Good morning! I've got a cup of tea and I'm off to work on chapter 39 but thought I'd go ahead and post this first.

Enjoy!

Chapter 36

Tommy looked up from his cup of coffee at the sound of footsteps. Dean was walking toward him, hand raised in greeting. The kid's hair was damp and he looked suspiciously like he was suffering from a hangover.

"Morning, Dean. Breakfast?"

"Sure."

"Have a seat." Tommy stood up, motioning to a chair.

"Can I get some of that coffee?" Dean asked as he sat down.

Tommy wanted to say yes, but he'd been duly informed by Arla that coffee was off limits for another few days. "How about some water?"

"Fine." Dean gave up without a fight, put his arms on the table and rested his head on them.

Smiling to himself at the pitiful sight, Tommy walked into the kitchen to fill up a plate. Arla had made a breakfast casserole and he served up a good sized portion. Stabbing a fork into it, he grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. Setting the plate and glass in front of Dean, Tommy went back for the bottle of aspirin for good measure.

He shook out three and dropped them into Dean's expectant hand. By the time Tommy had sat down, Dean still hadn't straightened. Sipping his coffee, Tommy waited. He didn't know for sure, and he hadn't voiced his suspicions to Arla, but after looking at him now, he was almost entirely certain that Dean had been out drinking last night.

But he wasn't going to bring it up because, if he had been drinking again, Dean was paying the price already and the last thing the kid needed was to be beat down any more than he already was.

Dean's fingers closed around the tablets and, after another few seconds, he pushed himself upright and swallowed the pills down with a drink of water. Settling back in the chair, Dean grabbed the fork and looked down at the plate. Tommy let him eat a few bites in peace before speaking up.

"You boys sleep alright?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded, waving the fork in the general direction of the staircase. "Think he's gonna be out for awhile yet."

"He needs the sleep."

Dean stabbed another forkful of casserole but didn't reply. Tommy studied him and wondered if he should suggest going to pick up the car or not. Dean looked bad, but he also looked like he needed something to do or his nerves were going to get the better of him. Even though he'd told Steve he'd pick it up tomorrow, Tommy was rethinking that plan. After the way yesterday had gone, he felt like enough progress had been made that it was time for another gentle nudge in the healing process.

"This is really good." Dean interrupted his thoughts and stabbed another bite of the casserole.

"One of my favorites."

Dean nodded and returned his attention to his breakfast. Tommy finished his cup of coffee, then asked, "You feel up to taking a drive?"

Straightening, Dean ran a hand through his hair; expression curious. "Sure. Why?"

"Need to pick up a car for a friend. Needs some work."

"The project you mentioned."

"Yes."

"What kind of car?"

"1978 Pacer." Tommy smiled at the look of disgust on Dean's face. He hadn't expected that Dean would be thrilled with the kind of car. "I know. Not my first choice either."

Dean snorted and said, "Well you saw the piece of trash we were drivin' so I guess I shouldn't mock your friend's choice."

Tommy could tell the teasing tone belied Dean's annoyance with the car he'd been driving. Taking a chance and hoping for the best, Tommy asked, "You boys still have that Impala?"

A shadow passed over Dean's expression and Tommy wondered if he'd made a mistake in asking. But then Dean's lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. "We've got her. Tucked up in a safe place. Can't be drivin' her right now. Little too flashy."

"She is that," Tommy said, and the ghost of a smile on Dean's face developed into a real smile. "I figured you'd be able to help me put the Pacer back in working order since you've kept that beauty running for all these years."

"Been a long road," Dean admitted. "Rebuilt her from the frame up half a year after we met you guys in fact."

"What happened?" Tommy figured if Dean had opened the door, he might as well walk through it and see how far he would get.

"T-boned by an eighteen-wheeler," Dean said, tracing a finger around the edge of his glass.

Tommy's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Guessing this hadn't been an ordinary accident, Tommy asked, "Something did it to you, right? It wasn't random."

"Not random," Dean acknowledged, sitting back and rubbing his eyes. "It was a demon. We'd all been beat to hell trying to get away from one of them earlier that day. Sam was driving us to the hospital when it happened."

"All?"

"Dad was with us. It was bad. I almost died. Dad did."

