Part Two

Sam had only just settled into sleep when there was a knock on the motel door that had him twitching back to consciousness.

"Shhh, 's okay." Dean rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping to lull him back to sleep, but when the knock came again Sam groaned and opened his eyes.

"'s 'at Bobby?" he muttered, struggling to rise even as Dean was pressing him back into the bed.

"Not yet." He'd sensed Bobby was worried, but not even that could have carried him 200 miles in the last 40 minutes, and Dean hadn't heard a car pull up outside.

Frowning, Dean crossed the room, collecting his hand gun on the way past. He didn't know who it was on the other side of the door, but he fully intended to give them a piece of his mind for knocking on it at four in the morning and disturbing his brother's rest.

The urge didn't leave him when he opened the door to find Castiel standing outside it, fist raised and brow furrowed as though deciding whether to knock again.

"Dean," the angel said in greeting.

"What the hell?" As disconcerting as it was when he appeared and disappeared without warning, the fact the angel had tracked them down and waited to be invited in made Dean's stomach churn.

That and the expression on Castiel's face.

"How did you..?" They should still have been shielded from view, and Castiel usually called to find out where they were before appearing. Not that he'd done much reaching out in the past 18 months. They'd practically had to beg every time they wanted to get his ass out of heaven.

"Your car is right outside," the angel told him. "And yours is the only room with salt at every entrance. Or a light on."

"Oh."

Castiel didn't volunteer any more information, just rocked on his heels and looked nonchalantly around him, but Dean could see the tension in his shoulders and the way he was avoiding eye contact.

"You should maybe not park so close to…"

"Oh, get in here." Dean grabbed the front of the angel's trench coat and dragged him into the room, closing the door and standing in front of it as though that would prevent the other man from getting away. Now that Castiel was suddenly so keen on doors.

"Ok, talk," he growled. Castiel might be trying to help them, but the angel had fallen out of Dean's good graces the moment he'd decided not to tell him there could be something wrong with Sam.

Castiel turned away from him to look for Sam, who was sitting up on the bed, one foot on the floor as though he'd been about to rise. Sam had probably not known who was at the door until Dean had dragged him inside, and even now had his back.

For some reason, that knowledge hurt more than it should have done.

"Sam… I…" Castiel took one step towards the bed and stopped, hands lifted in a placatory gesture.

"'s okay," Sam told him, staring at his own knees.

"How exactly is any of this okay?" Dean asked them incredulously.

"Dean," Sam sighed, and Castiel actually took a step back, the most sensible thing Dean had seen him do given the news he was carrying and the way Dean was feeling.

"No. You're going to tell me what's going on," Dean told Cas sternly. "And none of that cryptic nonsense. As though I'm actually in the room this time."

"I was able to track down the faction that located the weapon. It took great faith on their part to believe it was more than just a myth. It seems there was a monk in the Middle Ages who prayed about a…"

"I'm not needing a history lesson, Cas. Something a little more up to date. Preferable with a happy ending." He folded his arms and shifted his stance. Bobby and Sam would both no doubt kill to hear the full story, but the part that had Castiel knocking at his door with empty hands and a look of sorrowful compassion on his face was the only part Dean needed to hear.

"The weapon has been destroyed," Castiel told them. "It was too… volatile to be used again, despite how effective it might have been. The energy was old, and had possibly been corrupted with its age. Its consequences were unforeseen, and… regrettable."

"And that's it," Dean pressed. "It's just gone. You didn't think maybe we could study…"

"There's no cure."

"You mean you don't know of one," Dean insisted.

"I mean there isn't one."

"You didn't even know this thing existed until a couple hours ago, how can you be so sure that..?"

"I'm sure."

"And this is the less cryptic version," Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then placed it on his hip in an effort to still it when he realised it was trembling.

"It's the condensed version. I'm sorry," Castiel repeated, turning again to face Sam. "Um, is that…?" The angel's eyes flicked back to Dean, and the worry he saw there had Dean spinning towards the bed.

Sam was sitting with his head bowed, and even with the cloth he'd got pinned to his nose Dean could see the drops of blood that were falling onto his knees. Sam lifted his eyes, as though he could tell from the silence that they were both staring at him.

