So I'm very proud of myself for getting this posted today as I planned...I got asked to work an extra shift tonight so I'm literally posting as I'm about to run out the door. Four shifts in a row sucks and I probably won't get the next chapter up till next week, but at least I got this one up! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews from the last chapter...I promise I'll reply to all of them as soon as I can!

Also, just to let you know so you can begin to prepare yourselves...this story will end with chapter 40. :( I am outlined out and ready to put it all together so just wanted you to know. I'm so blown away by all your kind reviews and nice words about how much you've been enjoying this story. :D You guys are awesome and were it not for your encouragement and interest, this story would never have happened. :)

Without further ado...here ya go. (ps you may still want those tissues handy. I'll wait right here while you grab them. Ok? Set? :)

0620 AM January 4th, 2006
Pender Home

Dean woke up and stared at the ceiling. He was discovering that he didn't much like ceilings these days so he rolled over onto his side. And his already dark mood went a few shades darker. Sam always had been an early riser, but these days...well, these days it wasn't so much that he was an early riser as it was that he was always up. Dean knew Sam hadn't slept. Probably not at all. Because he was dressed and the weapons were packed and their bags were sitting next to the door. Sam's bed was neatly made with all the Marine precision that Dad had always tried to drill into him.

Sighing, Dean pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of his bed, staring across the three foot gap between the beds. A gap that sometimes seemed like an ever-widening chasm between them. Sam looked up from his contemplation of the carpet and Dean had to look away. The raw pain he could see reminded him, as if he could have forgotten, that his brother was drowning alive every single day.

He glanced up again when Sam moved. Pulling on his jacket, Sam wordlessly grabbed his gear and the weapons bag. Then he walked out of the room.

Dean lowered his head to his hands long enough to take one steadying breath.

And then he was forcing himself to his feet and dragging himself to the bathroom for a shower. They needed to get back on the road. Whatever good their stay with the Penders might have done for Sam, it was going to completely unravel if they didn't get back on the road; if they didn't find Dad. Soon. So he stood there in the shower for as long as he dared but not nearly as long as he wanted to. The water was hot. Almost scalding and he didn't care.

Because it was hot.

And the water pressure was incredible.

And the bathroom was clean.

And he wanted this. Wanted to have what other people got. What the Penders had. What he and Sam should have had. What they were never going to have. The water was hot and helped him pretend he wasn't standing there fighting back tears.

It didn't take him long to dress and pack and he walked out into the dining room, smelling coffee and seeing Arla and Tommy at the table. Dean didn't see Sam, though. And it actually pissed him off more than a little that Sam could be so self-centered that he'd just walk out the door without saying a word to…

"He said his goodbye last night, Dean." Arla's soft voice broke into his thoughts and he wasn't sure he liked how easily she could read his facial expressions. She went on, "This hasn't been easy for him."

Dean nodded and sat down at the table. He accepted the plate and cup of coffee and realized he didn't know what to say. So he just ate his breakfast in complete silence. And somehow it was ok. It was comfortable.

As he finished, Arla refilled his coffee and squeezed his hand briefly as she said, "So, honey, where are you boys off to?"

And he had to swallow past the lump in his throat thinking how great it would be if they had a Mom to ask them that. If he was driving Sam back to college and not to who knew where to kill who knew what. If they had a normal life. He let the coffee burn through him to clear away the lump then said, "North. We don't have a specific place in mind yet."

Arla nodded and Dean knew that she wanted to beg him to stay because if they didn't have a place to go, why shouldn't they stay? But she didn't. She just smiled, albeit a bit teary, and said, "Don't drive too long. You both still need your rest. Ok? Just take it easy for awhile yet."

"We will." Dean nodded.

Tommy finally spoke up, "I aired up your tires. And you're good on fluids."

"Thanks."

And then there wasn't really anything else to say. Because he'd already thanked them as best he knew how. And there was no way he could ever repay them. Just as the silence started growing a bit long, Arla patted his arm and put on her brightest smile.

"Well, I'll just finish packing up the goodies." She rose and headed into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Don't you dare let any of it go to waste, Dean Winchester. You two boys need to eat."

Dean forced a grin and said, "If there's a pie in there, I guarantee it won't go to waste."

"Oh there's a pie." Tommy said, winking, "I didn't even touch it. Just made her promise to make me one tomorrow."

