Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural; no one, especially me, is making a profit from this fic.

Setting: Season three. Set in between Time is on My Side and No Rest for the Wicked; it's sort of a tag for Time is on My Side.

Spoilers: If you haven't seen season three, don't read this. This fic has dialogue from and/or mentions stuff that happened in the following: the end of season two, Jus in Bello, Malleus Maleficarum, Crossroad Blues and Time is on My Side.

I wanted to put Sam and Dean in a frustrating situation that was caused by something simple and unlikely, considering their situation with Dean's deal.

I also just wanted to write a big brother! Dean and limp, drunk! Sam fic. Even though both end up sort of drunk towards the end.

This fic is dedicated to KKBElVIS, who asked me to do a fic in which Sam uses Dean as a pillow.

Proofed by Twilightrayne and Wicked Rebel.

The soft sound of rain bit into Sam's ears and penetrated through to his consciousness, chasing away the haze of sleep that was clouding his brain; reluctantly, he lost the battle to keep his eyes shut and submitted to the rain's relentless assault by slowly opening his sleep-starved eyes.

Each man had crashed earlier that morning, a few hours before dawn, after putting as much distance as possible between them and the now damned Bela and the eternally buried Dr. Benton. But as the Impala's gas tank had begun to approach empty, both men had silently agreed to stop for a few hours and get some sleep; they'd need it: even though the men still had Ruby's hex bags to protect them against the demon who held Dean's contract, they knew the bags wouldn't be enough to ward off all of the lower- level demons that were scattered around every corner of the lower forty-eight, each with the sole purpose of keeping a look out for the Winchesters. Both men were aware that they'd have to drop off the map in order to disappear from the demonic tracking radar.

Time was ticking down for Dean, and they needed to work fast if they were going to find and kill the holder of Dean's contract.

"There's a big, new up-and-comer," Ruby's voice wormed its way through Sam's brain. A feeling of sickness began to tighten in the pit of Sam's stomach, slowly infecting his intestines; he swore he could feel Tammi's breath, hot and wet at his ear, "There's a new leader rising in the West, a real leader."

"The one who wants my intestines on a stick," Sam thought bitterly to himself as he turned on his side, staring blankly at the chipped and cracking wall next to his bed.

"Her name is Lilith."

"The one who's gonna tear this world apart."

"The one who's gonna tear Dean apart," the thought bubbled up from the depths of Sam's subconscious and broke into his awareness so abruptly that his eyelids widened impossibly, threatening to pop his eyes out of his skull. The metal springs of the worn mattress groaned as Sam pitched his body forward and sat upright in his bed, flustered. "The hell did I have to think that for?" he thought as a tidal wave of guilt crashed into his core, flooding his conscience. Sam brought his hands up from the warmth of the bed sheets and, leaning his elbows on his knees, carded his hands through his hair, hoping the movement would somehow chase anymore unwanted thoughts from his mind, away from his brain. "We still have time left. Little less than three weeks, but it's enough."

The sound of the ceiling fan wafting quietly above him brought Sam's attention from his not-so-successful internal pep-talk to the stillness of the relatively small motel room. In fact, Sam noticed, it was damn near quiet. "What the hell?" Sam's hands dropped from his face instantly as he turned to look at the bed closest to the door.

The empty bed.

Sam felt the frown form on his face, pulling his facial muscles down as his brows knit together. "Dean?" The bed sheets fluttered delicately to the side as Sam's socked feet hit the floor, pulling him from the warmth of the semi-comfortable bed. In a few quick strides, Sam made his way to the bathroom, which was also empty.

"What the hell, we were just supposed to sleep and leave," Sam thought as he anchored a hand on the bathroom's door frame, using it to balance himself as he leaned back to survey the room. Taking a glance around, he noticed that the Impala's keys were still sitting on the small table by the door where Dean had unceremoniously tossed them earlier that morning.

"Well, at least I know he didn't take the car somewhere. 'Might as well call him." Letting go of the doorframe, Sam made his way to the nightstand that was placed in between their beds; half way across the room, he noticed the note placed under his cell phone, causing his step to somewhat quicken. Grabbing his phone in one hand, he picked up the note in the other; eyes passing over the paper sprawled with Dean's handwriting, Sam felt annoyance begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

Walked to the bar—5:00pm

Sam frowned, "Walked? It's raining." His eyes glanced over to the clock situated on the night stand, "5:45. Great, he could've at least woken me up or something. What the hell is he thinking, anyway?" An aggravated sigh passed through Sam's lips as he crushed the note between strong fingers and tossed it at the wastebasket that was across the room. Sam had Dean's number dialed and his phone up to his ear before the crumpled note landed at the bottom of the bin.

The phone rang three times before Dean answered.

"Sam," Dean's voice came through the cell's receiver muffled, distorted by the chatter and noise happening in bar's background.

"Dean," Sam tried to keep his voice measured, his annoyance in check, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just hustling the locals," Dean smirked.

Shutting his eyes, Sam let out another sigh; his fingers found their way to his forehead in an attempt to ward off the headache the present conversation threatened to deliver, "We have enough money, man--."

Dean cut Sam's words off, "It will only last a few more weeks, dude."

A few more weeks.

The annoyance Sam had been trying to keep in check suddenly flared, pushed up from his stomach and flew from his esophagus, "Dean! That's all we need right now; you only have a few more weeks! Hell, after we leave here it's not like we are going to need much for gas; we aren't even going to need it for a motel. So just get your ass back here; we need to leave."