"I got this," he mumbled, free hand raised in a shaky 'okay'. "Feel free to keep yelling."

"Nah, we're done," Dean told him, deflating. The 'why' would come in time, but right now the only important thing was sitting in front of him, so exhausted he could barely keep a hand raised to his own face to stem the flow of blood. Dean crossed to the bathroom to grab a hand towel then perched next to Sam on the bed, tentatively peeling the blood soaked rag from his hands and pressing the towel in place. Sam didn't resist, and while his hand closed over Dean's there was no strength in it and he made no effort to take the towel for himself, just skimmed bloody fingerprints across Dean's knuckles.

"I know that you're…"

"I said we're done," Dean cut across the angel firmly. "I guess there's no point asking if your angel mojo can fix this," he said, hating the way Sam's eyes tracked to Castiel and the glimmer of hope he saw there. Dean had never truly believed like Sam had, and was a lot more aware of heavens limitations since watching his brother swallowed up by Hell. He was somehow irrationally angry that Sam would get to have what remained of his faith shattered again.

"I wish I could. But this is beyond…"

"I figured as much." Dean turned his back to the angel to focus his attention on Sam.

"I'll come back later. See if there's any more I can do."

"Yeah, you do that."

Dean gathered from the slight ripple of air, and the frown in his direction, that the angel was gone.

"'s not his fault," Sam chastised quietly.

Dean shrugged, too tired to argue. Sam had asked that they not assume the worst but experience had taught Dean that there was rarely an alternative, and the only real hope they'd had had just left them empty handed.

Sam's hand slipped from Dean's wrist to his elbow, clinging to the material of his shirt for a few seconds before falling lightly onto his knee, and the weight of Sam's head in Dean's hand increased.

"Sam," Dean called sharply. "You with me?"

A faint squeeze of his knee was his only answer.

"You getting dizzy?"

Sam hummed his confirmation into Dean's palm. Dean lowered his hand further and Sam followed, listing slightly sideways on the bed.

"I think the bleeding's stopped," Dean told him. He discarded the towel he'd been using to stem Sam's nosebleed, swallowing at just how saturated it had become. The last time he'd had Sam's blood on his hands he'd been beating the crap out of him, not willing to believe the thing he'd been living with was really his brother, furious with the creature that had stolen his face. There'd been no blood when Sam had been taken from him, no body draped heavily in his arms. The weight was familiar, holding it was like having something click into place in his soul, something he could barely put in to words but he'd missed it. Had fought so hard to get it back.

He cupped one hand around the back of Sam's neck, rubbed calming circles in clammy skin with his thumb, bit his lip, closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. Living with Sam in Hell had been like living with a hollow in his chest, an empty gap inside him that no amount of family picnics and normalcy could fill. He may have lost the life his brother had wanted for him but didn't feel empty any more; he'd just forgotten how much the lump lodged in his chest could hurt.

He hadn't, couldn't, forget how much worse the pain was when it wasn't there. He wasn't going back. He'd risked too much to get Sam's soul and body on the same page again; there was no way Dean was giving him up now.

"Hey, you awake?" He jostled the limp form lightly and was rewarded by a low murmur of affirmation. "Good. I'm gonna lay you back down, okay?" he said, taking the hiccup he received as a yes. "Alright then."

He used Sam's own skewed centre of gravity to guide him, trying to ignore how compliant Sam was to being moved, how his usually so contrary brother was content do nothing but close his eyes and go where Dean put him. He laid Sam out on his side, lowering him backwards so Sam head was at the foot of the bed. When Dean stood Sam just scrunched his eyes closed tighter against the faint rocking of the bed.

If Dean didn't pick Sam's feet up and put them on the bed for him, he doubted his brother would take the initiative.

Sam stirred when he felt Dean's fingers ghosting over the pulse point in neck, shrugging uselessly and muttering something incoherent that Dean wished he didn't know from experience was supposed to mean 'I'm fine'.

"I'm gonna grab some juice, should make you feel a little less spacey. There's a vending machine just down the hall, I won't be a minute. Sam?" he prompted, as though having a reaction would somehow make him feel better about leaving the room.

"'k," Sam exhaled. Dean nodded tightly, knowing that was as good as he could expect.

