"He didn't mean it." Bobby says again.
Dean takes the ice-pack away from his face. "I know, but...look, I don't care about the broken nose. It's not like I haven't had one before. It's just..." he stares into his glass at the last two whiskey-covered ice cubes. "I shouldn't have gone down there like that."
"Can't change it now. You ain't perfect. No one is." Bobby says.
Dean closes his eyes and rests the cool glass against his forehead, "No, but I'm not usually this stupid either. "
Bobby sighs, "So, next time you're out fighting demons all day, get cleaned up first. That's all. "
"That's all?" Dean scoffs, "Bobby, he practically snapped his teeth at my jacket. He was friggin' growling."
"Yeah. You mentioned that." Bobby says. He wants to tell Dean something else- anything that will take Dean's hopelessness down a notch.
Dean thinks he's up against two demons at first. While he's pulling Ruby's knife out of the second demon's throat, the third one grabs him in a headlock. Dean has no leverage, so he drops down to his knees and forces the demon down with him. Ruby's knife ends up embedded in its stomach.
By the time Dean gets back to Bobby's he's half asleep. He half climbs, half falls out of the Impala and staggers into Bobby's kitchen. He fills a glass with water from the tap, gulps it down and heads downstairs to see Sam.
Sam has been calm for the last few days. Yesterday he'd even slept for six straight hours with no evidence of a nightmare, though that may just have been exhaustion. Dean wonders if Sam is still sleeping. Looking through the door panel, he can't seen Sam, but that isn't too unusual. Sam moves the mattress sometimes.
Dean steps into the panic room and can't see Sam anywhere. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the table shake. Somehow, Sam has folded his giant frame underneath the small table. Dean walks over, crouches down and sees Sam looking back at him. He's shaking.
"Sammy? How'd you even fit under there?"Dean reaches his hand out to Sam, "Come on big guy."
Sam is still staring straight ahead, but he won't meet Dean's eyes. He's focused on Dean's shoulder, and his expression has shifted from fear into something else entirely.
Dean swallows past the lump in his throat, "Sammy, can you hear me?" There's an odd moment where time doesn't so much seem to stop as skip ahead. Suddenly Dean is lying on top of the table, staring at the panic room ceiling.
Sam grabs Dean by the leg and pulls him forward off of the table and into his fist. Dean is spun around and falls forward, barely catching himself on the table again. As he lifts himself up, and turns around to face Sam, Dean is hit with a nauseating wave of deja vu.
Sam's expression is terrifyingly familiar, but it's not his own. He punches Dean again and again until Dean falls to the floor. Sam picks Dean up by his jacket and freezes.
Dean thinks maybe Sam has broken free of whatever trance he's been in and is about to let out a breath of relief, when Sam starts sniffing Dean's jacket. If it wasn't one of the most horrible days in his life, in a long history of horrible days, Dean might have found it funny- until he realizes what Sam is reacting to.
Dean puts his empty glass on the kitchen table and stands up, "I'm gonna go shower. Watch him."
Bobby nods and finishes his own whiskey. A few minutes later, he hears Dean turn on the water and heads downstairs to Sam.
Sam thinks he did something wrong. He knows he did, but he can't remember what. Dean. He punched Dean, but that wasn't- it wasn't on purpose. He was trying to do something. There was red on Dean's jacket. Sam remembers that much. There was red, there was that smell and he just- Sam looks at his hands. The right one looks fine. The left one looks all wrong though. It's too pale, and his fingers won't listen the way they're supposed to.
There's a soft rap on the door followed by Bobby's voice, "Hey Sam? I'm coming in, okay?"
No. Sam thinks, but Bobby doesn't hear him.
Bobby walks towards Sam slowly and kneels down next to him. "How you doin'? You hungry? Thirsty?"
Sam nods. He is.
Sam watches Bobby stand back up and go over to the shelf they keep the water pitcher on. There used to be a table down here, but then it broke and Dean took it away. Sam thinks that was probably his fault too, but he can't remember why.
"Here." Bobby hands Sam a small styrofoam cup of water.
Sam looks at the cup and frowns. This smells wrong. He tries to tell Bobby, but he can't get the words to come out.
Bobby smiles weakly. "It's just water, kid. Drink up. I'll be back down with some soup or somethin'."
Sam sniffs at the water some more and tastes it. It's all wrong. It's the wrong color, it doesn't taste right and it makes his tongue itch. Sam pours the water onto the floor and goes back to studying his hands.
Dean still feels like he's dreaming. It's not a good dream, not exactly a nightmare, but it just can't be real. "I'll be back in a week tops. I just have to go take care of this thing, but-"
"Sir. Your brother will be safe here. I promise, we'll take good care of him." the nurse says and she smiles reassuringly.
Dean looks over to the nurse; her name tag reads 'May'. Dean tries to smile back.
