Somehow We Still End Up Here - Part 3
It actually seemed to work. Between the donated blood, the clean clothes, and the hot shower, Sam spent the next two days sitting in an armchair, first in his room and then in front of the television. Dean still kept him as close to bed rest as he could, but for the first time since the Trials started to go downhill, Sam felt like he was getting better.
"Will you be okay?" Dean asks him for the thousandth time, car keys in hand and his winter jacket done up halfway.
"I got it." Sam holds up his phone. "I'll call you if there's a problem. And Kevin's here too. He's in the next room. I think he'll hear something if I start dying."
Dean frowns. "Don't make fun."
"Just leave. We need stuff. Food." Sam gestures towards the kitchen. "There's no beer."
"No beer for you." Dean commands and he comes back into the room to touch the side of Sam's face. "You sure you feel okay?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. I'll just sit here and watch Game of Thrones until you get back."
"Finish that Gatorade." Dean claps Sam on the back and hurries out of the room.
Sam makes it through an episode and a half of Game of Thrones. He's read the books and after an hour, he doesn't want to sit still, he knows what's coming up next and his legs are starting to ache from sitting in one place for so long. His stomach makes a noise when he stands up and eating sounds just as good as doing anything else.
The kitchen is low on food, down to the bare bones. It's not just Dean's usual complaint when there's no more pie and beer. There are still a couple dented can of soup and Sam empties one into a bowl.
He's tired of soup. He really is. It's all thin and watery and he really wants something to bite into. He put food on the grocery list, but Dean will probably scoff at Oatmeal, whole grain bread, and fresh fruit. It'll be soup until he feels well enough to go to the grocery store himself.
The microwave turns the unappetizing bowl of reddish water into a steaming hot unappetizing bowl of reddish water, but with pepper and four broken crackers, Sam sits down to eat his meal.
He's not expecting the doorbell to ring.
"Got it!" Kevin's voice comes from one of the tunnels.
Sam's expecting Dean to have returned. He's not expecting to bowl on a spoonful of soup and look up to see, "Cas?" Sam looks up from his bowl of lukewarm soup.
The angel sits heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. His hair is dirty and his clothes torn and smelly. "Hello Sam."
Dean marches into the kitchen, a gun in one hand and the other heavily laden with plastic grocery bags.. "So there's nothing you can do?" He demands.
Cas shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry. Sam, I wish there was something I could do."
"Wait, what happened?" Sam asks, feeling left out of the picture.
Cas presses two fingers to Sam's forehead, but the rush of angelic power Sam had experienced before doesn't flow through his body. He waits, hoping to magically feel better and returned to full strength, but Cas pulls his fingers away and sighs.
"They weren't trials. It was a spell."
Sam listens to Cas' tale of woe. About Metatron betraying them and the angels being cast out of Heaven. He remembers meeting the odd angel and thinking something was wrong from the start, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's made his own mistakes in the past and Cas always helps him. Now he can aid his brother in returning the favour.
"I'm being hunted." Cas admits. "The other angels aren't pleased. I think they've followed me here."
"We're on lockdown." Dean announces. He plunks the bags of groceries on the table. "Make it last kiddoes."
--
Sam continues to feel better for two days. Cas showers and does his laundry, Dean cooks big pots of stew and one of curry. Kevin spends more time with them, mostly asking Cas for help with translating old texts and forgotten languages.
It's the second night that ruins everything. He feels sluggish and tired before bed and he doesn't say anything. Dean's on the warpath, cleaning everything, making food and Sam wants to spend the night in his own room, coughing quietly into his pillow. The infirmary has stayed empty since he left and he wants it to stay that way. The needle track marks on his arms are finally starting to fade and the bruises aren't as dark as they once were.
Sleep comes and goes, Sam spends more time shivering in a tiny ball on the centre of his bed than anything else. He pukes, but only once, and that's not enough for him to wake up his brother. Besides, people get sick all time, he's probably just got a cold, it's not the Trials coming back to bite him. That's over and done with.
He finally falls asleep in the early hours of the morning.
"Sam?"
"What?" Sam sits up in bed and his whole body aches, the way it does when you have the flu.