The night was chilly and the silence outside slightly oppressive. There was a machine on the corner that had Gatorade and caffeine, and the thud of the bottle as it dropped in the machine seemed unnaturally loud. This would tide them over in the short term, and their first aid kid was always ready stocked, but this was going to take more than they already had. He could get Sam settled then put in a call to Bobby, have the other man pick up some supplies on the way in.

With a sigh he headed back to the room.

Sam was exactly where Dean had put him, fingers curled into the bed sheet beneath him the only sign that he had moved. He couldn't face the task of turning Sam around on the bed, but moving the pillow from under Sam's feet and placing it by his head earned Dean a snort and a smile.

"I got it," Sam whispered, and attempted to take the bottle Dean was holding to his lips for himself. The hand that closed around the plastic was shaking, as was the arm Sam was using to leaver himself up enough to drink, but he at least had the awareness to try and do it for himself. Dean crouched at Sam's side and kept the bottle steady while his brother took tentative sips.

"Nuh hum, finish it," he protested when Sam tried to push the bottle away. "I'm going back out for a second to call Bobby, but I want to see this empty when I get back."

Sam nodded faintly and tightened his grip. Dean waited until he was sure his brother wouldn't drop it before heading outside.

When he stepped back in the room the bottle of Gatorade was empty on the floor, its contents spilt and soaking into the carpet, and Sam's bed was empty.

"Sammy," he called out, panic curling in his stomach. He'd taken a moment before re-entering he room to put his game face back on but even so, Sam had been out of his sight for less than ten minutes. He'd had one hand on the motel door the whole time – there was literally nowhere for Sam to go.

"Sammy, you here?"

The sound of retching was his only answer.

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and the light was off, but the sounds coming from within told him Sam was definitely in there.

"Sammy," Dean called, knocking lightly on the bathroom door to advertise his presence.

"Don't… I'm okay." Sam's voice was echoing. Dean peered around the door to find his brother huddled on the bathroom floor, forehead resting on his arms, which were draped over the toilet bowel. He could tell by the way Sam was shaking with exhaustion that being sprawled across the toilet was the only thing keeping Sam even slightly upright.

He pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. Sam tensed, but didn't look up.

"Please," Sam croaked. "Give me a minute. You don't have to…"

Dean would have given in to Sam's request for privacy if his brother hadn't actually whimpered when he broke off to be sick. Instead he crouched down behind Sam on the bathroom floor. Sam flinched away when Dean placed a hand on his back, shaking his head and giving out a small sob of protest that was soon lost to the sound of vomiting.

"'m here, 's okay, I don't care," Dean told him as he rode it out. Dean had to use both hands to brace him as Sam listed, resting his forehead against his brother's straining back and waiting for him to finish.

"Dean…" Sam whined quietly when his stomach had stilled; the distress in his voice made Dean's stomach clench.

"I don't care," he repeated firmly.

He'd seen Sam sick before – from grief, alcohol, or a plain old stomach bug – this wasn't something he hadn't done before. But it was the first time Sam had shied away from him, seemed pained by the idea of his presence.

It was also the first time the cause of his illness was down to the remnants of Azazel's blood in his system. It had been a while, but Dean knew how his brother's head worked, knew it wasn't the shaking and the heaving and the crying Sam was trying to keep from him, but the underlying contamination. Sam's shame over the thing that was inside him, that he tried not to give Dean cause to think about.

Like maybe Dean could pretend Sam was normal if he didn't have to see the proof that said he wasn't.

But it had always been there, in the baby he'd nurtured and the boy he'd loved, the teen he tried to understand and the man Sam had become. He couldn't condemn one without condemning them all.

"I don't care," he said again. He couldn't tell whether Sam had fallen still because he believed him, or because he'd finally passed out.

-0-

Sam was floating. There was fire behind his eyes, blinding hot pain; even with them closed he couldn't escape the burn.

It didn't make sense, given that it was freezing.

His head was full of white noise but he drifted above it. Voices intruded through the haze, too distant to matter, and there was a hand on his face, on his shoulder. The touch was grounding but he shrugged it off to float in the abyss. The pain was less there, the daggers in his stomach and his head still a throbbing hurt but beneath the clouds they would twist and burn.