The little television mounted to the wall is playing "Interview With the Vampire." Tom Cruise, in a wig Dean finds both hideous and an improvement, yells 'For do not doubt, you are a killer, Louis!' Dean decides the least he can do is spare Sam from Brad Pitt's wig, which is ten times worse. He snorts as he turns off the television and hears May stifle a laugh.
Dean's cast itches and he scratches under the edge.
"Your arm, what happened?" the nurse asks.
Dean has to bite his tongue to keep from yelling 'Mind your own business.' Instead he says, "An accident, no big deal. My wrist's practically healed already." He looks back over to Sam lying on his bed. There aren't any restraints, and there won't be any unless Sam exhibits signs of being a danger to himself, or to anyone else. Dean represses a shudder as the memory of last week's events overcomes him.
Bobby comes back downstairs to bring Sam lunch and nearly has a heart attack when he opens the door. Sam's mouth is covered in blood; his eyes are glazed and vacant.
Bobby is still standing there, rooted to the spot, when Dean comes in behind him. "Sammy?" Dean runs past Bobby as he goes, knocking down the soup bowl Bobby was holding. It shatters, and its fragments skitter across the floor. Dean sits next to Sam and starts cursing under his breath. "Bobby, get some gauze."
"What happened?" Bobby asks.
"Dammit Sam." Dean snaps, pressing his hand over the wound on Sam's forearm. He'd split open the radial artery on his right arm. "He bit himself. Just- get some gauze. Hurry!"
Bobby runs up the stairs.
"I'm thirsty." Sam says.
Dean feels his eyes sting with unshed tears. Since Castiel brought Sam's wall crashing down, Sam hadn't spoken a single word, no matter what Dean and Bobby had tried. Dean had even tried speaking to Sam in different languages. In Enochian, Latin, Greek and Spanish just to see if it would trigger something, but Sam had stayed silent.
"Okay Sammy- there's water right over there. When Bobby gets back down here, we'll bandage you up and then I'll get you some."
Sam stares at Dean and looks like he wants to say something else, but then Bobby comes back in with the gauze.
Dean's hands are shaking and he has to keep blinking to see, but he wraps Sam's wrist tightly and fastens the gauze. "Bobby, can you get Sam some water? He said he was thirsty."
"I gave him some before, he didn't-"
"He said he was thirsty."
Bobby fills up another cup and brings it over. "He spoke?"
Dean takes the cup from Bobby and holds it out to Sam, "Here you go kiddo, drink up."
Sam doesn't move, but he huffs- a small, frustrated noise. Dean holds the cup closer. Sam pushes it away gently, shaking his head. He looks at his bandaged arm and says again, "I'm thirsty."
Dean knows- he knows what Sam really wants, but he isn't going to say it out loud, because if he does, then he's going to start screaming and punching and he can't do that. Not now, not here. So he puts the cup down on the floor by Sam's feet and gets up. "Water's right there when you want it."
Sam frowns and sticks two of his fingers in the cup. He lifts them up again and watches the water run off his fingertips and drip back into the cup.
Dean wants to go back over to Sam, sit next to him and clean off his face, but he can't right now, he just can't. He looks over at Bobby, who nods at him.
"I'll take care of it." Bobby says gently. "Go on up."
Dean turns and slowly heads back upstairs.
Bobby grabs a washcloth from the shelf, wets it with water from the pitcher, and heads over to Sam to clean off his face. Sam doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't react at all. Bobby's nearly done when Sam grabs Bobby's wrist with his good arm and stares at the washcloth.
"Sam, let go." Bobby says, softly.
Sam doesn't move, but his grip tightens.
"Sam, please. Listen to me. Let go." Bobby says again. He looks Sam in the eyes and then feels an ugly, familiar sense of dread wash over him. He knows those eyes. They aren't Sam's. Not exactly. They're empty.
Seconds later, Sam has Bobby pinned underneath his left knee. He's holding Bobby down with his left leg and arm. His other, bandaged arm is raised and holding one of the ceramic shards.
"Sam- NO!" Dean yells as he grabs Sam's raised arm trying to force it away from Bobby. Sam is strong, he's so damn strong, and Dean struggles just to move his arm an inch. Dean grabs Sam's hand, finds the right pressure point between thumb and forefinger and makes Sam drop the shard.
Bobby has stopped struggling and is staring back at Sam's unseeing eyes, trying to get his attention. Sam is making a deep, guttural noise, repeating something over and over that sounds like "Kee nee lah." Dean shoves Sam as hard as he can. Sam blinks a few times, lets go of Bobby's wrist and looks at Dean in confusion. Dean puts his hands up and tries to calm Sam down. "Sam, it's okay. Just take it easy."