"Want some lunch? You missed breakfast." Cas pushes the door open timidly. He's still recovering from his weeks on the run and the idea of voluntarily missing a meal is ridiculous to him.
Sam sits up and gasps for breath. Even that tiny movement makes him feel set back to the point he was a week before.
"Sam? I'll get Dean." Cas leaves the door open and goes running down the hall. Sam can hear his bare feet slapping on the floor, he calls after Cas, to tell him to stop, that's it not that bad, that he doesn't need Dean. But the angel either doesn't hear him or chooses to ignore him.
"Sammy?" It doesn't take long for Dean to arrive. He sits himself down on the side of Sam's bed and goes from the pile of medical tools on the table.
"I'm okay." Sam grumbles when Dean finishes. "It's just a cold, or something."
Dean grunts and squints at the thermometer again. "Or something maybe. Coughing up any blood?"
Sam shrugs. He hasn't been, not really. A couple of specks here and there don't count.
"You want to move back to the kitchen? So you're closer to everything." Dean doesn't say it, but Sam knows his brother would have they sharing a room again if Sam would go for it. But the younger Winchester likes his space, he appreciates having his own room and a bed all to himself after years of sharing in motels.
They have to compromise. The baby monitor gets set up in Sam's room. And Dean moves oxygen tanks and IV stands in, as a precautionary measure, or so he claims.
"I'll be okay." Sam tries to reassure him. "I'm just tired right now. Let me sleep for a little while. I'll eat supper with you guys."
He does, he makes it down the hall and into the kitchen for their evening meal, but that's the last time. The next morning he can't get out of bed, he's too dizzy to even stand up. Dean gives him a day and half.
"You going to eat today?" Dean asks, his cool fingers stroking over Sam's hot forehead.
"Yeah." Sam pulls his arms in close to his chest and turns his head away from his brother. He's cold and tired and it feels like every time he gets close to falling asleep, Dean wakes him up again.
"No, not yeah." Dean flicks him in the face. "You still think this is a cold?"
"It'd get better if you let me alone." Sam moans. "C'mon Dean, just give me a couple of days."
"Look at this." Dean pulls one of Sam's arms out from under the covers. The younger Winchester pulls back, but he can't stop it, he used to be able to toss his older brother around, now he can't even keep Dean from pulling his arm away from his body.
"Do you see this?" Dean demands, his fingers encircling one of Sam's wrists. "You're skinny. You're wasting away. C'mon Sam, just eat something. It'll help you feel better."
Sam pulls away and Dean lets him. "I don't want to."
"Tough. Food or IV."
Sam can't let that happen. He's not that sick. He lets Dean help him up and manages a couple tiny spoonfuls of lukewarm broth. It doesn't help him feel better though and it's barely enough to pacify his brother.
--
Cas stops by sometimes. He usually doesn't say anything, just sits next to Sam. Not on the bed like Dean, but on a chair that got dragged in at some point. He reads in whispers sometimes, the Bible, or books in tongues that Sam doesn't recognize. It's soothing, quiet and peaceful. Sam doesn't tell Dean that he gets lonely shut away in his room.
"Sammy, how are you feeling?" Dean asks, checking him over, the same way he does every morning.
Sam shrugs. He took a shower before Dean woke up and he saw himself in the mirror. He looks like a skeleton, his muscle mass has slide off him, his eyes are sunken deep into his skull and even when he smiles, he still looks like he's about to burst into tears.
"I think you need help." Dean says once Sam's got the thermometer in his mouth. "Like real, professional help."
Sam shakes his head and pulls out the thermometer. "You haven't even been to get groceries, because it's not safe. You heard Cas, the bunker shields us. Do you want a bunch of angels knocking on the door? We're only okay because they don't know we are here."
Dean purses his lips and frowns. "Then you have to start improving on your own."
The next morning Sam drags himself to the kitchen for breakfast. It takes him half an hour and he curls up for a nap on the couch once he's had three bites of toast.
--
"What are you doing?" Kevin asks, his voice sounds high and squeaky in Sam's ears after days of listening to Cas' whispers and Dean's low baritone. The couch is warm and comfortable, but not worth staying on with all of the noise around.
"I'm not waiting around watching my brother die! That's what I'm doing. C'mon Sammy. Let's get you dressed." Dean's hands are rough and Sam feels brittle and breakable in them.