Shadows darted around the edge of his awareness, raised voices that he shied away from. Hands grabbed him, holding him down. He tried to struggle but they were insistent and they came at him from all sides.

There was a sharp pain in his arm, acid burning, then numbness. The hands left him.

All but one.

Calloused fingers brushed his forehead, drew small soothing circles on his temple and he leaned into them, feeling the touch deepen in return.

He drifted. Warmth spread from the ache in his arm and the pain receded in its wake to a dull roar, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His limbs felt heavy. The light behind his eyes was fading and he was pulled down into nothingness.

-0-

When Sam opened his eyes the light was muted. He blinked a couple of times to bring his vision into focus and realised the reason he couldn't see anything was because he was staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, you with me?"

Dean's face appeared above him, looking anxious and drawn.

Sam squinted against the meagre light shining in through a gap in the curtains. His brain felt fuzzy and slow and his whole body ached.

"Wha..?" he swallowed and tried again but the words couldn't make it out of his dry throat. He tried to leaver himself up on arms that felt like lead, hissing at the sharp pain in his left arm before his strength failed him and he sank back into the bed.

"Easy," Dean warned him, gripping his shoulder while Sam gritted his teeth and the bed wobbled beneath him.

There was an IV in his arm, bag hanging from a coat stand at the side of the bed. He closed his eyes and swallowed, tried to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak but even he didn't understand the croak the left his lips.

He nodded to the tubes and closed his eyes again, raising his arm slightly to show the IV port to his brother, letting his furrowed brow ask the question for him. He was barely able to raise his elbow off the bed and the effort of it left him breathless.

"Fluids and pain meds mostly." The voice came from the foot of the bed and caused Sam to finch in surprise. "Its good stuff, so you might be feeling a little out of it. We put some general antibiotics in there too – figured it was best to cover all bases. How you feeling?"

Bobby was shifting uncomfortably, hovering at the end of the bed. Sam had to strain to see him, gave up when it became clear that Bobby was not going to move and make it easier.

"Crappy," he whispered, too tired to put up a front. The truth would be easy enough to read from the pain lines on his face.

"I'll bet," Dean agreed, playing with the pillows behind Sam's head and propping him up slightly in bed. The movement caused his stomach muscles to twinge in protest but at least he could now take in the room.

"Here, try some of this."

A bottle of water was pushed in front of his face and Sam reached for it greedily. The water was a balm to his throat but as soon as it hit his stomach Sam knew it was a mistake and pushed it away, shaking his head when Dean tried to force the issue, spilling the cool liquid down his front.

Sam leaned forward and breathed deeply, trying to will the nausea away. Dean swore and stepped back when he realised what Sam was doing. Sitting up made his stomach ache and each breath lodged painfully in his chest, the air like knives to his lungs.

He could feel the cough coming, knew how much it was going to hurt, but he could do nothing to hold it at bay. His throat was raw and his stomach muscles burning but once it had started he couldn't stop. His vision went white. He closed his eyes and tried to ride it out. He could feel his brother's hand on his back, taste copper on his tongue, and when it finally stopped he was too exhausted to move.

When he opened his eyes his forehead was on Dean's shoulder and his brother's palm was still on his back; he could hear Dean talking, as though someone had just turned the sound back on.

"You with me now?" Dean asked. Dean's voice was steady, but Sam could hear the heart pounding beneath his ear was anything but calm.

He nodded slightly and Dean lowered him back onto the bed. He sank into the pillows with a sigh, willing his body to relax. Dean's mouth was a tight line and he looked ready to hit something, but Sam took the expression for what it was and let it warm him.

Bobby had moved closer, was gripping the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. He unclenched them when he saw Sam staring and stood taller, but he was unable to meet Sam's gaze, to look at the tears Sam could feel drying on his face.

Dean took a step away from the bed and rubbed a hand across his jaw. Sam closed his eyes again so he didn't have to see the look on his brother's face, hating himself for the act of cowardice. The blood in his veins had been a curse since he was six months old; even now he couldn't get passed it, but Dean was still here in spite of that. Even with Lucifer gone and destiny done with it could still find a way to hurt Dean, and Sam hated himself for that.

He was dizzy again. Dean and Bobby were talking quietly but he didn't strain to catch their words, too tired to even listen. Bobby was even closer now, had come right up next to the bed as though it was safe now Sam's eyes were closed.

