CHAPTER THREE

Lucifer was examining the movement of Sam's wrist,"Hmm, it hasn't been the same since you punched Dean across his face. Hasn't it?"

Sam ignored him, focusing all his energy into trying to move his wrist on his own. Though he could not move his body voluntarily anymore, Sam could still see and feel everything. He could see that he was sitting by the check-out counter at a hospital. He could feel the icy metal bench beneath his jeans, the sticky floor that held resistance for his shoes, and the barely healed sprained wrist bone cracking whenever Lucifer revolved Sam's wrist.

"Don't waste your time, Sam. No one has ever been able to shake me."

Sam let himself relax for a moment. Though he hadn't accomplished anything, he felt a shooting ache in his arms like he had just tried to lift the Impala.

Sam growled in his head,"There's always a first."

Lucifer glared Sam's eyes into the mirrored island table across from where they sat. This look sent chills down Sam's spine. He had never seen his own eyes hold so much aggression.

"I just died, didn't I?" Sam asked his reflection, "Why didn't you let me die?"

With an unnervingly change to a kind tone, Lucifer asked, "I'm thirsty, aren't you?"

Sam's eyes blinked open. His throat felt so dry it hurt too much to clear it with a cough. His head felt like his brain had been converted to lead. But, thankfully, Sam found that he could move it on his own volition even if it weighed as much as a bowling ball now. Just a dream, Sam realized.

His eyelids felt so heavy it was exhausting to even blink. Sam turned his head to the right and saw a familiar, although foggy, outline of the one person he wished were there to save him in his dream. He lifted his trembling hand up from where it had been lying at his side and touched Dean's knuckles with his trembling fingertips.

Dean squeezed the Impala into a unusually small wheelchair parking spot that was directly in front of the entrance to Golden Corral. He had made good on his promise to take Sam there first thing after Sam was released. It has been five days of agonizingly slow recovery. The hospital wanted to keep him in critical care for another week but he managed to persuade Sam's way out of it. Sam had indeed gained back ten pounds, since his desperately-malnourished body was storing everything away rather than burning those much-needed calories.

One of the most embarrassing side-effects from the infection was that Sam got tired easily. Dean couldn't see much of a difference between what Sam looked like the first night and now. He'd just have to trust the hospital's scale. Sam's suicidal slits on his arms and legs were scabbed-over and most no longer needed to be wrapped-up. He had been doing that both to punish himself for choosing Ruby over his brother and he wanted to kill himself before Lucifer could take over his body.

Now, he had resolved to never harm himself that way again. Especially since it was pointless. After the close-call five days ago, it was apparent that he couldn't die even after trying so hard to. Sam was not in a wheel chair, he didn't even need a cane. In fact, despite Dean's opposing opinion, Sam didn't need any kind of assistance while walking.

He felt significantly better since the third day at the hospital. His voice was starting to come back but it sounded very hoarse. Only Dean seemed to be able to understand him completely ... or maybe he just didn't want to tire Sam out with repeating himself. At least he could finally talk at all, which had been all he wanted to do with Dean for two months so Sam couldn't complain much. The one thing he'd miss the least about the hospital was that pudding he ate pretty much the whole time.

He could never eat chocolate again. Sam exited the Impala before Dean could open the passenger door for him. Dean gave his annual overview of Sam to see if he was about to fall over like a red wood tree.

"I'm fine, Dean." said Sam, his raspy voice barely above a whisper.

Too bad it still hurt to talk. He wanted to talk to Dean more. But, he had a feeling that if he talked too much his throat would bleed. Even after brushing his teeth, he could swear that he still tasted the metallic flavor of blood.

"Sure you are, Sammy." said Dean, nodding robotically as he held the door open. "I don't know about you. But, I'm starving."

Sam smiled down at Dean as he made he limped passed his older brother.

"Just have a seat anywhere you'd like," said the woman behind the reception desk.

Dean nodded at her as he came up behind Sam, "Sounds good. Come on, Sam."

Sam followed Dean to the table right by the door. He could tell why it was empty. The sun was bleeding through the window and the table felt so hot Sam wouldn't be surprised if it started melting.

Sam was about to sink down onto the bench when Dean said, "Want me to go get the food?"

Sam shook his head and pushed himself back up, "I got it."

Sam led the way slowly to the plastic plates, metal utensils, and got in the long line around the large buffet table. Dean had patiently walked no faster than his younger brother's limps. Sam could feel Dean getting anxious because of how long everyone in the line was taking to decide what they wanted to eat. He hoped that it was because Dean was just as hungry as he was. Sam was the one that had been starving over the past few months.

But, a blind man would say Sam and Dean had switched places. He hoped that Dean wasn't letting his protective side get the better of him yet again. He had, mentally, spoken too soon.

"Can we get a move on down there?" Dean called down the line, "The world might as well have stopped on its axis at the rate y'all are goin'!"

Sam widened his mood-ring eyes down at Dean, silently telling him to shut-up. He saw the reception worker gaze warily over at them. He gave her a reassuring smile and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, we can wait. It's not that big of a deal," he croaked quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes and showed Sam the top of his head, tapping his plastic plate with his fork like a hyper drummer. Sam had his eyes on the fried chicken, corn, mashed-potatoes, and steak. He thought about pouring gravy on everything. He thought about insignificant things to ignore the nightmare that was haunting him since he first woke-up at the hospital. He would not allow himself to think of Lucifer or the fact that he was the devil's vessel.