"Good plan." Dean smiled, standing up. His smile faded and he stared in disbelief as Arla rounded the corner with a paper grocery bag filled with home baked goodies. "Wow."

Arla laughed and said, "I got a bit enthusiastic."

"Well, I'm not gonna lie," Dean said, already peeking inside the bag, "I'm kinda glad you did."

And then it was about to get awkward again, but before it could, Tommy rose and shook his hand firmly and said, "Safe travels. Let us know if you need anything. We'll be here."

Dean nodded, unable to speak. He could see the emotion in the older man's eyes and he hadn't really expected that. Tommy turned away quickly, and headed to the kitchen with his coffee cup. And then Arla was giving him a hug and Dean found himself hugging her back. She pulled away quickly and said, "Take care of yourself. Eat healthy food. Take your medications. Call me if either of you start feeling worse again. Be careful."

And all he could do was nod again because her eyes were filled with tears as she squeezed his hand and hurried away from him. Dean swallowed hard, took one last look around their comfortable, beautiful home, grabbed the food and bolted for the door where he'd left his duffle bag sitting.

Somehow he managed to get all of it out the door without dropping anything. Heading to the car, he really wasn't surprised to see Sam sitting in the front seat, eyes on the map in his hands. Dean tossed his bag in the trunk and settled the food in the backseat. For a moment, he stood at the door, staring back at the house. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and slid inside. Sam didn't look up from the map he seemed to be intently studying.

Except he wasn't.

Dean took only a quick glance, but it was enough to tell him that Sam was staring through the map. The only reason he had the map out was to give him something to point his eyes at. Starting the engine, Dean didn't bother to ask for directions. Because the only direction he needed was out of town and he already knew that.

So he drove.

"I just want to help them. To change things for them."

Tommy blew out a slow breath, running his hands through Arla's hair as she cried into his shoulder. As soon as they'd heard the big engine start up, she'd been hurrying to the front door and Tommy wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to try to stop the boys or if it was just because she didn't want them to drive away without someone seeing them off. So they were standing on the front porch, staring at the empty driveway.

"You did everything you could." Tommy said, knowing his words weren't enough, just as everything they'd done wouldn't be enough to keep the Winchesters safe for long.

"They're just kids…" Arla sniffed, pushing back a bit and looking up at him.

"I know."

"Who does that to their kids?" She said, voice suddenly harsh. "Who would put their kids into that kind of...of danger? Why in the world?"

Tommy stared at the horizon and wished he had a good answer. Because he'd wondered the same thing. He sighed and said, "Arla, we don't know the whole story. I don't think...I doubt it was a conscious choice. I just have this feeling...there must have been no other option."

Arla nodded, but she didn't exactly look any happier. She took another quick look at the driveway, then said, "We're never going to see them again, are we?"

"Probably not." Tommy said honestly. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her into the house. "But there's always a chance. There's always hope."

"I know." Arla said, "I just want them to know that."

5:10 PM

Dean used the inhaler before he left the restroom. It irked him to have to use the stupid thing in the first place and there was no way he wanted Sam to know about it. He'd had enough of a worrying little brother to last him a lifetime. He looked down at the note that had been taped to the inhaler when he'd found it in his jacket pocket.

Use me if you need me! Don't be stubborn, Dean Winchester.

With a smiley face.

Rolling his eyes, he slid the inhaler back into his pocket. He stared at himself briefly in the mirror and wished he hadn't. He'd been feeling worse as the day had gone on and he certainly looked it now. At least the inhaler had been helping with the breathing. This was only their second stop since they'd left the Penders earlier that morning. And after he'd used it at their first stop, it had tided him over until now so he hoped that using it now would hold him until they decided to stop for the night.

Honestly, Dean was ready to stop any time. He felt shaky and his throat and chest were throbbing. It had been a long day. And a silent day. They hadn't said one word to each other. Not a single word. He'd just driven and coughed endlessly and Sam had just stared at that damned map for hours on end; like it was telling him something profound. Sighing, Dean wasn't sure what to do now except keep driving. Tired as he was, driving was good. Driving was safe. It was a good way to put some miles between them and everything that had happened in Arizona.

