Heard 'Round the World: Part 4 of ?

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Kripke and Co.

A/N: This chapter is not my favorite. I like the beginning and the end, but the middle fought with me. As are the rest of the chapters in this whole fucking story. So the updates might not come so often anymore.

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Dean roared into Camden, North Carolina at eight o' clock A.M. on a Sunday morning, his foresight not extending to the fact that normal people had most likely never seen this early on the Sabbath, and was therefore surprised to see mutinous eyes peek out from behind floral curtains. Sam chuckled in the seat beside him and Dean turned to his brother with a glare of his own. Revving the engine in childish retaliation to the suburban-dweller's disapproval, Dean nevertheless picked up the pace to get out from under their scrutiny quicker. This only furthered Sam's amusement, so, being the older brother, he was obliged to reach over and cuff the snickering brat on his geek head. That, however, did not produce the desired effect and only caused Sam to laugh harder.

"Dude," the twenty-two-year-old gasped as her tried to catch his breath, "you're afraid of housewives and their mild-mannered husbands?" A loud 'huh' answered him before the blond had come up with the words to rebuff the baseless accusations.

"It's not fear, it's..." Dean searched for the appropriate noun as they finally made it to the business part of the town, which was located directly at its center. He could see as small, homely motel across from a McDonald's and pulled into the driveway before completing the thought. "...consideration." Oh yeah, that would put Sam in his place.

"You acted like they could kill you with their minds! Think the town's inhabited by some freak-ass psychics, bro?" The man in question opted not to dignify the jab with an answer and haughtily got out of the car, shutting the door soundly behind him. His brother followed his lead, chortling still. The two breezed through the motel's entrance and Dean confidently approached the main desk with Sam at his shoulder.

"One room please, two queens," he told the grandmother of a check-in clerk, who eyed him resignedly when he fished out on of his many credit cards. She signed the false name to the register and plucked a key from the rack to her right, writing down the number in another column before sliding it across the wood table top to Dean's waiting hands. Turning around, he walked down the hallway to their left, trusting Sam to follow him, pleased when he wasn't disappointed. The young man didn't acknowledge how shaken he was about his sibling claiming that he would be leaving when the hunt for Jessica's killer was over until moments like these – times when he wasn't sure whether Sam was behind him, wasn't sure that Sam was still at his side or staying behind. It was stupid of him to be worried that his brother wouldn't follow him into a motel room, but the example put all his fears into an easy metaphor, so he let his philosophical side have it's fun before returning to the regularly scheduled programming. Their door was the third on the right and the key allowed them entrance to the surprisingly neat, modestly – but not puke-inducingly – decorated room.

Sam slipped past Dean, his gaunt form easily fitting between the doorframe and his brother's body standing several paces inside the room. He flopped down on the bed tiredly, causing Dean to turn green eyes on him, concern quickly masked behind the tough exterior.

"You gonna get some sleep?" There was a hopefulness in his tone that he couldn't mask no matter how loudly his bravado ranted at him, but Sam shook his head.

"No, I'll sleep when I need to. I'm not tired right now, just sore from sitting in that death trap on wheels for hours." Defeat made the older brother hang his head and shake it sadly before allowing himself to give into their familiar banter, even though the light-hearted jests seemed more like a chore when they were being flung at one who was courting a Reaper.

"My baby is not a 'death trap'! Such slander will not be tolerated!"

"Does your baby have any airbags, or was the damn antique made before those were invented?" His mood wasn't high enough for him to continue with the pair's easy repartee of just fifteen minutes ago, so Dean didn't muster that energy to answer and instead collapsed on the one still-unoccupied bed. Sam propped himself up on an elbow and gazed worriedly at his sibling.

"Dean? Hey man, you okay?" The blond couldn't hold back a harsh bark of laughter at his younger brother being worried for his health when the brunette's own was setting him up for a one-way boat ride across the River Styx. If his eyes had been open, he would have seen Sam's frown deepen and the too-thin arms begin to push himself off of the bed, but as it was, Dean heard the bedsprings creak and nipped his companion's mother hen routine in the bud.

"Don't worry, Sam, I'm just practicing healthy sleeping methods. Most people aren't up now, as we found out arriving, so apparently they're not completely addle-brained, though the whole Stepford resemblance still freaks me out. I'm taking a page out of their books and getting some shuteye." A snort came after his comments from the man on the other bed, but Dean continued before his sibling could say a word. "Look, I know sleep is a foreign concept to you, but be so kind as to let me keep my face form looking like the things we hunt every day." There was no response, just another series of groans from the mattress as Sam's body was lowered back down. Nodding in satisfaction, Dean rolled over on his side and promptly submitted himself to dreams of naked Playboy models equipped with blindfolds and handcuffs.

Sam had no such luck in summoning the Sandman. Despite his brother's spoken and unspoken allegations that he was neglecting his health, the youngest Winchester wasn't intentionally letting himself waste away. After Jess' murder, both sleep and hunger had abandoned him until it reached a critical point, where he would catch a nap and eat maybe half of the heart attack-on-a-bun Dean saw as gourmet food. Apart from those times, the need disappeared, though Sam did struggle and sometimes succeed to capture the elusive 'Z's. It was those nights he woke up screaming, images bombarding him of either his beloved girlfriend burning or a random person becoming rudely acquainted with the supernatural. Such visions were the reason he mostly stopped searching for rest, instead waiting until his mind finally decided that it needed to shut down for a while and regroup.

He appreciated Dean's concern, honestly, but to keep things in perspective, Sam wasn't the one who'd come face to face with Death recently. There was still worry in the back of Sam's mind that proclaimed the heart not fully restored to it's full strength, that foresaw his brother's collapse on a hunt and the hospital Dean wouldn't walk out of. That fear only made him lose whatever appetite he might have mustered and tormented fevered dreams with the images of Dean's deathly white face, of the corpse being laid into the ground, which caused him to keep himself awake, spending time with his very much alive pain-in-the-ass sibling.

The brunette pushed himself off of the bed, careful not to wake the slumbering form stretched out on the other mattress. Now that his muscles were no longer stiff and aching from being in the same cramped position for hours, he could look up the five survivors mentioned in almost all of the articles. The young men needed addresses and ideas of what they were dealing with, a task Sam specialized in. And maybe, just maybe, the information would prevent the verbal ass-kicking Dean was sure to have the idea of dishing out when he the middle he found out that Sam had gotten no more than three hours of sleep in that many days.