An Episode Must End This Way

Sam slept in an awkward, huddled mass in the passenger seat, his forehead against the cold window. Lucky him, Dean thought. Dean had been nervously wringing the steering wheel for the last 40 miles, and the inside of his lip was sore and almost punctured from him chewing on it. Yet Sam was able to sleep soundly and drool onto his shoulder.

It was stupid to worry so much, at least in Dean's opinion. Cass was fine. He had to be. An über-powerful angel of the Lord does not need to be fretted over, especially by a human. It was ridiculous. But ever since they saved him earlier and then watched as he disappeared to go fix something—or whatever his reason was for leaving—Dean had been dealing with a terrible knot in his stomach. They just got him out of trouble. Why did he need to leave? What was he doing? If they had to run off and save his ass again… Well, Dean would do it. But he wouldn't be happy about it.

He yawned, and then realized he didn't know what time it was. Dean checked his phone: 12:54 A.M. Damn. Probably should've stopped at that motel they passed. If only Dean hadn't been so distracted.

Suddenly, Metallica didn't seem the right music for the moment. As much as he loved them, he was in the mood for something softer; something not designed to blow out the listener's eardrums. After rubbing his tired eyes, he reached for the dial and clicked through the stations: no, no, hell no, no way, no, Justin Bieber sucks, no, no… oh. Finally, something soothing. He hadn't heard "Love Me Tender" in a long time. Kinda sounded like a lullaby. Dean's grip loosened on the steering wheel and he leaned back in his seat.

"I like this song."

Dean flinched at the sound and glanced in the backseat. Cass was leaning forward with his chin almost resting on the back of Sam's seat, that sweet, mellow smile of his growing wider with each note. He was fine. Not a scratch on him. Dean turned his attention back to the road, deciding not to chew him out for leaving without an explanation. Cass was okay; he was even smiling, which pleased Dean more than it should have.

"I could dig Elvis." Dean says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.