It was well past 2 AM when Dean parked at the closest spot to the motel office. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and glanced at Sam. A small smile flickered at Dean's lips, looking at Sammy. He was sprawled on the seat, freakishly long legs probably cramped in the small space below the glove compartment. His face looked relaxed, the dark bags under his eyes slightly subdued in his small moment of serenity. He'd been so moody lately.

Gently shutting the door, Dean made his way to the office. Inside, a horror flick played on a small portable TV. A tall guy on screen tried to run from a serial killer who held clipping shears in his hand. Dean snorted at the TV as the bells on the door jingled.

A big guy sitting on a swivel chair turned to the counter. "Welcome to Woods Motel, how can I help?" He looked bored. His eyebrow ring glinted in the light from the TV.

"A room with two queens." Dean answered, clearing his throat. His voice sounded scratchy from not talking for so long. He looked back at the screen as the clerk dug around for the sign-in book under porno magazines and empty coffee cups.

The blonde on TV asked, "Where's Wade?"

Dean's tired mind repeated, "Where's Waldo?

Disregarding the comment, or perhaps not hearing it, the guy held out a pen to Dean. "Sign in here." Dean took the pen and signed in as Jared Wade, too tired to think of anything creative or original. The clerk handed him the keys without even glancing down at his signature. "Room 66. Coffee and breakfast till 8." The clerk pocketed the cash and faced the screen again where the girl crashed the killer's truck into a ditch.

Dean left. He opened the door to the Impala, waking up Sam with a rush of cold air. With a snort, Sam's eyes flew open. He straightened up and yawned while Dean drove to their room, then got out of the car.

"C'mon, bitch. Hurry up." Dean urged Sam.

"Dude, quit being a jerk. What's the problem?" He asked, letting his head fall into his hands and rubbing his eyes.

"House of Wax is on channel 13. I wanna watch it." Dean told him. Sam groaned, but slowly got out of the car.

The room was like most of the other the Winchesters had been to: Cheap but clean. Beds, a table with a TV on it, a remote that probably didn't work, two lamps (one on which had a burned out bulb), and a picture of a gladiola in a vase. Sam collapsed on the nearest bed, too lazy to do anything else. Dean made a bee-line for the TV. By this point, he was too tired to get to sleep anytime soon. He flipped it to channel 13, thinking driving sucked ass.

"At least turn it down." Sam muttered, not loud enough for Dean to hear. He rolled over and fell asleep again almost immediately.

Dean kept watching, unnoticing of his surroundings. The movie honestly sucked. By the time My Chemical Romance was singing 'Helena' for the end credits, Dean he felt he was going to explode of boredom. After a quick visit to the bathroom, Dean stepped out in short and a black wife-beater.

He approached Sam's bed. With a tiny smile that reached his eyes, Dean unlaced Sam's shoes and dropped them to the cold floor. He took off Sam's thick leather jacket with the tall youth even stirring. Dean tucked the covers around him; it was chilly. A wave of nostalgia hit him: Him in 7th grade, tucking the baby Sam in, Dad on a hunting trop. Dean blinked the memory away.

"Good night, bro."