Kevin snorts.
"What?" Dean demands.
"You flipped out at me for trying to call my mom! And now you're bringing him outside? What happened to, they'll catch hear the phone and kill us all if you make a call, Kevin? And that will be if you're lucky, Kevin. What, is it just not dangerous out there anymore?"
"It's less dangerous than staying in here. And I found something." Dean trails off after that, leaving them to imagine what he found, be in motorcycle or angel killing machine gun.
--
The bottle itself isn't very imposing. Small and squat, a mason jar like the ones Sam sometimes sees online. Not that he spends time on Pintrest or anything like that. The stuff inside though, it's glowly and blue and swirls about like it's alive. And if Cas knows his physics and he probably does, it actually does sort of have a life of its own.
"You found this in the bunker?" Cas asks and holds the jar reverently in his hands. "I didn't even know it was possible."
Dean shrugs and takes the jar back. "Yeah, there's a ton of shit in the back here. The Men of Letters kept everything." He puts his fingers around the top of the jar. "So, can you just spin the top off and drink it in?"
"No!" Cas grabs the jar and Sam groans. Their voices are loud and even with his Grace, Cas doesn't think there's anything he can do. This isn't a mortal illness, it's a condition from God and although nothing has been tried, the former angel believes he'll be powerless to stop it.
"I'll take it. And when it's finished, I'll help you." Cas cradles the jar to his chest and rushes out of the room.
"It'll be soon Sammy. I promise." Dean whispers and he runs his fingers through Sam's hair.
--
Cas is glowing when he returns several hours later. His eyes shine blue and pure, it burns Sam's eyes to look at them. There's blue light seeping from the angel's ears, mouth, nose, and trailing from his nail beds.
"I cannot contain it." Cas says and his voice is even lower than usual. "If angels did not sense me opening the jar, they will surely sense it bleeding off of me."
He reaches out a hand and Dean stops him. "Are you sure it won't hurt him?"
Cas turns his glowing eyes on the older Winchester. "I know nothing about that."
Cas' fingers are red hot on Sam's forehead and after a second of scorching pain he feels better for a splint second.
"Did it work?" Dean asks, but Cas' fingers are still on Sam's face and another rush of pain pushes back the pain and illness he's been feeling. But it doesn't last.
"No." Sam tries not to sound defeated. He didn't have very high hopes that it would work. He shivers.
"Do something!" Dean demands, pointing at Sam. "Come on Cas! You have to fix him."
The angel turns his flashing eyes on Dean. "I tried." He reaches out to Sam again and this time whatever he did worked, Sam couldn't keep his eyes open and he drifts quickly to sleep, the -sounds of Dean and Cas arguing in the background.
"Sammy, hey, it's okay. We're here now. They're going to make you feel better." Dean glares at the Triage nurse, as if daring her to say otherwise.
"Where?" Sam asks, wondering where Cas had gone and why the walls were glowing. Was that part of the Grace bleed off?
"Hospital. They'll make you better."
They don't have to wait for a room. Sam sleeps through most of the admission process. These people are pros, unlike Dean. He doesn't even wake up when they start an IV and draw blood.
Sam isn't aware of much. He wakes up off and on, sometimes before testing start, one time he was strapped down in a noisy machine, but he was out again before the test was over. They didn't pressure him to eat and sometimes Dean was there. Maybe even Kevin once, Sam doesn't remember Cas being around.
"Hey." Sam says, he's being wheeled back into his room on a gurney. Dean's in there and Kevin's sitting in the corner.
"How are you feeling?" Dean asks, and he sounds angry. One of his hands is red and there's ripped up pieces of paper on the floor.
Sam can't shrug, but he's still in synch with his brother enough for Dean to get what he means.
"Are you going to stay awake for a little while?" Dean queries as Sam is moved back to the bed.
"Yeah." Sam replies faintly. Kevin comes over and he looks different, weird. Almost the same glowy blue that Cas was. Only this seems to be trapped under his skin. His eyes start to drift closed, he's always tired.
"It's okay. You can sleep."
Sam does.
--
"I'm okay?" Sam asks in disbelief as Dean tosses a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt at him. He feels better, he felt like his old self again. "Did they figure something out?"