There was more to that story, Tommy could tell from the haunted expression in Dean's eyes. But it wasn't a topic he was going to pursue. He thought back to the Christmas when they'd first met the boys. They'd been searching for their father and the longing, the need, had been palpable in both of them. For them to lose him like that - he shook his head. Tommy could tell the pain from that loss still weighed on Dean. It had been years, but pain like that didn't ever go completely away.

Dean continued softly, "Wasn't his fault, but Sam blamed himself for it. Took a long time after I put the car back together before he drove her again."

"You get the demon?"

"We got 'em."

"Good." Tommy wanted to hear more, but he decided to stop while he was ahead.

He considered getting another cup of coffee while Dean finished his breakfast, but decided he'd refrain since Dean couldn't have a cup. They sat in silence for a few minutes, while Dean finished. He looked up and back toward the kitchen so Tommy took his plate and filled it up again. Sitting back down, Tommy saw the front door open. Arla caught sight of him and smiled, heading their way. She'd been outside weeding the neglected flower garden in the front yard.

"Good morning!" Arla called out as she came closer.

Dean looked up with a smile and Tommy blessed her good timing.

"Good morning," Dean said, pointing at his plate. The second serving of casserole was already half eaten. "Thanks for breakfast."

"You're very welcome." Arla leaned a hip against the table and Tommy could tell she was assessing Dean. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Dean gave her a thumbs up.

Arla smiled, but Tommy knew she wasn't convinced. They'd sat out around the fire almost until eleven the previous night. When they'd come inside, Arla had tip-toed upstairs to check on the boys. He knew it had bothered her to no end to leave Dean sleeping undisturbed on the floor in Sam's room. But she had, because both of them had been sleeping so soundly that she hadn't been able to break the spell.

"Did you get enough to eat, hon?" Arla asked, a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I'm good. Thanks."

"If you get hungry later, help yourself," Arla said, taking a seat at the end of the table. "How's Sam doing?"

Dean shrugged. "Alright I guess. Sleeping. He took more of those pills last night."

"Which pills?"

"The ones to help with the anxiety."

"Did you-"

"He asked me for one the first time." Dean sighed. "I guess he took a couple more when I was...out."

Tommy could easily sense Dean's trepidation. Probably was beating himself up for taking that walk.

Arla smiled a little and said, "It's a good sign, Dean."

"You think so?" Uncertainty filled his eyes.

"Yes. I know it doesn't necessarily feel like it, but it is. If he felt comfortable enough to take those pills when he knew he needed to, I'd call that progress." Arla patted his hand. "No one wants him to need to be taking medications, but the fact he took them on his own tells me he's starting to cope."

Tommy watched the emotions in Dean's eyes and was relieved when it looked like the kid accepted what Arla was saying.

After a moment, Dean asked, "You'll keep an eye on him?"

"Of course," Arla said, then frowned.

Tommy filled in the blank quickly. "We're going to go pick up the car. Start workin' on it."

Arla looked at him and for a moment, they argued back and forth with nothing but their eyes. He knew she didn't think Dean was ready. But Tommy knew the kid needed to get busy with something before he drove himself - and probably his brother - crazy. Arla surrendered with a nod.

She said, "I'll get the cupcakes ready."

"Cupcakes?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

Tommy laughed. "The guy we're picking the car up from? He's Arla's cousin and he always wants cupcakes when we're in town."

Dean smiled, then inquired politely if there would be any cupcakes left.

Arla had the cupcakes packaged up in a box in no time and Dean accepted the responsibility of carrying it. He'd been assured that Arla still had enough cupcakes left for all of them later. Tommy was just as happy to hear that as Dean was.

As he drove to Steve's place, Tommy tried to decide how to handle things. He needed to sign the papers, of course, but if he did that with Dean standing there, he'd probably have some questions. In the end, it didn't matter because when they arrived, Dean declined to come in with him. Whether he was feeling worse, or just not feeling sociable, Tommy didn't know. But it worked out in the long run.

Paperwork signed, cupcakes delivered, Tommy headed back to the car with a bag of parts. He'd discussed the repairs with Steve. Nothing too complicated which was good. Just some minor repairs that he hoped would occupy Dean's mind and hands for several hours.

He hopped back into the car and held out the keys to the Pacer.

"Care to drive?"

Dean smiled and took the keys.

Sam woke up in a cold sweat, breaths coming sharp and short as if he'd run a sprint. The room spun as he pushed himself upright and away from the nightmare. He fought with the covers he was trapped in and tamped down on the panic that threatened to suck him under again.

