"Whiskey!" Dean calls after him, chin tucked against the side of the tub. It's warm in the water, which should be comfortable, welcome, even, but it burns, and when fatigue begins to niggle at Dean's consciousness, he doesn't fight it as hard as he should.

He hardly notices Kara curling up on top of his head, paws kneading at the wet tufts of his hair. "Stoppit," Dean mutters, closing his eyes.