Sam woke with a sharp, wrenching gasp. His heart was pounding, his pulse wracked up nauseatingly. He was sweating; no, no, he was suffocating, burning up, grasping desperately at nothing and choking down breaths that wouldn't, that wouldn't come-
It took him a few disoriented, scrambling seconds to catch up with reality. Bed. A bed. He was- he was in a bed. In a bed with grey blankets. His blankets. Those were his. There was sunlight, streaming onto the wall in front of him, coming in choppy through slatted shades. He could breathe. He was home. He was in bed; he'd been dreaming.
He was safe. He could breathe. Sam choked out a noise so palpable it ached.
This. This again. Still this, after everything. Sam took a sharp, shaky breath and dropped his gaze to the other side of the bed. Empty. Guh. Must be at work. Luckily, he thought. He hated getting seen like this. Hated being like this, most off, but what was he supposed to do? He'd tried… literally everything. Was trying everything. And yet.
Sam pushed himself out of bed, a chill at the back of his neck. The carpet felt good on his bare feet, if a little dirty, but right now everything felt a little hollow. A little desaturated. And screw that, because- he was trying, okay?
Not hard enough, though. Never hard enough. He beelined for the bathroom.
He scrubbed at his face, cold water dripping down his arms and into the basin of the sink. His shirt was going to be soaked after this, but you know what, he honestly didn't care. It could use a wash. Waking up drenched in sweat tended to necessitate things like that. Errant waterdrops usually bugged the hell out of him, too, because they were messy, because they meant more cleanup, but sometimes they were… reassuring. Reminded him that he was here. Whole. Alive. It was the kind of startling-in-a-good-way physical sensation that put you in your place, in a cosmic sense. But then again, maybe Sam was just putting too much stock into something stupid; it wouldn't be the first time. Maybe he was too sentimental.
Sam cleaned up, patted his face dry, and shifted his attentions to finding his toothbrush. He'd woken up a full hour before his alarm, and he felt it - underneath the refreshing wakefulness of night terror, there was a heavy sluggishness in his arms, his chest, his legs. His mind felt blocked, somehow, too, tense and overly-hot and too distant to properly reconfigure at this time.
But hey, at least he knew what would help.
An hour and a half later, he was on the phone, feeling conscious and awake and better - if a little out of it. And slow. And in a semi-bloomed haze of giddy-calm. But hey, he was functional. And he was calling about this. And - that's what counted, right?
"Yeah- hi, I'm looking for... Winchester. Like the guns, yeah. Uh huh. Uh huh. No, yeah. I wanted to talk about my financial aid? I was supposed to set up an appointment with my guidance counselor." He hesitated, swallowed, and then - "I've been... I was sick." And yeah, he knew that wasn't original. He knew that. Saying it sure as hell didn't make him feel better. But… what mattered was that he was getting it done, right? Even if he felt like shit for putting it off till the last moment? And lying, and lying again? What mattered was that he was trying?
The self help talk didn't help. He wasn't doing enough, and he knew it. He was capable of more, he should be doing more, and holy hell did that eat away at him.
At least he had support. He knew how many people in his situation didn't.
Speaking of.
The corners of Sam's mouth lifted into a soft smile when his eyes fell on the stray t-shirt discarded on the couch. Sam picked it up. Toyed the fabric between his fingers.
"Yeah, I'm free on Friday." He shifted the phone so it was wedged between his ear and shoulder and shook the shirt out, set on folding it. A stray chip crumb flung itself onto the carpet. Sam snorted quietly. "No- sorry. Yeah. That works." He made short work of the folding. "Okay. Awesome. Nine o'clock. Thanks." And with that, the phone call ended. One task down. He had an appointment. Now he just had to stop by a convenience store, buy something to eat, and make it to class. Totally doable. Totally doable.
Sam sighed quietly, shifted feet, and held the fabric close.
Classes went by swimmingly. The breakfast thing, not so much. He felt queasy by lunch, despite the sun and fresh air and general beauty of the day. And, jesus, he really needed to find a way to invest in food with a higher nutritional content than the backalley of the corner store it came from. This sucked. This really sucked. This-
Bzzzzt. Bzzt bzzt. Sam jumped. Holy fucking shit.
It- that was his phone. God, his phone. He needed to take it off freaking vibrate, because- jesus, every goddamn time. Who needed a phone with a vibration that strong?
...On second thought, he was going to leave that question alone.
On third thought, he should really definitely take this call. So Sam did. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, flipped open his phone, and didn't bother stifling the small, crooked smile on his face, because-
"Hey."
"She wants us to wait till tomorrow?"
Sam's smile dropped. Oh. Right. That.
"Yeah," he admitted, rueful.
"Why the fuck-?" Which, yeah, decent question. Unfortunately...
"She didn't say."
"Well, that's bullshit. She's tugging your tail, Sam. She wants to see if she can push you around." Which, yeah. Sam had figured. Sam could see that. He really could.
"I mean. She kind of can," he admitted.
"Sam."
"What? She's in a position of power! It pisses me off, yeah, but what am I supposed to do, threaten her?"
"Maybe."
"Dude, I'm not threatening her."
A snort from the other end.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I was kidding."