Once he was upright and had his feet on the ground, his head cleared to a point and Sam didn't even need to make a conscious effort at remembering where he was. Lately, waking up almost always required a few moments of reorientation. This time, though, it wasn't necessary. He remembered where he was and why.

Catching his breath and breathing out a shaky sigh of relief, Sam scrubbed at his eyes and wished the extra sleep had done more than it had. Because he still wanted to sleep. And he still had a headache. What was the point of sleeping and taking pills if nothing worked anyway?

Sam leaned sideways against the headboard and pressed his hands to his face. He hated the spaced out feeling the meds gave him. Hated seeing the world through a distorted haze. As if he wasn't even really part of what was happening around him. For too long he'd felt like a passenger in his own head. The agony of the headache didn't seem like such a bad thing when compared with the feeling of emptiness that stretched through him when the meds took over.

It felt like he was missing something. Like something had gotten lost along the way. Technically, he knew it wasn't true. All the missing parts were back together, but he still felt like something was wrong. There had been a weight pressing down on him for so long, and now that it was gone, he felt strangely empty.

The more he thought about it, the more he noticed how much he was shaking. Pressing his hands to the bed, Sam forced his eyes open. Forced himself to slow his breathing and look around the room. Forced himself to return his attention to the present.

Sam looked at the clock. Almost two in the afternoon. As sleepy as he'd been earlier when Dean had made him drink some water, he wasn't surprised he'd slept so late. His thoughts turned to the events of the previous evening. Sitting around the campfire had been enjoyable to a point, but keeping up with the conversation had been beyond him. It had taken all his concentration to eat.

And just like that, his scattered thoughts all melded into one specific thought.

I'm hungry.

Suddenly, that was the only thing that mattered. He pushed himself to his feet and, even though the movement aggravated his headache, the dizziness wasn't as bad as it had been earlier. Yawning, he decided, as hungry as he was, he should start with a shower before going downstairs. He was still half asleep and had a feeling he'd fall down the stairs if he tried them right now.

By the time he'd finished in the shower and was getting dressed, he finally felt more awake. More alive. Of course, being more awake only made his mind work double time.

Like a blinding flash of lightning, Sam remembered talking to Dean outside the clinic the day before. He remembered what he'd said. His fingers tightened on the door frame as his knees threatened to buckle.

Maybe Dean hadn't understood. After all, he hadn't been very specific. Hadn't come right out and said-

"No." Sam's voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.

He needed to stop thinking about it. But, as usual, his mind seemed to belong to someone else and didn't do anything he suggested. All he could think about was the look in Dean's eyes. The way his face had gone stark white.

He knows.

It made Sam strongly reconsider his aversion to the pills. Maybe he should take a few more and sleep until everything went away. Squeezing his eyes closed, he had to put his other hand out against the door frame to keep from spinning into oblivion. Everything was hot and cold all at the same time and he thought he might be sick.

"You're having panic attacks."

Arla's gentle voice broke through the thunder in his head. Sam felt sharp pain in his chest and pressed a hand to his ribs, forcing himself to slow his breathing. He thought about what Arla had said. How sure she'd sounded. How understanding she'd sounded. There had been no judgment, no pity, no disgust. Slowly, the hyperventilating eased and the dark spots cleared.

Panic attacks.

Sam stared at the ground, unpacking the phrase. Panic attacks. Was that what it was? Well, obviously. Arla was a doctor. She knew about stuff like this. And he knew it too. Hadn't wanted to admit it, but he'd known. It felt stupid, somehow, to be having panic attacks.

But it made sense.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath and straightened. The pull of his injured ribs hurt, so he kept his hand pressed against it. Pain still had a way of grounding him, he realized. Not certain if that were a good thing or not, Sam considered his next move.

Go downstairs and find a way to deal with being around everyone, or stay here and hide. Potentially give in to the horrible, conflicting, desire to drug himself back to sleep. In the end, it was the smell of something wonderful that decided it for him.

Once he was downstairs, he was hungry enough that even the thought of having to face up to his brother and both of the Penders at once didn't seem like a problem. He just needed something to eat. There was no one around that he could see so he headed straight for the kitchen and found a tray of cooling cookies on the counter.

He had no idea what kind they were, but they smelled amazing. Sam took a quick look around and still didn't see anyone. So he stepped closer to the cookies and stared down at two dozen warm bits of heaven.

