Sam jack-knifes into a sitting position, the words of that same damn song becoming instant white-noise in his ears. Dean sits on the other bed, lacing up his boots and mouthing words that he's heard a hundred times before.

A thousand times before.

A lifetimes worth.

Sam presses his face into his hands and tries to remember how to breathe. Trying to decide if he even wants to.

Dean yells at him from across the room, "Better get movin' Sammy. We got a big day ahead of us." and ducks into the bathroom to gargle for the next 52 seconds. There are fourteen ways to die in that bathroom, but they haven't ordered pizza, and it's before 10 o'clock.

So for the next few moments Sam is free to lie back down and just listen to his brother move around, humming Metallica and ACDC like he's heard so many days before, but that has not yet gotten old.

"Dean." Sam curls up on his side and buries his face in the familiar scratchy cotton of the motel pillow.

"What?" Dean comes out of the bathroom and begins to search through his duffle.

Inside pocket. Behind the back issues of Playboy.

"I was thinking about something." Sheets rustle, become twined into a protective cocoon. After a beat of silence no more words were forthcoming.

Dean looks up at the yellow lump in the center of the bed "That's fascinating." and pulls out his glock, tucking it into the back of his jeans. "You wanna tell me what? You know, while you get ready?"

"I was thinking," Sam continued "Of killing myself." His head pokes out of the tangled blankets and he stares up at the ceiling, a look of rapt concentration passing over his face. "Do I look more like a bullet to the temple, or an in the mouth kind of guy to you?"

Dean freezes, too shocked to move. "Dude, that is so not funny."

"I heard drowning is supposed to be peaceful."

"Yeah? I heard it sucks."

"Poison maybe? We've got to have something in the trunk that'll do the job."

"Shut up."

"I just don't want to burn." He admits quietly.

That unsticks Dean fast. "You're not going to die." He looks around the room, hands twitching for something to do, something to keep busy with. "Haven't we been over this?"

Sam turns towards him, just watching him stand there and breathe, waiting for the light to leave his eyes. Knowing that it will happen. Knowing that he can't stop it. "We might as well die together." Defeated.

"No. No." Dean strides foreword and grabs Sam by the shoulders, shaking him. "No." He can't seem to get anything else out. His entire body shaking with denial. "No." Not like this.

But Sam just reaches up and pulls him against his chest, pressing his face into the hollow of his brothers neck. "I can't watch you die again." He breathes, fear spiking every word.

Dean looks puzzled. "Again?"

"I can't"

Dean tries to draw back, get a proper look at Sammy, but his brother clings to him, shivering and leaking saltwater. "What do you mean again? You havin' nightmares?"

The taller man chuckles humorlessly. "Worst nightmare of my life." His voice cracks. "And I can't wake up."

"You're awake now Sammy. I got you." Small circles, just like when they were kids.

Just a shake of the head in return. And then, "Drywall."