He was grateful that the other man had come when Dean had called him. He'd trusted Bobby with Dean when he'd said yes to Lucifer and he trusted him now, knew he'd pull Dean through this. But as grateful as he was that Bobby was there for Dean, it still hurt. Being around Bobby had been as natural as breathing for as long as he could remember. He was used to being a disappointment, to letting people down, but as much as he deserved it that didn't mean Bobby's distance towards him this side of the apocalypse didn't leave a hollow in his chest.

There was a flurry of activity to his left. Bobby muttered something he guessed was supposed to be comforting before fiddling with the IV in his arm. Sam knew he needed the fluids since he couldn't keep water down, but the pull on the port and the burn of the liquid as it met his vein left him feeling even more nauseous.

"I'm gonna step outside, see if I can get in touch with Cas."

"I think that trench-coat wearing imbecile has done enough, don't you?" Bobby grouched bitterly.

"Maybe. But he said he was gonna keep looking and we need anything he can give us right now."

Sam could feel the empty space as Dean moved away from him, heard the motel door open and close. If Castiel was going to find anything he'd have done so by now, but Sam was glad that Dean was reaching out, maybe mending fences. Still, he didn't envy the angel the aftermath of this, just hoped he would give Dean the time to move past his grief and anger before allowing himself to be pushed away.

With Dean gone Sam could feel his shoulders tense, heard Bobby take a breath as though stealing himself now the buffer between them was out of the room. He'd been happily drifting into sleep, he didn't know whether it was the new dose of fluids or the tension in the room, but Sam was starting to feel much more alert.

There was a slight breeze on his face and he heard Bobby scramble to his feet with a curse.

"Dean asks that I…"

"Dean's outside, you ass."

Sam opened his eyes a slit to see Bobby was standing with his hands on his hips, breathing deeply. Castiel was standing in the middle of the room, looking wary.

"He seemed slightly… agitated. His tone was not pleasant. I thought I would be of more use here."

"I'll show you agitated," Bobby promised, taking a step towards the angel. Castiel backed away. "In other words, you're avoiding him. You don't think you can be of use to him? That right now he might be in need of answers?"

"He's not going to like anything I have to say."

Sam's heart quickened.

"Until he knows that, he still has some hope. I would not take that from him until I have to."

"So you left him pacing around the parking lot talking to himself?" Bobby growled.

"It seemed preferable, yes."

"Unbelievable," Bobby exhaled, turning away and moving back towards the bed. Sam could see the tension in Bobby's arms, watched him flex his knuckles.

"You telling me you got nothing?" Bobby asked, voice hoarse. He was leaning his weight against the chair back again and his eyes were closed.

"There's nothing I can do. It's up to Sam now."

"You don't think that boy's already done enough?"

"If I could help him, I would," Castiel promised firmly. "But the thing he was exposed to, it's latched on to whatever remnants of Azazel's blood are still in his system. There's nothing I can do to separate it."

"And this weapon? You just destroyed it?"

"I said I'd…"

"I know what you said, that's not what I'm asking. Because something with energy that big has gotta look mighty pretty for that war you're fighting."

"I can't harness it, and I can't fix it. I've tried to fix it. I'm still trying. But there's nothing I can do. All we can do is hope that the part of Sam that was affected is small enough that he can fight through it. And pray."

"Oh, you'd better pray. Because if that boy dies because of something your kind created, that they couldn't keep control of, then I swear Dean is going to be the least of your worries. Do you understand me?" Bobby didn't raise his voice, and was somehow more terrifying for the fact. He'd known Bobby had a temper, knew how things had ended with their father, but despite all he'd done Sam had never actually witnessed it before.

Castiel swallowed. "I didn't know this would happen."

"And that's just part of the problem. For a sheriff, you're doing a pretty shitty job if you can leave a bomb like that lying around without knowing about it."

"It was designed to kill abominations, with the best intentions. There was no way of knowing…"

Castiel broke off when Bobby reached out and grabbed the collar of his trench coat, swinging him around and slamming him into the wardrobe.