He picked one up and it might have been the best thing he'd ever tasted.

Sam finished it in three bites and was on his second when he heard a door closing somewhere behind him. Stiffening and feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Sam turned around and looked for signs of movement. After another minute, he saw Arla walking around a corner with a laundry basket in her hands. She saw him immediately and the smile that lit her face was so much like sunshine that Sam smiled back without thinking about it.

"Hi, Sam," she said as she walked over. Setting the laundry basket on the kitchen table, she remained a comfortable few feet away and asked, "How are the cookies?"

"Great."

He couldn't believe he'd answered her with his mouth full. Dean wasn't opposed to talking with his mouth full, but he usually had better table manners than his brother did. Sam finished chewing as Arla walked past him to the kitchen.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure. Coffee?"

Arla paused and studied him. It looked like she was fighting a battle within herself. She nodded and said, "A small cup. And you have a glass of water, too. Deal?"

At this moment, he would have done almost anything for a cup of coffee. He hadn't really considered it before, but maybe part of his ongoing issue with the persistent headache was because he was missing his daily dose of caffeine. It wasn't surprising considering how many pots of coffee he'd been going through there at the end in a desperate bid to avoid sleeping. Not to mention the energy drinks and caffeine pills he'd been sneaking without his brother's knowledge.

So he said, "Deal."

Arla smiled again and motioned for him to sit down at the bar. Half a minute later, a glass of cold water appeared in front of him. He finished half the glass while he munched on a third cookie. When the coffee was presented to him, Sam wasn't sure life could possibly get better.

He took a sip, then looked over at Arla curiously when she laughed.

She shook her head, but her smile was still bright as she said, "I'm sorry, Sam. You just looked so happy about that coffee. I thought I was the only one who was that happy about coffee."

Sam took another sip in case the cup mysteriously were to disappear. He held it between both hands and said, "I can't remember the last time I had any coffee."

It must have been before the psych hospital. Because there hadn't been any coffee there even though he'd asked. Many times.

And just like that, the cookies and coffee weren't settling too well on his stomach. He swallowed back the nausea, knowing Arla was aware of his discomfort. It was frustrating when even the simplest of conversations could be full of landmines that he didn't expect and couldn't stop from blowing up in his face.

Attempting to distract himself, Sam asked, "Where's Dean?"

"He and Tommy are outside working on a car."

He took another sip of coffee and, although it didn't taste anywhere near as wonderful as it had a minute ago, it went down easier. Glancing at Arla from the corner of his eye, he saw that she had a cup of coffee in her own hand and was sipping it as she looked somewhere beyond him. Sam relaxed to a degree when he realized she wasn't staring at him.

For a few minutes, they were silent, then Arla asked, "Are you still hungry, Sam? Do you want anything else to eat?"

His appetite had pretty much disappeared with the first memory of the hospital. Even the cookies that had smelled, and tasted, so amazing now seemed like poison. He shook his head and lifted the cup again to avoid needing to reply.

Arla stood there for another minute, savoring her coffee. Then she walked over to the table and started folding towels. He watched her for a moment, then turned away. It was a relief that she wasn't pushing him. Wasn't asking him how he felt, how he'd slept. Wasn't trying to get him to talk. Wasn't trying to get him to do anything.

He basked in the comfortable silence until he'd finished the cup of coffee, then shifted until he was facing Arla. She looked up at him, but didn't stop folding the towels. He met her gaze, then stared at the pile of laundry. There was a part of him that wanted to leave the silence as it was. To not break it or disturb the way he felt almost normal for the first time in forever.

But he needed to ask while he had the chance. So he looked back up at Arla. "How do you think he's doing?"

Arla put a folded towel on the stack and picked up another one but didn't start folding it.

She studied him, but he could tell she wasn't assessing his fitness for her reply or his reasons for asking. After a moment, she said softly, "I'm not entirely sure."

He didn't like that answer, but was beyond relieved that she was being honest with him.

Sam nodded slowly, considering her words and the depth of meaning behind them. He kept his voice low as he said, "I don't…I have no idea what to do to help him."

"I know. And that's a scary place to be." Arla folded the towel in her hands, then walked closer. Leaning against the counter, she said, "He's very worried about you—"

"He's always worried about me." The words sounded bitter to his own ears. It wasn't like he didn't think Dean had good cause to be worried about him this time. He was just sick of always being the root of his brother's troubles.

