\Pilgrim
Where's your head at?
Are you paying the birds to sing?
Meet me, on the true path
I'll be dizzy from growing wings.\
It's been a long night of hunting demonspawn, and all Dean can think about as they head back to the Impala, bruised and bloody, is getting some shut-eye sometime in the near future.
They're on their way towards to the nearest town to check into a motel for the night (and hopefully the next day, get some rest, thinks Dean), when Sam turns to him and says, "So there're rumours of strange lights in the forest near this town in Montana."
Dean shoots a look at him, already knowing where this is going and not liking it one bit. "So?"
"So if we find a place to crash, catch a few hours sleep, it's close enough that we can make it there by nightfall."
"Sam," says Dean. "Hold up, dude. We need to stop for a while, rest up. Take it easy."
He can see his brother's jaw tighten out of the corner of his eye. "Dean, people are in danger out there."
"We've been goin' for a week straight now, Sammy. We're not going to be any good to anyone if we get killed for being stupid."
Sam looks as if he's swallowed something foul, as if he thinks his brother is betraying him. "Look," says Dean. "I get that you want to find Dad. I also get that you want to kill anything between us and that damned demon. But that doesn't mean that you gotta work yourself raw, dude. Get some sleep once in a while, you know?"
But Sam's not looking at him, not really listening either, he's digging out the map. "Here," he says, pointing. "It's right here, Dean. We can make it by tomorrow." Before more people get hurt, he doesn't say.
Dean exhales loudly through his nose, frustrated. "Sam--"
"Just drive, Dean." Sam's voice is hard, cold. Unyielding.
Dean stares at him a moment, not speaking. Then, angrily cranking up the volume on Jukebox Hero, he drives.