Sam had seen it the second Castiel had said something he shouldn't have. Seen the curl in Bobby's fingers and the broadening of his shoulders, knew the stance better than he knew his own. It was clear to him where this was going, even as the angel had carried on regardless.

Sam moved on instinct but Bobby was faster. His fist had connected with the angel's face before Sam's feet were even on the floor. Sam hurled himself forward. There was a tug and a biting pain in his arm but he ignored it when Castiel was hit again. His feet were leaden and his vision hazy. When he grabbed hold of Bobby's arm as it rose to take its third swing, it was as much to keep himself upright as it was to prevent another blow.

Castiel had the power of heaven on his side. Either he'd been taken completely by surprise, or was feeling thoroughly guilty not to have taken Bobby down the second the other man had moved.

Bobby's first instinct was to shake Sam off and keep swinging, only realising what had been holding him back once he'd dislodged Sam and sent him crashing into the wardrobe next to Castiel.

Sam would have kept on going to the floor if the angel hadn't caught him.

Bobby looked stricken.

"Don't touch him," he growled.

"It's not his fault," Sam placated, trying to get his feet to support him so that Castiel could let go before Bobby did something even more stupid.

"I said back the hell off."

"He didn't know Bobby, alright," Sam continued. "We hadn't even spoken to him in days, so it's not like he sent us to that warehouse or anything."

Bobby lowered his fist and took a step back, staggering as though he'd been struck.

"He didn't put me in a room with that thing. He didn't…" Sam broke off as Bobby's eyes widened in horror. His heart sank when he realised exactly what he'd said. "Oh god, Bobby… I didn't…"

Bobby backed away, shaking his head.

"That's not what I meant," Sam pleaded desperately. "You have to believe me. I just… Wait!"

The second Bobby turned away from him and headed for the exit, Sam followed. Adrenalin almost got him half way to the door but his feet weren't cooperating with his brain and his vision was greying out again. Bobby was going to leave and he was so stupid. He had to reach him, had to tell him before it was too late, but his knees caved and the floor was rushing upwards and…

Strong arms grabbed him around the biceps and the impact he was bracing for never came. He face planted in flannel and he felt the scratch of whiskers against his cheek. He felt lightheaded, closed his eyes against the ever present nausea, but the arms encircling him were solid and he was pushed backwards until the back of his legs collided with the bed and he was shoved into a sitting position.

His head was pushed down between his knees and there was a rough grip on the back of his neck. The carpet swam back in to view along with the words 'gottcha' and 'breathe now' and 'idjit', and he looked up to find Bobby kneeling in front of him.

Castiel was still standing with his back to the slightly dented wardrobe. He held Sam's gaze for a fraction of a second and nodded, before disappearing from the room.

"Don't leave," he whispered, reaching out and grabbing the other man by the arm, hating how much his hand was shaking.

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere?" Bobby grumbled, removing Sam's grip and turning his arms over gently. "Look what you've done here," he scolded quietly, "Do you want that brother of yours to kill me?"

Bobby tensed at his own words. He still hadn't looked Sam in the eye.

"Hook me back up again and he never has to know," Sam offered quietly, shifting his arm in Bobby's grasp to bringing the other man back to himself.

He watched Bobby clean away the blood that trailed down his arm. Both of them were shaking. Bobby threw the soiled wipe in the trash, and when he set about reattaching the torn out IV he was perfectly steady.

"You should get back in bed," Bobby told him, not rising from the chair he'd been sitting on while he'd worked on Sam's arm. He was so close to Sam that their knees were touching, but still wouldn't look at him. The tension between them had shifted. Whatever it was that was keeping Bobby's eyes averted wasn't the same thing that had caused him to leave a room every time Sam entered one back at the Salvage Yard.

But that didn't mean Sam didn't still feel it.

"You didn't do this," he attempted quietly. Bobby's emotional reticence put Dean's to shame; Sam had never found it as easy to read him as his brother did.

"Doesn't exactly feel that way right now."

Now that Sam had pointed it out to him – the fact they would never have been in that warehouse in the first place if Bobby hadn't sent them there. The pretence had been weak at first and Sam had always seen it for what it was: an excuse to get them out of the other man's house.

But the tip had paid off and Bobby had followed through on his end, provided all the Intel they'd needed to get the job done. All except the one thing he couldn't possibly have known – that the angels had gotten there first and left a nuke in their wake.