Mind made up to drive at least until it got dark, Dean headed back out to the car. Sam had finished filling the gas tank and was already back in the passenger seat. Dean gritted his teeth, but the map was gone and Sam was staring out the front window, looking far more exhausted than he had any business to look considering he'd done nothing all day.

Dean slid back behind the wheel and almost jerked in surprise when Sam broke the seemingly impenetrable silence.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean turned to look at his brother.

Sam actually met his eyes and said, "I've got a headache."

And if he was bringing it up after spending the entire day in silence, Dean knew it had to be bad. So he started the engine, mind made up, and said softly, "Time to stop."

Sam opened his mouth, probably to contradict the notion of stopping, but Dean cut him off before he could speak. He said, "It's ok, man. I need a break too. There's a motel up ahead."

"Ok."

"You take something for it?"

"Tylenol. Earlier."

"Didn't do any good?" Dean asked, knowing the answer was no. He said, "Time for the good stuff."

Sam nodded, and the silence returned.

And it continued as they arrived at the motel and unpacked the car. Dean brought in the bag of food Arla had sent. They'd grabbed preheated burgers at the first gas station and had barely touched them. Even now, he wasn't exactly hungry, but figured maybe they should try to eat something. Setting the food on the rickety table and his bag on one of the beds, Dean saw that Sam had stopped a couple feet past the door, just standing there staring at the dismal room.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

"I don't even wanna know what that stain is from." Dean muttered, staring at the far wall.

Sam snorted but didn't comment. Waiting for what he wasn't sure, Dean just stood there. He knew what Sam was going through. A return to reality. And Dean didn't like it any more than his brother did. The room was ugly. It was filthy and smelled strange. A sharp contrast to the Penders clean home. He really, really didn't want to even go near the bathroom. After a few long seconds, Sam finally dropped his backpack on the second bed, but didn't make any other moves. Dean wasn't sure what to say or do next. The silence all day had been one thing with an open road ahead and the radio turned on; albeit with the volume down low for Sam's sake. Now, in a cramped motel room, it was already feeling oppressive.

Sam was only a foot away from him and Dean felt like they were further apart than they had been while Sam had been at Stanford. He didn't know what to do to fix it.

When Sam pressed his hands to the sides of his head, though, Dean realized he did know what to do about that. So he said, "Sit down. I'll go get some ice."

Sam sort of took a step forward, but it wasn't coordinated or very steady so Dean took his elbow and awkwardly guided him to the bed. Sitting down heavily, Sam lowered his hands, eyes half-opened and pained as he looked up at Dean. He asked, "Where're we?"

"I don't know, Sam." Dean sighed, turning to head for the door. "Does it even matter?"

"No."

"Alrighty then."

"Should call them."

Dean stopped abruptly. He'd only made it half a step toward the door and the pent up emotion of the day bubbled up like a burst water main. Spinning around, he snapped, "Call them? Why? We gonna check up with them every day from now on? Let 'em know we're home safe at night?"

"Dean…"

"What?" Dean tried to get a grip on his suddenly volatile mood as he waited for Sam's reply. But Sam didn't say anything else, he just leaned backwards onto the bed and put an arm over his eyes. Dean pressed a fist to his forehead, wishing he could punch the tension away. He gripped the door frame and lowered his voice, "I'll be right back."

Walking back out into the afternoon sunshine, Dean was grateful that no one was around. Because he didn't feel like he could muster a polite smile if he had to. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he started toward the ice machine. Of course, once his hands went into his pocket, he felt his cell phone. And he pulled it out, checking for what must have been the ten-thousandth time that day to see if Dad had left him a message or a text.

Nothing.

As usual. He punched the plastic front of the vending machine and the sting in his hand really didn't do anything to make the day better. Staring back down at the phone, he didn't even give it any conscious thought before he was dialing the phone number he had memorized five minutes after Tommy had given it to him. It rang twice and that was almost enough for him to hang up and wish he'd never dialed, but then the someone picked up.

"Hello?"

And his voice froze in his throat.

Arla asked, "Is anyone there? Hello?"

"Hi." Dean managed to force out.

"Dean?" Arla sounded flabbergasted, and then immediately worried, "Dean? Is that you? Is everything alright?"

He needed to get it in gear before the poor woman thought the worst and called out the National Guard on them. Dean said, "Yeah, it's me. We're fine."