"Nah, you've been getting stronger the whole time." Dean starts working on Sam's shoelaces. "C'mon. We don't have very long."
"Right." Sam detaches wires from his chest, leaving the sticky pads in place for now. An alarm starts beeping.
"Fuck." Dean leaves Sam's shoes alone. "Get the rest of the wires. I'll do the IV."
They finish taking Sam off the machines quickly, too much practice at fleeing hospitals.
"Cas is meeting us outside." Dean grabs a backpack and ushered Sam out of the room. "Hurry!"
The hallway was almost completely empty. A man in overalls with a straw hat is walking towards them, and Dean steers their path in the other direction.
"Zeke!" Dean yells and Sam trips in the hallway.
--
"Did I fall asleep?"
"Yeah. For a little while." Dean locks the main door of the bunker behind them.
"Can I go now?"
"Whatever you want dude." Dean waves to the bunker. "We'll have to clean up later. I'm going to make something to eat. You hungry?"
"Yeah, sounds good." It felt even better to walk around in the bunker under his own power. The Trials had ended months ago and Sam finally feels like himself.
Sam listens to the sounds of Dean starting to cook in the kitchen and heads to the living room. He gathers up a pile of dirty clothes and bed sheets, starting a load of laundry before locating a clean set of clothes to wear.
He settles for the small shower this time. The one that was close to the kitchen has some of his clean towels, his conditioner and shampoo, and his soap from the time when he was ill. No more of Dean's Dove for him. It smelled better in here, not like sickness, the way the rest of the bunker did. He hadn't even noticed the smell before, it was like every part of him was returned to full strength, from his senses to his running endurance.
Even enjoying the water and taking his time, Sam finishes quickly. The hot water runs down his body and the entire room smells the "Linen Fresh Sheets" and "Mountain Spring". It was nice. His towels are warm and they smell like laundry detergent, not hospital antiseptic wash.
Sam lets himself out of the shower and wipes off the mirror. His face is sharp and angled now, the weight loss easily visible in his cheeks and chin. He looked at the dark circles under his eyes and bent opened the mirror cabinet to pull out his toothbrush.
He thought he saw a flash of blue in his eyes when he closes the cabinet door and sees himself in the mirror, but it is probably just a trick of the light.
"Will you be okay?" Dean asks him for the thousandth time, car keys in hand and his winter jacket done up halfway.
"I got it." Sam holds up his phone. "I'll call you if there's a problem. And Kevin's here too. He's in the next room. I think he'll hear something if I start dying."
Dean frowns. "Don't make fun."
"Just leave. We need stuff. Food." Sam gestures towards the kitchen. "There's no beer."
"No beer for you." Dean commands and he comes back into the room to touch the side of Sam's face. "You sure you feel okay?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. I'll just sit here and watch Game of Thrones until you get back."
"Finish that Gatorade." Dean claps Sam on the back and hurries out of the room.
Sam makes it through an episode and a half of Game of Thrones. He's read the books and after an hour, he doesn't want to sit still, he knows what's coming up next and his legs are starting to ache from sitting in one place for so long. His stomach makes a noise when he stands up and eating sounds just as good as doing anything else.
The kitchen is low on food, down to the bare bones. It's not just Dean's usual complaint when there's no more pie and beer. There are still a couple dented can of soup and Sam empties one into a bowl.
He's tired of soup. He really is. It's all thin and watery and he really wants something to bite into. He put food on the grocery list, but Dean will probably scoff at Oatmeal, whole grain bread, and fresh fruit. It'll be soup until he feels well enough to go to the grocery store himself.
The microwave turns the unappetizing bowl of reddish water into a steaming hot unappetizing bowl of reddish water, but with pepper and four broken crackers, Sam sits down to eat his meal.
He's not expecting the doorbell to ring.
"Got it!" Kevin's voice comes from one of the tunnels.
Sam's expecting Dean to have returned. He's not expecting to bowl on a spoonful of soup and look up to see, "Cas?" Sam looks up from his bowl of lukewarm soup.
The angel sits heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. His hair is dirty and his clothes torn and smelly. "Hello Sam."
Dean marches into the kitchen, a gun in one hand and the other heavily laden with plastic grocery bags.. "So there's nothing you can do?" He demands.
