For Meredith.

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Dean slowly walked through the door of the motel, his body aching, beaten and bruised.

He longed for the uninviting motel bed, the scratchy sheets, the obnoxious hiss of the air conditioner.

They helped him sleep at night.

They were his comforts.

Dean sighed.

When had this become his life?

He took his jacket off, sat down on the bed, and leaned over to untie his boots.

Every muscle in him revolted at the movement, and he couldn't suppress the groan.

He peeled off his shirt, the smell of not yet dried sweat and stale smoke seeping out of his pores.

He sat back up and gingerly lay himself back onto the bed, kicking his jeans onto the floor.

He knew he reeked, wanted to take a shower, but couldn't muster up the energy.

He longed for sleep, needing one last security blanket before he could rest easy.

As he crawled under the sheets, he heard Sam enter the room and mumble something.

Dean did not reply, for his last comfort had just arrived, and sleep was about to claim him.

He let his body relax, a smile creeping on his lips, and he was well on his way to sweet dreams.