He peers over at his brother's sleeping form and takes a sigh of relief. Could've been worse, way worse. Since leaving the abandoned factory his brother hadn't fully woken up, not until right now. The past hours had instead been filled with eerie Latin mumblings and weak pulls at the ironed cuffs. If he looks closely he could see how irritated Sam's wrists are becoming. Lucky enough for them there's been barely any traffic and thanks to his excellent driving skills they made what was originally a 36-hour drive into about a 13 hour one.

Though a wonderful feat, he could feel his body's growing need for sleep. Stopping for coffee is out of the question unfortunately since 1) Sam might wake up and not be himself and 2) his withdrawals may get too much to handle.

After witnessing his baby brother's oddly calm demeanor, he's fairly certain if the time does come it would be the first option. He shifts in his seat to make himself and his injuries more comfortable and continues to push down on the accelerator keeping his eyes and focus on the road in front of him.

'Everything's gonna be alright he thinks, but truth be told there isn't much to back that up.

When he's only about 8 miles away his phone rings. He searches his jacket hastily but doesn't find it there. As it continues to ring to the tune of AC/DC's "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution'', he strategically reaches his right hand to the back seat while keeping his other hand tight on the steering wheel. After seconds of simply grabbing at empty air he finally feels his cell phone and grabs it, then brings it to his ear ignoring the caller ID.

"Hel-" he begins, but is cut off.

"How far are you?"

"Well, hello to you too Cas… we're about uh eight miles out," he answers checking the passing sign.

"That's good. How's Sam, still incoherent?"

"Well, he's currently sleeping." He shifts the phone to a more comfortable position. "Seems like withdrawal is starting to kick in. But yeah he did wake up… but he was acting strange".

"Strange? Dean, what do you mean by strange?" Dean can practically conjure the incredulous face Cas likely has.

"I mean like he's calm… and before you say that should be a good thing he's just way too calm. Like… like when he was soulless calm". He whispers the last part checking that Sam is still sleeping.

"Hmmm…" Cas hums over the phone.

"Really, 'Hmmm' that's all you gotta say about it. Is this like, oh I don't know, a side effect of a Knight of Hell's blood or… or withdrawal?!" he silently yells into the phone while remaining mindful of his sleeping brother.

"It is possible, yes. I could attempt to have a better look when you two arrive, but with my weakened grace it will be more difficult… so I am going to search the library and see if there's anything that could assist us."

Taking a deep breath and bringing his hand down his face he replies, "Alright, sounds good. We should be there soon, and um Cas… sorry for kind of snapping at you, I know you're only trying to help".

"It is okay Dean, I understand." and with a click, the call ended.

Closing his phone, he places it in his jacket pocket and looks over to his younger brother. Who so happens to not be sleeping and has his head bent down toward his restrained hands again with his hair covering his facial features. 'So much for my so-called "hunter instincts".' He silently chastises.

He opens his mouth with the intent of saying some kind of joke to lighten the mood, but Sam beats him to it. "You could've just asked Dean," he says with a hint of dark undertone returning. Though you have to strain your ears to hear it. Lucky for Dean, he's known this kid since he was in diapers so he notices the little things. Who said being a big brother didn't have its perks?

If the undertone is any indication, he knows to keep calm and act like everything is normal. Because he has it all under control… right?

"I know Sammy, and I'm sorry. I should've come to you first, alright.". Looking over again at his brother, he expects another cryptic response. Not receiving one he continues. "So if it's alright. What is the whole passive mood about?" he questions, attempting to make this seem like one of their many normal conversations. 'Yeah, like it's normal to hunt monsters with your little brother, who just happens to have an addiction to demon blood

A minute passes in silence, and in that time they're getting closer and closer to the bunker. Finally, the youngest Winchester speaks, "Because, they said so". Though only a few words, they cause Dean's chest to tighten because what the fuck!? What the actual fuck!? The things he's saying are too familiar to the time after Sam's wall had broken, though the way he speaks it is too impassive and emotionless like when he was soulless.

He opens and closes his mouth while contemplating what to say. But, no words come out. What is he supposed to say? Like oh yeah, it's so cool that you're hearing the voices that had originally told you to kill your big brother. Yeah, absolutely not. Instead, he chooses to push down even more on the gas pedal, because this is for sure a sign to get back as soon as possible.

As he prepares to enter the old bunker's driveway he takes one more look at Sam, since the kid had been very quiet in the last few minutes or so of the drive. Lucky, for him, he's fallen asleep. Though he wonders what happens to Sam when he goes unconscious. Shaking his head to banish that thought, because he cannot go down that rabbit hole right now, he carefully parks the impala next to one of the bunker's dusty cars and turns the engine off with a heavy sigh which ends in a wince as he is once again reminded of his injuries.

