A/N: This kinda just turned into a reflection on the episode, but I'm still happy with it. Just a little one shot. Reviews are always appreciated.
Enjoy!
The smell of burning flesh still polluted Sam's nostrils once the door was closed behind them. They had watched Jack burn until he was nothing but ash, and then extinguished his remains, as if he was an unchecked campfire.
While Jack was consumed by fire, Sam's eyes had flickered relentlessly to the streak of blood that used to belong to Travis, and then to the drizzle of gasoline that was scattered on the carpet. Sam could imagine how the scene had gone down, and hated how familiar it was. Although it seemed like an eternity, it was barely a year ago that Dean had dripped blood to grab the attention of a vamp, and Sam was sure that Travis had done the same thing, taunting Jack until he broke.
Sam's thoughts were interrupted by Dean promptly tripping on the curb.
"Dude, concussed much?" taunted Sam as Dean attempted to regain his balance, but ended up sitting on his ass on the side of the road. He stared at the cut on Dean's head that he had been too distracted by before to care much about. Suddenly he remembered the large puddle of scarlet on the coffee table. Crap. "You probably shouldn't be driving."
"Like he didn't lock you in a closet while you were out," replied Dean, getting to his feet rather clumsily.
They made their way to the car, Dean stubbornly heading towards the drivers' side.
Sam was about to step into the car when he changed his mind. "Dean, how many fingers am I holding up?" He switched his balance to hold eight fingers high in the air, and started swaying until he needed to use his hands to support himself against the impala's frame.
"Yeah, that's what I thought Sammy," Dean opened the door and sat down behind the wheel as Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And you're not holding any fingers right now."