"That's because you're being an idiot right now," Sam told him casually, scooting up the bed and swinging his legs back under the covers. "If you'd arranged for that weapon to be in there, or for the fact I have demon blood in me in the first place, then yes, you'd be due a beat down," he continued as he settled himself against the pillows. "But since you didn't do either of those things I don't think you get to take any of the credit."

"Credit?" Bobby huffed incredulously. Sam just stared at him pointedly until Bobby shook his head and climbed to his feet, but Sam could see the slight smile through the other man's put upon sigh.

"Message received," Bobby said quietly. He'd moved to the other side of the room and was busying himself clearing away the used IV and first aid supplies, but he spared a glance at Sam as though making sure he'd been heard.

"Good," Sam sighed and let himself relax into the bed.

"You know, I said to you once that no matter what, I wasn't ever cutting you out." Bobby's tone was mild but his actions had stilled and his posture was anything but.

"I remember," Sam whispered. Remembered the almost lightheaded feeling of relief.

"Yeah, well. Maybe it took a while, but I do too."

Bobby looked around and held his eye, probably the first time he'd been given real eye contact in this lifetime, and it was almost too much to bear. Sam smiled and nodded, as much to give Bobby permission to pretend the last ten minutes had never happened as to acknowledge what he'd said. Bobby sighed in relief as he finished clearing his things away.

Sam closed his eyes and tried not to give in the urge to grin as he listened to the other man work.

He sat up again when he heard the motel door open. Bobby stepped out of the bathroom - still drying himself on the towel in his hands - to greet Dean as he entered the room. Dean's eyes flicked between the slight pinkish water stain on the towel Bobby was holding and Sam, eyes furrowed in suspicion.

"Everything alright in here?" he asked.

"Peachy," Sam replied innocently.

Dean gave Bobby another narrowed eyed look before shrugging his coat off and moving across the room.

"You talk to Castiel?" Sam asked his brother, ignoring the way he could feel Bobby's eyes narrowing on the back of his head.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Didn't have much more to say, to be honest with you. Said we were already doing the best thing we could by keeping you hydrated while this thing works its way out of your system. I don't know what he's been up to for the last couple of hours or who he talked to, but the guy's obviously been going out of his way to get answers if the state of his face is anything to go by."

"Really?" Sam pursed his lips and nodded, impressed, while Bobby disappeared back into the bathroom muttering something about a pain in his ass.

"What's eating him?" Dean asked quietly, eyeing the closed bathroom door in surprise.

"He's probably just over tired. Too much excitement; at his age it can't be good for him."

Sam flinched when the sound of the bathroom cabinet slamming echoed under the door.

"Someone's feeling better," Dean commented with raised eyebrows and a grin.

"Actually, I think I am," Sam told him, surprised.

"Enough to have another go at having something to drink?" Dean asked him, waving a bottle of Gatorade at him from across the room.

Sam swallowed and looked away. "Maybe not that better," he clarified hastily, trying to push down the memory Gatorade forcing its way back up his oesophagus. "But it's a start," he offered hopefully. He didn't know whether it was the drugs in his system, or having made peace with Bobby, but he was definitely feeling less pathetic than he had even an hour ago.

"Your breathing sounds better," Dean commented. "You still…" he trailed off as he caught sight of the wardrobe and the slight dent in its door. "…bleeding? Was that - ?" He turned to face Sam and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the abused piece of furniture.

"What can I say, the place is a dive."

Dean squinted at him suspiciously then shrugged, obviously deciding to let it go for now. Dean looked exhausted, Sam doubted he'd relaxed for a moment since this whole nightmare had begun. Probably not for long while before that, either. He'd tell Dean what had gone down but he'd save it for later, when Dean could really enjoy it.

Later.

Sam smiled. His whole body ached and he felt about as strong as a kitten, but his insides didn't feel as intensely toxic as they had. The idea of sleep was no longer frightening; in fact, it was starting to seem appealing.

Dean sat down in the chair Bobby had vacated. Sam tried to tell him to get some sleep but his eyes were sinking closed and the words never made it out. He'd try again later; Dean would still be there in a couple of hours when he woke, and Sam found he was more than okay with that.

TBC