He quietly gets out of the driver's seat, ensuring as to not rouse his brother. Because if he does wake up, he doesn't know who or what he'll be faced with. It's either a black-eyed little brother, a strangely calm one or his normal pain in the ass one with his big hazel puppy eyes and nerd talk. And God he hopes for the last one.

Making sure to lock the car he walks through the door of the garage that leads to the bunker's halls to search for Cas. Since there is no way he'll be able to carry his brother entirely by himself, especially if he doesn't want to further wound himself. 'Ain't as young as I used to be. But then again I am technically like 75 so... not bad'

Walking to the library he finally comes across Cas's rigid form hunched over at one of the desks, his nose in a book. He scoffs a bit realizing how many times Sam had looked like that since finding this place, and how hard it was to take him away from that position. "Hey, Cas." Castiel jumps a bit at his voice. 'He wasn't kidding about the weak grace, he's not usually this jumpy.'

"Dean. Where's Sam?" He questions avoiding any questions on his jumpiness. "Well about that…'' Bringing his hand to point to his ribs, Dean continues. "He's in the car, and I sort of hurt my ribs and back when we were at the factory. So I need some help carrying him out the car and into the uh dungeon". 'Ugh… that's a sentence I wish to never say again'

Nodding to assure his understanding, Cas then walks over to Dean lifting two fingers to his forehead. While he does this Dean closes his eyes and feels the familiar warmth of Cas's grace begin to alleviate his pain. This works until suddenly the aching feeling returns at full force producing a small gasp. Cas quickly pulls his hand back, as if he had been burned.

"I am sorry, it seems I'm not strong enough to heal your ribs. But… I could still assist with Sam". He says with disappointment and a small hint of shame.

"Don't worry about it Cas, I could just wrap them up after we get Sammy situated. It's not like I haven't had worse". Dean reassures, noticing his friend's shame. "Now… we should get Sam before he wakes up and decides to throw one of us around".

It wasn't as difficult to carry Sam to the dungeon as it was back at the factory, what with an Angel of the Lord taking most of his weight. Seriously, was it just him, or had he gotten heavier since they had left the abandoned facility? Thinking about it, it was likely just exhaustion and pain wanting to make themselves known.

He's been sitting in one of the wooden chairs watching Sam's silent and oddly calm form on the cot that had been prepared by Cas for the past hour now. Sam hadn't stirred aside from the rise and falls of his chest when they brought him to the dungeon, not even when they had to bind his legs and arms to the cot's metal frame. It's uncomfortable how many times they've had to do that, it never gets easier.

From then he had made a quick trip to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Black, no creme. Just how he liked it. Coming back in Castiel had tended to his injuries because the events of the night before were starting to take a toll on his outward appearance. This being in the form of black shadows under his eyes. Well, he's sure the shadows are going to look a hell of a lot worse once the hallucinations start. Since there is no way he is going to leave his brother to go through this alone, again that is. After everything that's happened in the past few years, including Sam's time in the cage, he's pretty sure this detox is gonna be ten times worse than it already is. Add to that the fact that the blood that he was forced to consume was stronger and he was already hearing voices.

He for sure needs to be here with him. His brother was his responsibility, his job, and he couldn't let him down again.

So here he is, Cas had left the room a little while ago after checking Sam. He had declared there wasn't anything unusual aside from the additional amount of demon blood. Yeah, right. He hated to think it, but he had his doubts. If Cas wasn't strong enough to heal him who's to say he could detect everything going on with his little brother? Despite his Angel friend's assuredness, he still saw a bit of his hesitance as he had given the news. That is probably why he excused himself with the excuse of checking the Men of Letter's files. Though Dean doesn't have much hope in him discovering anything, he's fairly certain there's never been a person addicted to Demon Blood, let alone one who's detoxed from it. Anyone who wasn't Sam Winchester that is. 'The damn kid always had to stand out.'

He covers his mouth as a yawn comes out of him. Then he places his face in his hands. He is so tired. The coffee he had managed to grab from the kitchen is practically useless. If he's being honest it feels as if it's happening the opposite effect on him. That being making him more exhausted.

His eyelids feel so heavy, like weights begging to be settled down. Maybe he could just rest them for a bit... just for a little bit.

Yeah, rest is all he needs.

He's halfway to unconsciousness when he feels the hair on his arms and neck rise. The temperature in the room seems to fall. The light bulbs flicker.

And Sam begins to scream.

TBC