Cas shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry. Sam, I wish there was something I could do."
"Wait, what happened?" Sam asks, feeling left out of the picture.
Cas presses two fingers to Sam's forehead, but the rush of angelic power Sam had experienced before doesn't flow through his body. He waits, hoping to magically feel better and returned to full strength, but Cas pulls his fingers away and sighs.
"They weren't trials. It was a spell."
Sam listens to Cas' tale of woe. About Metatron betraying them and the angels being cast out of Heaven. He remembers meeting the odd angel and thinking something was wrong from the start, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's made his own mistakes in the past and Cas always helps him. Now he can aid his brother in returning the favour.
"I'm being hunted." Cas admits. "The other angels aren't pleased. I think they've followed me here."
"We're on lockdown." Dean announces. He plunks the bags of groceries on the table. "Make it last kiddoes."
--
Sam continues to feel better for two days. Cas showers and does his laundry, Dean cooks big pots of stew and one of curry. Kevin spends more time with them, mostly asking Cas for help with translating old texts and forgotten languages.
It's the second night that ruins everything. He feels sluggish and tired before bed and he doesn't say anything. Dean's on the warpath, cleaning everything, making food and Sam wants to spend the night in his own room, coughing quietly into his pillow. The infirmary has stayed empty since he left and he wants it to stay that way. The needle track marks on his arms are finally starting to fade and the bruises aren't as dark as they once were.
Sleep comes and goes, Sam spends more time shivering in a tiny ball on the centre of his bed than anything else. He pukes, but only once, and that's not enough for him to wake up his brother. Besides, people get sick all time, he's probably just got a cold, it's not the Trials coming back to bite him. That's over and done with.
He finally falls asleep in the early hours of the morning.
"Sam?"
"What?" Sam sits up in bed and his whole body aches, the way it does when you have the flu.
"Want some lunch? You missed breakfast." Cas pushes the door open timidly. He's still recovering from his weeks on the run and the idea of voluntarily missing a meal is ridiculous to him.
Sam sits up and gasps for breath. Even that tiny movement makes him feel set back to the point he was a week before.
"Sam? I'll get Dean." Cas leaves the door open and goes running down the hall. Sam can hear his bare feet slapping on the floor, he calls after Cas, to tell him to stop, that's it not that bad, that he doesn't need Dean. But the angel either doesn't hear him or chooses to ignore him.
"Sammy?" It doesn't take long for Dean to arrive. He sits himself down on the side of Sam's bed and goes from the pile of medical tools on the table.
"I'm okay." Sam grumbles when Dean finishes. "It's just a cold, or something."
Dean grunts and squints at the thermometer again. "Or something maybe. Coughing up any blood?"
Sam shrugs. He hasn't been, not really. A couple of specks here and there don't count.
"You want to move back to the kitchen? So you're closer to everything." Dean doesn't say it, but Sam knows his brother would have they sharing a room again if Sam would go for it. But the younger Winchester likes his space, he appreciates having his own room and a bed all to himself after years of sharing in motels.
They have to compromise. The baby monitor gets set up in Sam's room. And Dean moves oxygen tanks and IV stands in, as a precautionary measure, or so he claims.
"I'll be okay." Sam tries to reassure him. "I'm just tired right now. Let me sleep for a little while. I'll eat supper with you guys."
He does, he makes it down the hall and into the kitchen for their evening meal, but that's the last time. The next morning he can't get out of bed, he's too dizzy to even stand up. Dean gives him a day and half.
"You going to eat today?" Dean asks, his cool fingers stroking over Sam's hot forehead.
"Yeah." Sam pulls his arms in close to his chest and turns his head away from his brother. He's cold and tired and it feels like every time he gets close to falling asleep, Dean wakes him up again.
"No, not yeah." Dean flicks him in the face. "You still think this is a cold?"
"It'd get better if you let me alone." Sam moans. "C'mon Dean, just give me a couple of days."
"Look at this." Dean pulls one of Sam's arms out from under the covers. The younger Winchester pulls back, but he can't stop it, he used to be able to toss his older brother around, now he can't even keep Dean from pulling his arm away from his body.