Arla's lips twisted up in a slight smile and she said, "I can tell. I know it must be difficult. Must feel a bit like he's smothering you. I think there's more to it, though."

Sam nodded. There was so much more to it. More than she could ever imagine. More than he would ever be able to tell. Taking his own myriad of issues out of the picture, Sam knew exactly what Dean's two biggest issues were.

Cas and Bobby.

"We lost—" It was as if his throat was closing up around the words. These particular memories were some of the foggiest and most disconcerting. They pressed in on him whenever his mind turned to them, but nothing was clear and that worried him.

"Take your time," Arla's soft voice drew his attention.

He hadn't even noticed her move, but now she had a cup in her hand and he realized there was a fresh cup on the counter next to his elbow. Sam reached for the cup, hating how badly his hand was shaking. He didn't dare pick it up, just wrapped his hands around it and allowed the warmth to soak into his skin. Focusing on the heat, Sam waited until some of the fog lifted.

Staring into the cup, he whispered, "Bobby died."

It wasn't the first time he'd said it aloud, and he knew it was true, but it still sounded wrong. There was a part of his brain that - even now - refused to connect the actual dots between Bobby and dead. Sam knew it was probably an unconscious coping mechanism.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Sam."

He looked up at Arla. It had never really crossed his mind to think about it that way. The filter of Dean's all-consuming anger and grief over Bobby's death shadowed everything and Sam had trouble even thinking about it in terms of his own loss. Yes, he'd grieved over Bobby last night when he'd finally been able to remember what had happened without the filter of hallucinations and fear. But his loss paled in comparison to Dean's.

"Can I ask who Bobby was?"

"He was our friend." The word seemed so inadequate for who Bobby had been to them but Sam couldn't elaborate. The pressure was back on his chest.

"I can tell how much he meant to both of you."

Sam nodded. He thought back to when their father had died. "Dean's not great with…dealing. And…he's—"

"He's angry," Arla finished for him.

"Yes." About so many things.

"He's angry with another friend of yours. Cas?" Arla asked, adding another folded towel to the pile.

Another complicated topic that Sam wasn't entirely sure he could handle discussing at the moment. Dean's feelings were clear. He was furious. Sam's feelings on the issue weren't as cut and dry.

"Cas screwed up. Big time." Sam smiled a little. "He thought he was doing the right thing so he and I have that in common. Dean doesn't see it that way."

Arla nodded slowly. She took a sip of her coffee, then said, "Dean told us that Cas hurt you."

It surprised him to hear that Dean had said anything about Cas. Sam wondered how to explain it all with the minimum detail necessary. After a minute, he said, "He did. And it's been really difficult to deal with. But he also helped fix things. Dean's still so angry that he doesn't see it that way. I think I'm having an easier time forgiving Cas than Dean is because I've screwed up so much that...I don't know. I guess I can relate to Cas' mistakes more than Dean can. Cas thought he was doing the right thing. A long time ago, I thought the same thing and-"

He trailed off. He'd already told her that he'd set the devil free. He wasn't in the mood to rehash that topic.

Arla seemed to sense his reluctance to continue. "It's ok, Sam."

Relieved, Sam took a sip of coffee. He looked back at the cookies and realized his appetite had returned. Arla was watching him closely and, when he asked about lunch, she looked positively thrilled. A plate appeared in front of him in no time.

She folded the laundry and talked about her grandkids while he ate and he'd finished everything she'd put in front of him before it occurred to him that he hadn't thought once about checking the food for maggots.

Dean wiped the sweat from his brow and stared down at the engine, listening carefully. It sounded better. He held a thumb up over the hood of the car and Tommy shut it down. They'd been working on the car for several hours now and he didn't think it was going to take much longer. While he didn't find much to like about the maroon Pacer, there was some satisfaction in hearing it purr like a kitten.

"What do you think?" Tommy asked, standing next to him in front of the car.

"We're getting there."

For a few minutes, they conferred about what their next step would be. Dean glanced at his watch while Tommy looked over the car manual. It was almost three. He frowned and debated taking a break.

Arla had come out just before noon to herd them inside for lunch and he'd checked on Sam at that point, found him still comfortably snoozing and let him be. But, nearly three hours later, he was beginning to wonder if he should be getting worried about this extended nap.

And then he turned at the sound of Arla's laughter.

Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw Sam holding the door open for Arla. She had two tall glasses of water in her hands and Sam had a plate of cookies in his free hand.

"Snack time!" Tommy grinned like he was five years old and hurried over to relieve Sam of the plate of cookies.

"Don't hog them all. Some of those are for Dean," Arla chided him as she handed Dean a glass.

It all seemed so normal, so natural. Sam was looking under the hood of the car while Tommy updated him and Arla on the progress of their repairs. Dean stood there, sweat trailing down his back, cold glass of water in his hand and stared in wonder at the sight of his brother conversing easily with both of the Penders. Arla caught him staring and winked at him.

Dean shook himself out of his shock and took a sip of the water trying to disguise the way he was still staring at his brother. If Sam noticed, he didn't give any indication. When he heard Arla say something about taking a walk, Dean set the glass on the workbench behind him and tuned back into the conversation.

"Go for it," Tommy was saying. "It's a beautiful day. We've got more to do before we're done here."

Arla gave Tommy a quick kiss. "We'll be back in a bit."

Dean looked from her to Sam. He wasn't sure what to make of any of this, but Sam was smiling and looked rested and at ease. He had a ways to go before the circles under his eyes would fade away, and he still looked too pale and too thin, but he looked better than he had in a very, very long time.

"Have fun," Sam said, as he walked by and followed Arla down the driveway.

Dean wordlessly watched him go.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" He turned at the sound of Tommy's voice.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Dean shook his head and said, "Of all the things I expected would happen today, that was not one of them."

Tommy laughed. "I'll admit I wasn't expecting it, either."

"I didn't think he was even going to get out of bed."

And he really hadn't. Considering everything that had happened yesterday and the fact that Sam had taken extra pills - even if it had been of his own volition - Dean had expected today to be a rough day. He'd never expected it to be a good day.

"He's getting better, Dean." Tommy gripped his shoulder.

Dean nodded then pressed his free hand to his head. It was difficult to believe. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was...everything. Either way, Dean felt his legs going out from under him. Tommy's steadying hand under his elbow helped slow his descent to the pavement. Settling against the side of the car, Dean accepted the offered glass of water when it appeared in front of his eyes. He took a sip, then allowed Tommy to take the glass again.

"How're you doing, son?" Tommy was kneeling next to him, and Dean was just too tired to even feel embarrassed over the way he'd very nearly passed out.

"Ok."

"Think maybe you overdid it."

Resting his head against the car door, Dean smiled wryly and said, "Possibly."

Tommy nodded. "Give yourself a minute to recover, then I think you probably should take a break."

"Good call." Dean closed his eyes, grateful that Arla and Sam hadn't been present for his dizzy spell.

He listened as Tommy puttered around with the tools and car parts. After a few minutes, Dean forced his eyes open again, realizing how tired he was. He'd slept well. Considering he'd fallen asleep on the floor, he'd actually slept soundly. But maybe he should have followed Sam's example and taken a long nap.

"Dean?"

Tommy was crouched down in front of him again, looking concerned.

"I'm good." Dean accepted his hand and got to his feet without incident.

"Take the water with you and go lay down for awhile," Tommy instructed, holding the door open and then steering him in the direction of the stairs.

Dean took the water and gave passing thought to just collapsing on the couch. But a bed sounded amazing so he went upstairs and even bypassed the shower although he felt sweaty and nasty. The closer he got to the bed, the less anything else mattered. He drained half the glass, set it on the nightstand and flopped face first onto the mattress.

And then he had to shift until he was propped up on some of the pillows because that position wasn't very good given the fact his nose was still congested. Of course, once he sat up, his nose started running. Irritated, he sat up and grabbed a tissue. Once he'd solved that particular issue, he lay back against the pillow and sleep claimed him in a heartbeat.

Arla chose their route carefully. She didn't want to go too far, yet she didn't want to make Sam feel like she was purposefully limiting him. In the end, her concern probably hadn't been necessary. Sam didn't look like he was paying any attention to their route.

Or anything else for that matter.

When she'd suggested taking a walk after he'd finished off his second plate of taco salad, he'd looked like she'd offered him the moon. Knowing he was finally in the place where he would be up to taking a walk, Arla had been pleased when he showed signs of interest. He was nowhere near ready to take a run, but he was ready to take the first steps toward that goal.