It takes nearly an hour for Bobby and Dean to restrain Sam. Sam calms down for a few minutes, but more often than not, whenever one of them gets near, he attacks them. While they're trying to bind Sam's legs, Sam decides he doesn't like that plan and throws Dean against the wall, hard. Dean lands on his left arm and feels a snap near the wrist. When Dean lifts himself up with his good arm, Sam is staring right at him. Bobby watches from the door as Sam gets back on the cot, cuffs his ankles himself, and lays down.
Dean walks over to Sam's bed. Sam looks oddly young in the white shirt and pale blue pants the hospital dressed him in. Dean tries to catch Sam's gaze, but Sam doesn't see him. He's watching something above him on the ceiling, but whatever it is, only he can see it.
"We have your cell phone numbers, and your uncle's number. Visiting hours are until eight pm." the nurse says.
"Yeah...okay." Dean takes Sam's hand in his and tells him, "Sammy, I'm sorry but- Bobby got himself in trouble and there just- there's nobody else left." Dean turns to leave.
Dean hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates the sickly green walls of this hospital, he hates the smell of disinfectant that permeates the air. He can't leave Sam alone here, he can't- but he has to. The last few years have knocked out so much of the meager support group they had left, that Dean is literally the only one who knows enough and cares enough to go help Bobby.
May walks Dean out of the room and closes Sam's door behind them.
Sam stares at the ceiling. It's night and the lights have all been turned off. His back itches, right in the middle, but he can't move, he shouldn't move, not too much anyway. Not enough to scratch the itch. He's exhausted. He's weak. It itches. It doesn't matter.
Dean was here earlier. At least- he thinks Dean was here earlier. Dean was here earlier and he said he was leaving, but that he was coming back. Sam wonders where Dean went. Dean was here earlier.
The ceiling is filled with faces. A lot of them are screaming. Some of them are crying. The one right above Sam is bleeding. The face looks familiar. It's his own face, but it isn't. It's his other self- though he can't tell which one. It might be all of him at once. The eyes that stare back at him are black, yellow, green and so very empty. The blood drips slowly from the eye sockets, forehead, and from the mouth as it opens to say, "Paheedeh."
Sam opens his mouth and waits for the blood to fall on his tongue. It never does, no matter how long Sam waits. Sam would cry if he could. He's so thirsty. He's so cold. The fire that used to hold him every second of every day isn't burning anymore. The fire hurt, but it kept the ice at bay. Sam shivers and stares up into his own, dark eyes. He can feel his veins freezing as the ice creeps back in.
"Paheedeh ee en..." says his other self, over and over like a lullaby. The other faces have all closed their eyes. They're all sleeping. Sam wishes he could sleep too, but he can't. He's too thirsty to sleep, and the walls are filled with whispers. 'Keeneelah' says the wall. 'Dohesseegeh. Ohlohrah keeneelah. Deh nohquoleh nee ee es..'
Sam understands the words, but not the reason behind them. He's alone here. No one is coming for him.
Being alone isn't so bad, Sam thinks. He knows he's dangerous. That's why he should be alone. That's why he shouldn't move. That's why he needs to stay still- stay calm. People are safer if Sam can't move...aren't they?
A dozen voices answer him- from above, from below, from inside his head.
Blood calls to blood. Keeneelah vehmehdeh keeneelah. Deh nohquoleh nee ee es. Your servants come. If you wanted, you could wipe her off the map without moving a muscle. You didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo.
Oh hi, Ruby. I miss you. I hate you. I miss you.
You're not strong enough. I will be. I know you. You're not strong enough. We'll just have to see. Ohlohrah keeneelah. Man of blood. Send me back...if you can. I'm stronger than that now. Now, I can kill. Blood calls to blood.
Sam nods. He knows it's true, even if he can't remember how, or why. He licks his dry lips. He's so thirsty. The faces above are fading as the room gets lighter. The sun is rising. The son is rising. The morning is here. The Morningstar isn't. Yet. Sam doesn't want the Light to find him again. He closes his eyes against the light and wishes it would be dark again. A minute later he hears thunder and looks outside. There's a storm coming. Deh nohquoleh nee ee es. A giant black cloud covers the sky and presses right up against Sam's open window. Sam breathes a sigh of relief and watches the room get darker and darker.
His door opens with a soft click and then closes again. There are new voices.
"-because then there wouldn't be anyone left to get us out of here. He's not gonna kill you. Don't be such a pansy." says a woman's voice.
Sam knows her voice. He knows her. He tries to say her name, but then she's right there, forcing his mouth open. There's a man next to her. He looks at Sam with wide, black eyes and draws a knife across his forearm.
Sam is so thirsty.
Enochian translations:
Keeneelah Blood
Paheedeh Forever
Paheedeh ee en Forever mine
Dohesseegeh Dark one
Ohlohrah keeneelah Man of blood
Deh nohquoleh nee ee es Your servants come
Keeneelah vehmehdeh keeneelah Blood calls to blood