"Do you see this?" Dean demands, his fingers encircling one of Sam's wrists. "You're skinny. You're wasting away. C'mon Sam, just eat something. It'll help you feel better."
Sam pulls away and Dean lets him. "I don't want to."
"Tough. Food or IV."
Sam can't let that happen. He's not that sick. He lets Dean help him up and manages a couple tiny spoonfuls of lukewarm broth. It doesn't help him feel better though and it's barely enough to pacify his brother.
--
Cas stops by sometimes. He usually doesn't say anything, just sits next to Sam. Not on the bed like Dean, but on a chair that got dragged in at some point. He reads in whispers sometimes, the Bible, or books in tongues that Sam doesn't recognize. It's soothing, quiet and peaceful. Sam doesn't tell Dean that he gets lonely shut away in his room.
"Sammy, how are you feeling?" Dean asks, checking him over, the same way he does every morning.
Sam shrugs. He took a shower before Dean woke up and he saw himself in the mirror. He looks like a skeleton, his muscle mass has slide off him, his eyes are sunken deep into his skull and even when he smiles, he still looks like he's about to burst into tears.
"I think you need help." Dean says once Sam's got the thermometer in his mouth. "Like real, professional help."
Sam shakes his head and pulls out the thermometer. "You haven't even been to get groceries, because it's not safe. You heard Cas, the bunker shields us. Do you want a bunch of angels knocking on the door? We're only okay because they don't know we are here."
Dean purses his lips and frowns. "Then you have to start improving on your own."
The next morning Sam drags himself to the kitchen for breakfast. It takes him half an hour and he curls up for a nap on the couch once he's had three bites of toast.
--
"What are you doing?" Kevin asks, his voice sounds high and squeaky in Sam's ears after days of listening to Cas' whispers and Dean's low baritone. The couch is warm and comfortable, but not worth staying on with all of the noise around.
"I'm not waiting around watching my brother die! That's what I'm doing. C'mon Sammy. Let's get you dressed." Dean's hands are rough and Sam feels brittle and breakable in them.
Kevin snorts.
"What?" Dean demands.
"You flipped out at me for trying to call my mom! And now you're bringing him outside? What happened to, they'll catch hear the phone and kill us all if you make a call, Kevin? And that will be if you're lucky, Kevin. What, is it just not dangerous out there anymore?"
"It's less dangerous than staying in here. And I found something." Dean trails off after that, leaving them to imagine what he found, be in motorcycle or angel killing machine gun.
--
The bottle itself isn't very imposing. Small and squat, a mason jar like the ones Sam sometimes sees online. Not that he spends time on Pintrest or anything like that. The stuff inside though, it's glowly and blue and swirls about like it's alive. And if Cas knows his physics and he probably does, it actually does sort of have a life of its own.
"You found this in the bunker?" Cas asks and holds the jar reverently in his hands. "I didn't even know it was possible."
Dean shrugs and takes the jar back. "Yeah, there's a ton of shit in the back here. The Men of Letters kept everything." He puts his fingers around the top of the jar. "So, can you just spin the top off and drink it in?"
"No!" Cas grabs the jar and Sam groans. Their voices are loud and even with his Grace, Cas doesn't think there's anything he can do. This isn't a mortal illness, it's a condition from God and although nothing has been tried, the former angel believes he'll be powerless to stop it.
"I'll take it. And when it's finished, I'll help you." Cas cradles the jar to his chest and rushes out of the room.
"It'll be soon Sammy. I promise." Dean whispers and he runs his fingers through Sam's hair.
--
Cas is glowing when he returns several hours later. His eyes shine blue and pure, it burns Sam's eyes to look at them. There's blue light seeping from the angel's ears, mouth, nose, and trailing from his nail beds.
"I cannot contain it." Cas says and his voice is even lower than usual. "If angels did not sense me opening the jar, they will surely sense it bleeding off of me."
He reaches out a hand and Dean stops him. "Are you sure it won't hurt him?"
Cas turns his glowing eyes on the older Winchester. "I know nothing about that."
Cas' fingers are red hot on Sam's forehead and after a second of scorching pain he feels better for a splint second.
"Did it work?" Dean asks, but Cas' fingers are still on Sam's face and another rush of pain pushes back the pain and illness he's been feeling. But it doesn't last.