After making sure her husband and his brother had fresh water and a snack, they'd headed off together. They'd been walking for fifteen minutes and neither of them had said a single word. Arla knew Sam was expending all of his energy simply putting one foot in front of the other and she didn't want to tax him further by forcing him to keep up with a conversation.

The day was pleasantly warm with a cool breeze, but she was keeping a close eye on her companion. He was moving easily, but she could tell he wasn't all the way with her. The further they got from the house, the more she felt like he was shutting down.

Not sure what was going on inside his head, Arla turned right when they came to the next side road. They could keep going on this one for awhile or they could veer back toward the house if it seemed necessary. Sam was slowing down, but he was still walking so she let him set the pace.

A few minutes further on, they reached the place where the road curved around the lake. Sam paused and stared out at the water. Arla waited for a moment, but when he didn't move, she walked ahead and sat down in the grass. A moment later, he joined her. Arla kept her eyes on the lake and waited some more. She was willing to sit there as long as he needed. After a minute or two, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"I don't feel right."

Alarmed, she turned to him. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"It's...not like that." He gave her an embarrassed smile that faded rapidly. "I'm fine. I just...I don't feel like the same person I was. Before…him. Before the things...he did."

Arla nodded, and held her tongue. And her breath.

"I don't feel right. I'm not sure I ever will."

His concern was understandable although, logically, Arla knew a big part of the problem was that he still needed more time to recover; more time to put his life back together. More time and more rest were what he needed in order to heal. But trying to explain it in a way that might be comforting to a man who'd lost so much didn't seem possible.

Anything she could think of to say would be nothing more than empty platitudes.

"He took everything from me," Sam said; his eyes suddenly bright with anger. And fear. "Everything. How can I ever be myself...get back to…normal...when I can't forget that he -"

Sam choked on whatever he'd been about to say and pressed a hand over his eyes. Arla's heart broke. She thought about all the signs, the indications, that she'd picked up on along the way. Putting two and two together, Arla felt certain she knew exactly what he'd been about to say. And she was completely at a loss.

It had been obvious to her from the start that what he'd experienced had taken everything from him. Now she knew the depth of his loss and felt completely inadequate to even begin to help. Because he'd lost more than time. More than his freedom. More than his life. His sense of self had been taken.

Fixing something like that took more than any medicine she could prescribe, took more than any treatment she could possibly order.

So far out of her element, for one split second, Arla selfishly wished he hadn't - however inadvertently - revealed this to her. She wished he'd told his brother or the doctor at the Urgent Care center, or someone, anyone, else. Her thoughts wandered back to the way the color had drained out of Dean's face when he and Sam had been talking outside the clinic yesterday.

Arla wondered if he had told Dean.

"I'm sorry," Sam interrupted her thoughts.

She looked over at him. He was back to staring at the lake, his expression carefully neutral.

"I shouldn't have-"

"Yes, you should have." This time she was the one interrupting him. He glanced at her in surprise and Arla went on, "You don't have to keep all of this to yourself, Sam. I'm glad you spoke up."

He looked uncomfortable and she couldn't blame him, but she didn't want this to end up sending him ten steps backward.

"I know how difficult all of this has been for you; how difficult it is for you to talk about it. I'm not going to lie to you. You're going to struggle for a long time. What you went through isn't something that heals easily. But do you realize how far you've already come?"

Sam sighed, staring out at the lake. He didn't respond.

"You don't have to do everything all at once. One thing at a time is fine." She nudged him gently in the side. "The fact that you're sitting here with me right now tells me that you're healing."

"Sometimes it doesn't feel like it," he said softly.

"I know."

"It was better...earlier. I don't even know why...what made me think...about it."

"And that's very natural." Arla smiled when he looked her way. She went on, "You'll probably experience flashbacks and nightmares for a long time. Memories will pop up at the most unexpected times. What you need to remember when those things happen is that it is normal. It's part of the process. You're already handling things better than you were when I first found you boys at that cabin. Just because you have bad moments, or bad days, doesn't mean you're not getting better."

Sam nodded, gaze returning to the lake.

Arla looked out at the water too, and wondered if she were saying the right things. After a moment, Sam leaned forward and lowered his head to rest on his arms. Hoping she wasn't overstepping her boundaries, Arla cautiously put her arm around his shoulders. He didn't flinch or pull away.

Instead, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "Thank you."

Tears in her eyes, Arla held him a little tighter. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

Things are starting to look up (finally). ;) next chapter coming up this weekend. thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!