"Oh. Oh that's good." He could hear the sigh of relief. She regrouped and asked, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you boys doing? Really?"

"Ok. Tired. We're stopping for the night."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm thinking you've realized by now that your endurance is going to be a bit shorter than usual."

Dean decided not to tell her exactly how much he realized that. He said, "Yeah, we...we'll see how tomorrow goes. I'm sure we'll be fine by then. Just called it an early night…"

"Have you been taking your medications?"

"Yes. On schedule. Just like the doctor ordered." Dean half-smiled and tried to sound as light-hearted as he could for her sake. "So, uh, just wanted to let ya know we're doing fine."

"Thank you. Really. I know you didn't have to take the time to call, but I appreciate it, Dean."

He nodded to himself, then knew he need to get off the phone. Dean tried to find a way to word it so it didn't sound rude, but before he could speak up, Arla broke the silence.

"You won't be calling again."

"Uh. Well, probably...probably not." Dean said, knowing there was no point in lying. The chance of them actually staying in contact with the Penders was slim; much as he might like to.

Arla said, "I know. I know. It's ok. Thank you for calling tonight. Call anytime if you need anything. Take care of yourselves."

"We will." Dean said, his throat closing up again and it must have been allergies because his eyes were watering too. Swiping a hand over his face, he said, "Thanks again, Arla."

"You're welcome."

"Bye." It wasn't the most eloquent thing to say, but he was running out of options.

"Good bye, Dean."

The phone went dead and Dean shoved it in his pocket. Clenching his fist again, he avoided punching the vending machine a second time only because a car had just pulled up to the office and a young couple was getting out, laughing and carefree. He turned to the ice machine and filled up the always too tiny plastic bag from the motel room. The ice was a bit rusty colored and he wasn't sure he wanted to drink the water in the room, but ice was ice when you had a headache. So he scrubbed at his eyes, turned around headed back to the room.

He'd only been gone a few minutes, but Sam was already sound asleep when he returned. Dean sagged against the door frame, trying to decide what to do next. He hated to disturb his brother, but falling asleep wasn't really his problem these days anyway; it was staying asleep that kept tripping him up. And Dean had fallen asleep in that position before, feet still on the floor, and he didn't really want Sam to wake up stiff and sore on top of everything else.

"Awesome big brother." Dean muttered to himself, some of his frustration and anger fading away as he locked the door, then crossed the room. Intending to kick Sam's foot to rouse him as he headed past toward the bathroom, Dean found himself rerouted when he tripped over a rather significant wrinkle in the musty, ragged carpet.

Cursing as he tried to regain his equilibrium, Dean fell against the bed, winding up on his knees next to it. The bag of ice? Well, that ended up all over Sam. The entire experience had, understandably, surprised Dean and he looked up in a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and disbelief. He held his breath as Sam gasped in shock and sat straight up, spraying ice cubes everywhere.

And then Dean just broke down laughing.

He couldn't help it. The look on Sam's face was priceless. Still more asleep than awake, he was breathing heavily, looking around with squinty, confused eyes. Dean felt a pang of guilt knowing that Sam had a headache and that he'd just been awakened in one of the possibly very worst ways ever. Wasn't like he'd meant to do it.

"Dean?" Sam was looking at him, eyes wide, face pale. "What...what happened?"

"You don't wanna know." Dean stifled another laugh and forced himself off the nasty carpet and back to his feet.

He watched Sam frown at him for another long moment, before lifting his hand and staring at the ice cube he caught as it slid of the collar of his jacket. Dean waited, but Sam just let the ice cube fall to the carpet, his frown deepening as if he simply could not wrap his head around why there were ice cubes on his bed. When he looked up, Dean wasn't laughing any more. Because Sam was looking up at him like he had as a kid; like he hadn't really done since he'd gone off to college and grown up overnight.

Like he was waiting for Dean to unravel the mysteries of the world again. Like he was too lost and confused and hurt to make sense of any of it. But unlike when they'd been kids, today Dean didn't have any answers for either of them.

Sighing, Dean said, "You need to eat something."

"Not hungry." Sam answered immediately and he started to list backwards again, but Dean caught his arm.

