Title: Sleep My Child
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2
Summary: After it's all over Dean is dead on his feet and wants nothing but to sleep
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
It hits him on the interstate - a bone crushing weariness born of months, years, a lifetime of hunting the demon that stole his life.
Now it's over.
Sam senses his strength ebbing and puts a hand on his shoulder, as if to offer what little he has left. That's all Dean needs to manage that last mile until yet another anonymous motel off another lonely highway emerges from the black of night, all flickering neon and peeling paint. Disneyland holds less appeal than a simple place to hang up his guns for the night and sleep the sleep of the dead.
There may be hundreds of demons to hunt, but he's earned one night of rest.
Maybe two. He's that tired.
A voice nags in the back of his mind, all lipstick sweet and saccharin mocking, that he only has 365 days left. He shouldn't waste one on sleeping. If she wasn’t already there he'd tell the voice to go to Hell.
But Sam's hand is on his shoulder, firm and alive, and somehow he believes that the loophole will save him. He can't weasel out of the deal, but the demon never said that someone else couldn't get him out.
He pulls into the nearly deserted parking lot, taking up two spaces because if he's earned a rest his baby sure has earned two damn spaces for all the hard miles she's done for him.
Her throttle falls back to a purr before he cuts the ignition and sits for a second in blissful silence. He could almost sleep here, if not for Sam nudging him and opening his door.
The brisk night air is bracing, waking him up enough to shuffle into the motel office.
Sam asks for the room and Dean pays in cash. He needs to not have to worry that the Feds will trace one of their fake credit cards. They may not have much cash left at this point, but if it buys him a night of peace, it's a worthy investment.
They pass the car on the way to their room and while Dean almost couldn't care at this point, Sam makes him hand over the keys so he can get their bags. His reflexes are still good enough that he easily catches the duffle bag Sam tosses at him, but he makes an annoyed face at his brother. Chastened, Sam brings the rest of the bags himself and for once Dean doesn't feel guilty about letting his little brother do most of the work. He just sold his fucking soul for Sam. A little manual labor is not much to expect in gratitude.
The motel room door sticks and he's about to curse under his breath when it opens.
The room is clean, spacious, dark and dead quiet. Perfect.
He manages to shed his jacket before he falls on the bed face first.
He's like a rock, a two-ton slab of granite on that bed. He feels like he might never move again.
He feels Sam unlacing his boots and he could almost cry. It's the nicest thing his brother could do for him right now. He adjusts the pillow under his head as the last boot falls away and his eyelashes flutter once, twice, then close.
The bed is like his mother's arms embracing him, welcoming him, lulling him into sleep. He vaguely hears Sam let out a long sigh as he collapses on the bed opposite his, but he's fading fast and nothing will stop the freight train of sleep speeding towards him now.
In the gray area between consciousness and unconsciousness he feels the warmth of a large hand stroking his hair, soothing him, and then a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Sleep my child," comes his mother's voice.
"We'll be watching over you," says his father.
A grateful tear falls from Dean's eye and a second later he is asleep.