Dean knew he wasn't imagining the sigh of relief he heard from behind him.
"Honey, we're home," Dean teased half-heartedly, glancing over his shoulder.
Sam didn't respond or make a move. Dean sighed and forced himself to get out of the car. He wavered where he stood for a moment or two before he felt strong enough to step away from the support the car offered him. Making his way to the rear door, he pulled it open and tugged the bag of laundry out and left it on the ground next to the rear tire. Dean leaned down enough to get a glimpse of his brother.
"Sam?" Dean waited a moment, then reached in and squeezed Sam's shoulder.
This time, Sam moved. A little. It was a start. Dean waited, less out of patience and more out of what he knew was a mutual feeling of pure exhaustion. Eventually, Sam lifted his head and pushed himself toward the door. Dean's offered hand was accepted without a word.
Getting Sam out of the car and on his feet wasn't easy. Neither of them said a word and they were both sweating by the time Sam was standing up and clutching the pillow.
Keeping a hand on Sam's arm, Dean waited till he was steady (more or less) and some color had come back into his ghost-pale skin, then guided him toward the door. They were moving so slowly they might as well have been walking backwards.
"You gonna make it?" Dean asked softly, feeling his brother's pace slow to a complete stop.
At the sound of his voice, Sam lifted his head a pinch and glanced around without a hint of interest. He briefly made eye contact; the first time since their first side of the road pit stop. Dean wondered if he looked as dead on his feet as his brother did. Sam lowered his gaze to the floor and made a conscious effort to move forward again.
Relieved, Dean encouraged, "Ok. Little bit further."
They weren't even halfway to Sam's room before Dean started considering the fact they might need to make a pit stop for Sam to sit down. With his own ribs sharply protesting movement in general and holding up too-tall little brothers in particular, Dean was ready to sit down, too. But he didn't because sitting down wasn't the answer. Lying down high on painkillers was the only answer and if he stopped, so would Sam.
No more encouraging words were offered because he didn't have the breath for it. Sam never stopped moving despite the lack of guidance and they finally walked into his room. Of course, crossing the threshold seemed to be akin to crossing a finish line because once he crossed it, Sam started to slump.
"Nuh uh," Dean said, startled at the sudden additional weight he found himself holding.
Putting his free hand against Sam's chest, Dean held him up as he dragged him the rest of the way to the bed. Whether it was the exertion or fever, Dean realized Sam was overheated and sweat-soaked. Settling him on the edge of the bed as gently as possible wasn't apparently gently enough.
Sam's skin went from pale to ashen and Dean knew he needed to do something fast. Glad the wastebasket was within stretching distance, Dean pulled it over while keeping a hand braced against his brother's chest. Sam had his eyes closed and arms squeezing the stuffing out of the pillow.
"You gonna hurl?"
He shook his head, but the way Sam was breathing unsteadily didn't exactly make Dean feel confident. So he just kept the wastebasket in his hand while he moved his other hand to Sam's shoulder. After a touch and go moment or two, the tension seemed to relax a bit in Sam's posture and his breathing settled. Relieved, Dean took his chance and set the wastebasket back down.
Sam wilted forward a bit more over his pillow and Dean decided it was past time for him to be horizontal. But before he could allow Sam to lay down, he needed to get him medicated. Dean cursed under his breath, knowing he'd have to run back out to the car to bring in the supplies.
"I gotta go get the meds," Dean said, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "You ok to sit there for a minute?"
He didn't receive a response or eye contact, but figured he'd have to take what he could get. Sam was still sitting up and seemed disinclined to move anytime soon, so Dean left him be and headed for the door. Considering he felt like crap, he thought he made pretty good time jogging out to the garage. Lugging their gear back downstairs left him short of breath and in more than a little pain. He had to pause for a moment to catch his breath and steady himself when a wave of dizziness swept over him.
Dumping everything on the table in the library, Dean sorted through it until he found Sam's phone, the thermometer, meds, and the last bottle of water. His pace was slower as he made his way back toward Sam's room. The toll of their trip and everything that had happened before was weighing him down as much as it was weighing his brother down.
Stepping back into Sam's room, he was a little surprised to find Sam had managed to lay down without assistance. He was on his side, pillow held tight and the covers pulled up halfway like that was as far as he could get them before he ran out of steam. Dean set the supplies down on the nightstand and tugged the covers up higher.
Sam glanced at him, bleary eyes tracking sluggishly as he trembled under the blanket.
"Meds then sleep, ok?" Dean said, grabbing another pillow and gently sliding it under Sam's head.
If he didn't know how crummy Sam was feeling, Dean would have been worried by the continued silence. But he didn't really need Sam to talk right now. He just needed him to stay awake long enough to get medicated and hydrated. Dean shook out the pills, relieved to see Sam still had his eyes open. Half-open, anyway.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dean held the thermometer up. "First things first."
Sam took the thermometer without argument and Dean wasn't sure what to make of that. He decided not to comment. They sat in silence until the device beeped. Dean glanced at it and felt a pang of relief temper his worry. 100.2. Not great but not a three alarm fire, either. He didn't bother to report the finding to Sam because his eyes were closed and he didn't seem to care anyway.
Instead, he uncapped the bottle of water and asked, "Ready?"
It was obvious Sam wasn't ready for much of anything, but he forced his eyes open and allowed Dean to handle the water and the pills. Once he was satisfied Sam had taken enough to keep him semi-hydrated for the time being, Dean set the bottle of water aside.
Sam blinked up at him as if awaiting further directions.
"You can get some sleep now, ok? I gotta run to the store for some food."
In answer, Sam shook his head.
"Dude, we're out of food. You need to eat. We need to eat." Dean wasn't sure what the hesitation was, but he knew they didn't have a choice. "I'll be fast. You're just gonna sleep anyway."
Sam closed his eyes and nodded, still obviously not thrilled with the idea.
"Call me if you need me." Dean pressed Sam's phone into his hand and waited till his fingers closed around it.
Sam glanced at him again and Dean wished he could really read his brother's mind. Sometimes he had a good idea what Sam was thinking, but other times he was a complete enigma. Dean wanted to ask what was going on, but clearly Sam wasn't up to talking. He wanted to be on his way, but Dean hesitated to go anywhere yet. So he reached for a pencil and a notepad from the stacks on Sam's desk.
"I'm just gonna make a list first." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Dean wasn't planning to go anywhere until Sam fell asleep. Making a list and boring them both to tears seemed like a good way to lull Sam to sleep.
For a moment, he wasn't sure it was going to work. Sam was obviously fighting hard against the pull of exhaustion. Dean just remained quiet and worked on his list. In the end, exhaustion won out over Sam's stubbornness and Dean smiled when he realized his brother was out for the count.
He waited a moment or two longer just to make sure, then pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door.
Faster he left, faster he'd get back.
Thank you so much for reading! Hope this chapter was worth the long wait! :)