"Come on." Dean said, pulling then pushing until he got Sam sitting at the table. He quickly turned around and shook the bedspread until the rest of the ice cubes were melting into the already stained carpet. Turning around, he was gratified to see that Sam was poking his nose into the bag of food on the table. He slumped into the other chair and asked, "What've we got?"

Pulling out a box, Sam opened it up to reveal some cinnamon muffins. Dean grabbed one immediately and said, "I called her."

Sam slanted a quick glance his way, then nodded and went back to digging in the bag. Dean watched patiently as Sam unpacked everything, opening the containers and studying the contents with an intensity that usually was reserved for research on a case. Which reminded Dean, they were going to need to start looking for work again. Fastest way he could think of to find Dad was to stay close to where the action was. He finished his muffin and was selecting another before Sam had picked anything.

Dean was about to lose his patience and tell Sam to just hurry up and eat something when Sam finally took a bite of one of one of the biscuits that Arla had made on New Year's Eve. That was also when he noticed something stuck to the back of one of the boxes. Frowning, Dean reached forward and grabbed the little white envelope. He caught Sam's questioning gaze and shrugged, opening the envelope.

It was a gas card.

He raised an eyebrow and lifted the card so Sam could see it. Sam shook his head and Dean nodded, pocketing the card. He still couldn't believe everything the Penders had done for them; were still doing for them. Even if they'd both said that clearing the town of Gethen and Alexander had been payment enough, Dean still felt guilty about the debts he could never hope to repay.

"Dean."

He looked up from his contemplation of the table top and saw that Sam was holding up another card. This time a prepaid credit card. There was a note on the back of that one that said simply Merry Christmas. Sam slid it across the table and said, "Christmas."

"They shouldn't have done all of…"

"They wanted to." Sam said softly. He smiled and asked, "Isn't that kind of the point of Christmas?"

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically and said, "Alright Tiny Tim, aren't you full of Yuletide cheer all of a sudden? Now I'm just waiting for the spirit of Christmas past, present and future to show up."

"I think we already met the Christmas spirit, Dean."

"You are so cheesy, you know that?" Dean said, even if he couldn't hold back his own smile this time.

Sam smiled briefly, then lowered his eyes to the table top as he asked softly, "You think she's ok?"

"The Christmas Spirit?" Dean teased, "Do I think Raquel's ok? How should I know? I don't usually poll the freaks we gank and ask them if they're satisfied with the afterlife."

And then he immediately regretted his words and, oh why not regret everything he'd ever said or done in the first place? Because from the shattered look on Sam's face, Dean knew that, while he'd ostensibly been asking about Raquel, he'd really been asking about Jessica. Dean opened his mouth to try to dig himself out of that six-foot deep hole he'd just jumped into, but Sam was already moving, grabbing the piles of medications that he'd carefully tucked into his backpack.

"You should take the cough syrup. You've been coughing all day and if you're going to sleep…"

"Sam…"

"I'll go get a couple bottles of water. I'm not drinking the water here." Sam said, then was out the door before Dean could do anything but bang his head on the table and wish he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

By the time Sam returned, having taken much longer than it probably should have taken to grab a couple bottles of water, Dean had the medications lined up in a row. Sam handed him a bottle, scooped up the medications, pointedly ignoring the stronger painkiller, and then had flopped back down on his bed before Dean had time to say a single word. So he just kept his mouth shut this time and took his own pills; and he just as pointedly ignored the cough syrup. Because it was one thing to take it when he knew they were in a safe environment and it was another thing entirely to be that drugged up when it was just them again. He wasn't taking any chances so he just pushed himself to his feet and tried to decide if Sam would mind if he grabbed the laptop and started looking for a case.

Once he was on his feet, though, his plans changed. He was exhausted. Dean stumbled to the other bed, not caring one bit that it wasn't even dark outside. Not bothering to get undressed, he took the time to yank off his boots, then slipped under the covers. Pressing a hand to his forehead, Dean forced himself to stare at the off-white ceiling.

Because there was nothing to be afraid of from the ceiling.

Mom wasn't up there. Jessica wasn't up there. Nothing was up there except cigarette smoke stains and water spots. Even so, his stomach twisted and he fought the urge to roll over and bury his face in the pillow. Instead he closed his eyes and started counting.

Counting the seconds, the minutes, maybe if they were lucky, the hours until Sam woke up screaming.