"No." Sam tries not to sound defeated. He didn't have very high hopes that it would work. He shivers.
"Do something!" Dean demands, pointing at Sam. "Come on Cas! You have to fix him."
The angel turns his flashing eyes on Dean. "I tried." He reaches out to Sam again and this time whatever he did worked, Sam couldn't keep his eyes open and he drifts quickly to sleep, the -sounds of Dean and Cas arguing in the background.
"Sammy, hey, it's okay. We're here now. They're going to make you feel better." Dean glares at the Triage nurse, as if daring her to say otherwise.
"Where?" Sam asks, wondering where Cas had gone and why the walls were glowing. Was that part of the Grace bleed off?
"Hospital. They'll make you better."
They don't have to wait for a room. Sam sleeps through most of the admission process. These people are pros, unlike Dean. He doesn't even wake up when they start an IV and draw blood.
Sam isn't aware of much. He wakes up off and on, sometimes before testing start, one time he was strapped down in a noisy machine, but he was out again before the test was over. They didn't pressure him to eat and sometimes Dean was there. Maybe even Kevin once, Sam doesn't remember Cas being around.
"Hey." Sam says, he's being wheeled back into his room on a gurney. Dean's in there and Kevin's sitting in the corner.
"How are you feeling?" Dean asks, and he sounds angry. One of his hands is red and there's ripped up pieces of paper on the floor.
Sam can't shrug, but he's still in synch with his brother enough for Dean to get what he means.
"Are you going to stay awake for a little while?" Dean queries as Sam is moved back to the bed.
"Yeah." Sam replies faintly. Kevin comes over and he looks different, weird. Almost the same glowy blue that Cas was. Only this seems to be trapped under his skin. His eyes start to drift closed, he's always tired.
"It's okay. You can sleep."
Sam does.
--
"I'm okay?" Sam asks in disbelief as Dean tosses a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt at him. He feels better, he felt like his old self again. "Did they figure something out?"
"Nah, you've been getting stronger the whole time." Dean starts working on Sam's shoelaces. "C'mon. We don't have very long."
"Right." Sam detaches wires from his chest, leaving the sticky pads in place for now. An alarm starts beeping.
"Fuck." Dean leaves Sam's shoes alone. "Get the rest of the wires. I'll do the IV."
They finish taking Sam off the machines quickly, too much practice at fleeing hospitals.
"Cas is meeting us outside." Dean grabs a backpack and ushered Sam out of the room. "Hurry!"
The hallway was almost completely empty. A man in overalls with a straw hat is walking towards them, and Dean steers their path in the other direction.
"Zeke!" Dean yells and Sam trips in the hallway.
--
"Did I fall asleep?"
"Yeah. For a little while." Dean locks the main door of the bunker behind them.
"Can I go now?"
"Whatever you want dude." Dean waves to the bunker. "We'll have to clean up later. I'm going to make something to eat. You hungry?"
"Yeah, sounds good." It felt even better to walk around in the bunker under his own power. The Trials had ended months ago and Sam finally feels like himself.
Sam listens to the sounds of Dean starting to cook in the kitchen and heads to the living room. He gathers up a pile of dirty clothes and bed sheets, starting a load of laundry before locating a clean set of clothes to wear.
He settles for the small shower this time. The one that was close to the kitchen has some of his clean towels, his conditioner and shampoo, and his soap from the time when he was ill. No more of Dean's Dove for him. It smelled better in here, not like sickness, the way the rest of the bunker did. He hadn't even noticed the smell before, it was like every part of him was returned to full strength, from his senses to his running endurance.
Even enjoying the water and taking his time, Sam finishes quickly. The hot water runs down his body and the entire room smells the "Linen Fresh Sheets" and "Mountain Spring". It was nice. His towels are warm and they smell like laundry detergent, not hospital antiseptic wash.
Sam lets himself out of the shower and wipes off the mirror. His face is sharp and angled now, the weight loss easily visible in his cheeks and chin. He looked at the dark circles under his eyes and bent opened the mirror cabinet to pull out his toothbrush.
He thought he saw a flash of blue in his eyes when he closes the cabinet door and sees himself in the mirror, but it is probably just a trick of the light.