"Dude! Why the hell are you so pissed off? I mentioned hustling some pool after passing this place when we drove into town this morning. You didn't say anything about it then!"

"Was I sleeping?" Sam dead panned.

"No, jackass, I can tell when you're sleeping; you weren't asleep and you know it: stop trying to piss me off," Dean shot back.

"Then I thought you were being sarcastic. That or 'chalked it up to lack of sleep; either way, I didn't think you were serious, what with your deal due in--."

"Stop throwing that in my face, I know how much time I have left!"

"Then why are you wasting time earning money we don't need right now!?" Sam thundered at the phone.

"Because maybe I didn't want to wake you up because you haven't slept more than six hours these past couple of days. I know, 'cause I haven't either. Neither of us can find this demon if we can't stay awake long enough to do it. Or maybe it's 'cause I want something else to do besides sitting in some small motel room in the middle of nowhere, thinking about how I'm probably gonna be in hell after the next few weeks. Hell, maybe it's both those things."

Sam felt himself deflate as his shoulders slumped. "Dude…" Sam begun, "The hell can I say to that?" Silence fell as neither man said anything, since there was nothing that could be said. "Dean, just-- I'm awake now, we need to head out, anyway. Just come back, man, so we can leave."

"No. I'm in the middle of a game," Dean started; Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean beat him to it, "And that doesn't matter anyway. We can't leave. You didn't check the voice mail I left you. I literally just sent it ten minutes ago."

Sam's brows knit together and, although he knew he wouldn't be able to check his missed calls while the phone was in use, he quickly pulled the phone away and glanced at its screen. "Uh…" Pulling the phone back to his ear, Sam frowned, "I didn't see it, no."

"Yeah, I know: that's why I wasn't asking when I said, 'You didn't check the voice mail I--.'"

"Why can't we leave?"

"Notice the rain? It was worse this morning and this place is below sea level. Roads leading outta this place got flooded; they'll be closed until the water goes down."

Sam was across the room before Dean finished his sentence. Pulling back the thin and tattered motel curtain, he glanced out of the clouded glass; a gray, wet world greeted him: water sprinkled from the rolling mass of black and gray above him; and, although water pooled in deep puddles around the parking lot, the weather certainly didn't seem like it would cause flooding. "It doesn't look that bad. It's just sprinkling now. You said it was worse this morning?"

"It doesn't look that bad there; and yea: it got bad a few hours after we checked in this morning; you just slept through it."

"You check and see if there were any alternative routes outta this place?"

"If there had been, we'd have left by now. I thought about just driving through, but you know what they say on the Weather Channel, 'Turn around, don't drown.' 'Would suck dying and going to hell early 'cause of a few feet of water. " A pause, "Lame, too."


"Sam. I'm in the middle of a game," Dean dead panned.

The muscles in Sam's jaw pulled taut and his mouth snapped shut instantly, "Yea, I'll just--." Before Sam could suggest heading to the bar, Dean rambled, "Since we can't leave this place, you wanna check online, see if anything lookin' like omens have been popping up anywhere? Cattle deaths or lightning storms, 'get some ideas were this demon could be? I shouldn't be here much longer. I'll give you a hand."

Sam's face sobered; it was obvious Dean wanted Sam to stay at the motel. "Yea, sure," Sam spoke flatly, letting Dean know he was on to him, "But we can't leave, anyway, so you might as well take your time."

There was a pause from Dean, "Yea, I'll see ya when I get back, Sammy."

"Later." The hand holding his phone dropped to his side, while the other continued to hold the curtain back. Sam's head slowly leaned forward and he rested his forehead against the window, his breath fogging the glass after each raspy puff. Sam's eyes stared blankly at the world outside, watched as the raindrops collected in puddles on the motel's window seal.

Each drop sent dread shooting throughout Sam's body, causing him to close his eyes. Dean had less than three weeks left and the weather was preventing them from leaving, from finding Lilith.

A feeling of helplessness began to overshadow Sam: he had spent the entire year researching, trying to find a way to save his brother, but now, something fundamental and ordinary, something that was beyond his control, "Rain, of all things," threatened to put a road block in his search for Lilith. A road block that happened to surface at an extremely inopportune time: Dean's deal coming due in two weeks didn't leave any room for wasted time.

But this was exactly what Sam and Dean got: wasted time in a small town in the middle of nowhere.

"How fucked up is this?"

Sam released his hold on the curtain and tossed his phone onto his bed; settling down at the small table next to the window, Sam opened his laptop and waited for it to boot up.

The search was unproductive, and the poor Wi-Fi connection did not help ease Sam's frustration. Unable to find any leads, Sam found himself sitting in silence in the small motel room, the steady pelting of rain against the motel's roof and windows the only sound circulating in the room. Unseeing eyes darkening as they locked on the computer's screen, Sam's fingers went slack on the keyboard. "How many times have I been here before?" Sam thought, scoffing. The situation he found himself in presently was a familiar one: glued to his laptop, searching for any clues that would help him save his older brother.

"And where has that gotten me?" he thought bitterly, slamming his laptop shut and rising from his seat.

Crossing over to the other side of the room, Sam stopped next to his bed and opened his duffle, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

Sam glanced back toward his laptop, the thought passing through his mind again, "Where has that gotten me?"

His thumb flicked across the bottle's cap, sending it rolling across the room's floor.


Notes: I was planning on making this a one-shot, but the word count ended up being over 7,000. So I'm making this fic span three chapters. It's all done; I'm just editing the last chapter.

Constructive reviews welcome.