Dean fell asleep before he'd made it to seventy-five seconds.

9:14 PM

He came awake to the sounds of a nightmare. Gasping, he sat up and blinked in the darkness of the room, disoriented and confused. Nothing was right. The windows were in the wrong place and so was the nightstand. The sheets were scratchy and he was hot and sweaty and wondering why he felt like utter crap. But then he heard another muffled shout of distress and he sat up. The pain slammed into his head like a thunder clap but Sam ignored it and shoved himself off the bed. Because Dean was coughing and struggling and sounding like he was about to suffocate.

"Dean!" Sam was uncoordinated as he stumbled over to the other bed, finding every movement oddly difficult; he managed to get to his brother's side without face planting on the carpet. Dean was twisted in the blankets and coughing in between moaning and calling out for someone Sam had never in his entire life heard him calling out for:

"Mom!"

Heart in his throat, Sam shook Dean's shoulders, calling his name again. Dean's eyes flew open and Sam felt like he was staring into a mirror because the absolute horror and fear in Dean's eyes as he stared up at the ceiling was exactly what he felt every time he woke up from his own nightmares. He tugged Dean until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over and struggling for breath, but awake at least.

"Dean? You gotta take a slow breath, man." Sam said, trying to sound calmer than he actually felt. Not easy since his heart was pounding triple time in his ears; a nice compliment to the drum section that was bashing away behind his eyes. "Dean?"

"Mmm." Dean grunted, making a noticeable effort to calm down.

Sam could feel his brother trembling under the hand he still had on his shoulder. He couldn't honestly remember ever noticing Dean having a nightmare. It freaked him out maybe even more than the awful sounds of his brother's still ragged breathing. Pressing a hand to his eyes, Sam asked softly, "You ok?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine."

He knew better than to push it, better than to ask about the nightmare. Wasn't like he wanted to talk about his own nightmares. So he just said, "I told you to take the cough syrup."

"Shut up, Sam."

And because there'd been just a hint of attempted humor in Dean's tone, Sam snorted and felt a little less tied up in knots. He pushed himself to his feet and swayed for a few seconds before the room stopped spinning in three different directions and settled down to a more manageable one. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised to see that it was just after nine. Somehow it was depressing. It felt like it should have been nearly morning instead of only a few hours since they'd gone to bed. He grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom.

"What're you doin'?" Dean muffled a cough and glared up at him, eyes red-rimmed in a stark white face.

"Gonna take a shower."

"Hmph." Dean grunted, rolling back against the pillows.

Sam would have laughed except for the fact that he was beginning to feel the effects of the painkiller he'd taken after Dean had fallen asleep earlier. Lying awake for almost two hours with a pounding headache had finally convinced him to try the stronger medication that Arla had sent along. It had earned him maybe an hour of solid rest. But now it made him feel dizzy and like the colors of the paisley wallpaper were swimming all around him like some kind of terrifying 3D movie. Turning the light on in the bathroom was nearly his undoing as it sent a solar flare of pain straight to the back of his skull.

Groggy, in pain, worried about his brother and still dizzy, Sam discovered trying to brush his teeth and take a shower had become some of the most complex tasks known to mankind. He lost track of how many times he went in and out of the bathroom trying to get everything he needed. Dean seemed better after a couple trips, although mildly irritated. At least he'd found the toothpaste. Spitting into the sink and feeling a bit wary of even using the water to rinse his mouth out, Sam held onto the counter and straightened up. Taking a careful step forward, he pulled the shower curtain back, hoping that if he turned the water on now he might actually have hot water in a few minutes.

And that was when he lost it.

Dean listened to the sink running and wished Sam had closed the bathroom door so the light wouldn't be shining in his eyes right now. But he'd had to go in and out three times already searching for whatever he seemed to think he needed. The last time, he'd had his toothbrush in his mouth, but had been searching for the toothpaste. Dean thought him rather ungrateful when he turned up his nose at the crumpled, somewhat sticky tube Dean had finally found for him in the bottom of his own bag. But Sam had left the room again and that was good because Dean was still trying to pull himself back together.

