The city was quiet, starkly contrasting to the earlier chaos they had faced. The boys ended their shift late, the night merging into the early hours of the morning. Exhaustion weighed heavily on them as they made their way to the Impala, Dean leading the way with a weary but determined stride. Sam trailed behind, his shoulders slumped and his eyes half-closed.
Dean slid into the driver's seat, the familiar leather creaking under his weight. He glanced over at Sam, who was already dozing off as he fumbled with his seatbelt. Dean couldn't help but smile slightly; it had been a long night, and his brother deserved the rest.
The Impala's engine roared to life, a comforting sound in the stillness of the night. Dean maneuvered the car onto the deserted streets, the city lights casting a soft glow over their path. Sam was completely out, his head resting against the window, his breaths slow and even.
As they drove, Dean let his mind wander. The cases they handled at the firehouse differed from hunting, but they still carried a weight that pressed on him. Lives were saved, lives were lost, and the adrenaline rush was something he had grown accustomed to. He glanced over at Sam again, seeing the lines of worry etched on his brother's face even in sleep.
They finally reached Dean's apartment, a modest place but a sanctuary nonetheless. Dean parked the Impala and turned off the engine, the silence almost deafening after the rumble of the drive. He gently shook Sam awake, his brother stirring slowly, blinking in confusion before recognition set in.
"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said softly. "We're home."
Sam nodded groggily, unbuckling his seatbelt and stumbling out of the car. Dean grabbed their gear from the trunk, slinging a bag over his shoulder before locking up the Impala. They made their way up to the apartment, the climb seeming longer than usual with fatigue pulling at their limbs.
Sam nodded groggily, unbuckling his seatbelt and stumbling out of the car. Dean grabbed their gear from the trunk, slinging a bag over his shoulder before locking up the Impala. They made their way up to the apartment, the climb seeming longer than usual with fatigue pulling at their limbs.
Dean put the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Both brothers were too tired to remember the mess Crowley and his demons had left behind. The sight that greeted them was a disaster—furniture overturned, papers scattered, and the remnants of a supernatural battle evident everywhere.
Dean surveyed the wreckage, letting out a tired sigh. "Well, one bed is accessible," he said, flipping the couch back into an upright position. "And the couch is too, so I'll take the couch and you go to bed."
Sam smiled tiredly, appreciating Dean's gesture. "Thanks, Dean," he mumbled, heading towards the stairs.
Dean watched as Sam climbed the steps, his movements slow and heavy with exhaustion. He returned to the living room, righting a few more pieces of furniture before collapsing onto the couch. It wasn't the most comfortable spot, but after the night they'd had, it felt like heaven.
Sam got to the bed, ( it is a loft both beds are like Buck's apartment) finding the bed surprisingly intact. He kicked off his boots and fell onto the mattress, barely managing to pull the blanket over himself before sleep claimed him.
Downstairs, Dean stretched out on the couch, the familiar scent of the apartment mingling with the lingering traces of sulfur and smoke. He closed his eyes, letting the tension in his muscles ease away. Despite the mess, despite everything, they were home. And for now, that was enough.
Morning came slowly, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the partially drawn curtains. The apartment, still a chaotic mess from Crowley's uninvited visit, was eerily quiet. Sam was the first to stir, groggily pushing himself out of bed. The events of the previous night were still fresh in his mind, but the immediate task of cleaning up the mess took precedence.