"Good, 'cause- geez."
"Yeah. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Big and Tall. I know that wouldn't end well." Big and Tall? Big and Tall. And just like that, Sam's subtle smile was back, because-
"Big and Tall? So would that be referring to my height or..."
A breeze from behind Sam made him stall.
"She's definitely not referring to your height, Samuel. I know a come-on when I hear it." Balthazar.
"Jesus fuck." Balthazar. "Dude-!"
"Party of five!" Balthazar informed him, cheerfully cutting across his sentence. "Sorry to interrupt your phone call - except I'm not, really, because my chocolate-making friend just finished a fresh batch of treats and we're invited to the inaugural tasting."
"You said that was after classes!"
"It was." Bal solemnly confirmed. "And then Gabriel got an order in for enough chocolate and booze-drenched candy to make any mortal's brain melt - for one of those delightful raves at Ash's mansion, you know? - and now he's slipped into confectionary overdrive. His love knows no bounds. It's an illness." Balthazar paused. "A delicious illness, admittedly. You really can't argue with the byproduct. Are you coming or not, Samuel?"
And- jesus. Okay, fine, that made sense. But man, a little warning would have gone a long way. He was on the phone. Meanwhile, on said phone:
"Sam? What the hell happened? You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm- jesus. Sorry. One of my friends snuck up on me."
"Some jackass interrupted my flirting?" A jokingly scornful noise. "Make sure they know I hate them." Sam grinned at that. Man, that was a good mood if he ever heard one. And wasn't that infectious. However...
"Look, I've gotta go." Because… yeah. He really couldn't see a way of getting out of this. Not now, after Balthazar had already locked and targeted onto him. Luckily, the reply came back positive enough.
"Fine. See you later, babe."
"Yeah. Yeah, see you later." A hesitation. Sam shot a quick look at Bal, gauging; but, hey, he'd said she earlier, so… "Love you," he finished.
"Yeah. Love you too."
Click.
Sam let his phone snap shut and turned to look at Balthazar, a little uncertain. He wasn't used to sharing his personal life with anyone at all, and yeah, it was just a phone call, just an 'I love you', but it was still…
"Aw. How precious! Big and Tall and you express your love? And here I thought you couldn't flirt."
Sam let out a breath of laughter, nerves dissipating. Man. One good thing about Balthazar: he always had a weirdly energizing, weirdly comforting way about him - even if talking with him was kind of like being strapped into a Lamborghini going 120 down a road only fit for double digits.
"Shut up." Sam said, good-naturedly. He stood up, collecting his things and herding them back into his backpack. "Also, hey - how did you find me?" Because they hadn't had a class together today, and Sam was at least fairly certain that Balthazar was above stalking him. Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder. Balthazar scoffed.
"You're not exactly inconspicuous, Samuel. Who else wears hoodies in 80 degree weather? Honestly, if you didn't look so cute in them I'd call it a travesty against fashion. Possibly life itself. How you manage to not roast is beyond me."
"Ah. Gotcha."
"I take it you invest in some good antiperspirant?"
"Wh- dude!"
"What? You're rebelling against nature! I'm curious."
"...No, I don't really invest. I use that Dove stuff? Clean Comfort? It smells really good."
"Very interesting."
"Thanks for that."
Heaven, as it turned out, ended up being a modestly-sized boutique that you could easily overlook if you were distracted or in a hurry to get somewhere - but when you stopped, and looked, when you actually noticed it - wow.
"Wait." Sam started, staring up with something close to puzzled amazement at the word 'Heaven' emblazoned in powder-pink letters on the front of the building. "It's literally called Heaven? Oh my god. Dude, I thought you were being dramatic."
"No other name did it justice!" Bal ceremoniously informed him. "Just wait until you see the inside."
Which- god, yeah. It was… pretty. Really pretty. Holy hell. Or, well, er. Heaven. Holy heaven. But hey.
Maybe it was the day adding dramatic effect too - in which case, it was a brilliant move to set up shop in California of all places, because here almost every day was beautiful and thus, Sam imagined, so too was the view of this shop. Because jesus christ, the sun hit the pretty but otherwise nondescript exterior just right. It lit up the displays in the windows - which, wow - and made the building itself look almost golden, and- yeah, okay. That had to be a custom paint job. He honestly wasn't surprised. Apparently, wherever Bal was involved, no expense was spared.
"This place is- beautiful." Sam admitted sheepishly. He honestly wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Something overdone? Something a little tacky? Something really tacky? Jesus, he felt bad, because he'd just assumed, and now here he was, and the place was like this-
"I know." Balthazar beamed. "Now, what's the term? 'Mi casa es su casa'?" When Sam didn't respond in under half a second, Bal prodded him impatiently. "What I'm saying is move, lazybones. Stop gawking and get inside. Not everyone can be a heat-impervious behemoth with a hoodie fetish."
"Oh, come on." Sam complained, shooting him a look, because really. He was seriously blowing this whole thing out of proportion. "This one's my thinnest one!"
"And it brings out your eyes beautifully. Now, inside."
Which, gah, okay, fine. Sam went.
Sam went, and waltzed right into amazingly orchestrated chaos.