When he'd fallen asleep, he'd fully expected to wake up to a nightmare; he just hadn't expected that it would have been his own. He pushed himself into a sitting position yet again; he'd already decided to grab the inhaler as soon as Sam finally got into the shower. He wanted to go back to sleep, but now he was worried that neither of them were going to sleep. Bad enough Sam was seeing someone burning over his head every time he closed his eyes. Now he'd had the same nightmare. Shaking his head, he heard the shower curtain being pulled back and hoped Sam would just hurry up.

And then he was sitting straight up and frowning. Because the shower wasn't running and the only thing he could hear from the bathroom sounded suspiciously like crying. And that was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. He was overtired and stressed. He'd already put his foot in his mouth once this evening; he doubted he'd gotten any more sensitive and eloquent in four hours. But when the sounds didn't stop, but only intensified, Dean couldn't take it any more.

He stood up and dragged himself to the bathroom. If Sam was having the nervous breakdown he'd been studiously putting off for the past two months, Dean really didn't think it was fair he had to have it in a grungy motel bathroom. Squinting slightly at the bright light, he caught sight of Sam standing hunched against the wall, staring ahead at the shower, his shoulders hitching every few seconds.

"Sam?" Dean started tentatively, his breath catching in his raw throat. He coughed a few times, trying to come up with something supportive to say. But then he was less concerned and more confused. Sam turned around and Dean realized he wasn't crying.

He was laughing.

Dean frowned. Sam just shook his head, laughing, maybe a bit hysterically, but laughing nonetheless. Ok, so maybe he'd actually had that nervous breakdown and gone completely batshit crazy. Dean couldn't exactly blame him if he had, but it was a little disconcerting. Still trying to find something to say, Dean followed Sam's pointing finger as he indicated the shower.

"Dean…" Sam seemed to be having as much trouble finding anything coherent to say as Dean was. He laughed again, hand pressed to his head and a grimace of pain crossing his face. He finally mumbled, "Ow."

"What the heck?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what his brother was pointing at.

"Look...just look…" Sam said, putting his back against the wall as he groaned, then started laughing again; his face twisting in pain. "Oh, man, just...look."

Dean looked. And maybe it was because he was exhausted or still feeling like crap, but it took him about thirty seconds before he finally saw it. His eyes widened and he shook his head, grabbing Sam's arm and tugging him backwards. He said, "Nope. Nope, we are leaving. Right now. I've had enough of haunted motels."

Sam didn't stop laughing even as Dean pulled him out of the bathroom. He said breathlessly, "It's just some dumb kid's idea of a joke."

"Hilarious." Dean muttered, not at all amused. Any other day he might have found some humor in the word REDRUM traced through the scum of the shower wall. Today, though, after just dealing with a haunted motel, living The Shining was not high on his list. Besides that, the disgust he felt at seeing that filthy shower was enough to make his skin crawl.

He didn't want to think about how long it might have been since anyone had washed the bedding.

"Pack your crap, Sam." Dean said, hurrying for his own gear. "We're leaving."

"Dean."

"Dude. We're not staying."

"Yes we are."

"No we are not." Dean was glad they really hadn't unpacked anything but the food. He piled it back in the bag and said, "I can't believe you thought that was funny…"

Sam snickered again and said, "If you'd have taken the cough syrup you'd probably think it was funny too."

Dean sighed, let his forehead hit the closest wall.

Because it all made awful sense now. Sam had taken the good stuff. No wonder he was finding everything so freaking hysterical. He was drugged up to his eyeballs again.

Turning around, Dean saw Sam already crawling under the covers. Of his bed. Dean groaned and asked, "Sam? What are you doing?"

"It's warmer."

"That's because you were sleeping on top of your blankets, instead of under them, dumbass. Get out of my bed." Which of course was the wrong thing to say because Sam just started laughing again.

Dean threw his hands up in the air and went for his jacket. He used the inhaler, confident now that Sam was so stoned he wouldn't remember his own name in five more minutes. Taking a few deep breaths, Dean stared around the room. He did not want to spend another minute in the room. Let alone the night. But Sam was sleeping, face mashed into the pillow as he sprawled across Dean's bed.

Sighing in defeat, Dean took the cough syrup and pulled back the covers on Sam's bed. He glared at his brother in the dark. Because the bed was cold and his had been warm. And there was no way he was going to be able to fall asleep now. No way. None whatsoever...

He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

Well, there was some humor to balance the angst right? ;) Hope you enjoyed! Two more chapters to come...