"Sam, walk." he heard Dean tell him from seemingly far away.

Sam blinked hard, waking up out of his reverie, "Yeah, I hear ya."

He served himself mounds of the food he had already chosen which seemed to please Dean. Dean copied him. Sam knew Dean could eat a lot, even more than he used to sometimes. But, he wondered if Dean was only doing this so that Sam would not look like the pig he most certainly did not resemble. Sam sniffled and cleared his congested throat as he followed Dean back to their table which was still empty because it was the hottest part of the restaurant.

"Are you feeling okay?" Dean glanced up at Sam as they neared the table.

Sam nodded as he took a bite of his mashed potatoes while sinking down onto the bench. He didn't know if Dean was uncomfortable with the heat. But, Sam's lack of body fat and muscle made him quite cold so he was glad to be seated here. He could feel Dean's eyes on him which he refused to meet in case Dean suspected that Sam had a nightmare about Lucifer. Anyone else would never be able to tell.

But, he and his brother might as well have twin-telepathy.

"Easy, man." Dean said after a few minutes of Sam stuffing himself. "You might swallow your fork."

Sam finally met Dean's eyes and leaned back. He slipped his hands underneath the table to adjust his belt wider so that he wouldn't feel too full too soon.

Dean suddenly raised his eyebrows, "Crap, we forgot drinks. I'll go get water."

Dean waved his hand in Sam's face when his little brother tried to heave himself back to his feet. Sam reluctantly sank back down onto his bench. His quite distended belly underneath his overly-large, navy, hooded jacket felt like it had a lead weight in it but he forced himself to finish his plate. Sam watched Dean walking back across the room from the drink area. He wondered just how long he'd be able to hide the nightmare from Dean. He hadn't learned his lesson about staying silent.

He resolved to refuse to believe that he had died five days ago and that Lucifer had brought him back like the devil warned that he would.

Sam failed to sway Dean from giving him a thick fruit smoothie instead of a cup of water. His stomach felt like it was about to explode. But, continuing to eat distracted him from worrying that he was brought back to life by something a hell of a lot more powerful than a defibrillator. They had spent a little over an hour at the restaurant and Sam was limping even slower than usual. He hunched over so that he would stretch his taut stomach too much.

If he moved too quickly, he felt a wave of nausea. But, as long as he remained still for a few seconds the feeling passed. Sam placed a hand on his disproportionately swollen stomach hidden beneath his huge hoodie and pulled open the passenger door of the Impala. He lowered himself down carefully into the seat and sighed deeply. Dean was returning from paying for their meals and closed Sam's door on his route around the back of the Impala.

Dean started up the car and the vibration made some of the smoothie start to rise back up Sam's throat. Sam winced as the strongest wave of nausea so far rocked from his core. The pain distracted him so completely that he neglected to quell the slight whimper that escaped his lips. Dean, who has been on Sammy-high-alert 24/7 over the past week, did not miss it.

"You okay, Sam?" he asked.

Sam's grip over his stomach slackened as the nausea ebbed away, "Yeah, I'm good."

Dean didn't believe him. He chose not to tire Sam out with an argument and chose to rather keep an eye on his little brother through the day. Dean began to back out of the parking spot and the lurch brought food back into Sam's mouth from his throat.

"Please," Sam struggled to keep his rasping voice steady, "drive ... gentle."

Dean scrutinized Sam's trembling lips, "You got it, Sammy."

Sam felt his head grow heavier and heavier. As Dean maneuvered as carefully as he could through the parking lot back to the high way, Sam felt himself being dragged under. He hoped that sleeping would stop the nausea. He squeezed his eyes shut, scooted further down in his seat, and rested his heavy head on the top of his seat. His hands slid off of his stomach as he drifted off to sleep.

Dean hit a little bump on the highway and glanced at Sam. He gave a small smile when he saw that Sam was taking a nap. He hadn't outright told Sam that he forgave him for the huge mistake Sam made a little over two months ago. But, he hoped that his attitude at least hinted at that even if it weren't entirely true. His heart still ached, worrying that his little brother would betray his trust again if he gave it back too quickly.

Dean took the 87th exit and slowed down as steadily as the forty-three year old car would permit. Sam was starting to stir from his nap and he yawned as he looked up at Dean.

"Where we goin'?" Sam asked, wincing at the pain in his throat when he spoke too loudly.

Dean glanced down at him as he pulled off the road into a parking lot full of dismantled cars, "Bobby's. I think you and I could use a little vacation."

Dean had never noticed before how rocky the path was to Bobby's house. He tried to be sneaky when glancing over at Sam, trying to not give away that his concern for his little brother had not diminished. Sam pushed himself back upright in his seat. His stomach had thankfully settled during his nap and Sam didn't feel any nausea as he moved. Although, the pain seemed to have moved to his head which was aching a little.

Dean slowed the Impala and parked right outside Bobby's old house. His eyes fell on the wide plank of wood that had been nailed over one side of Bobby's stairs. He had almost forgotten, because of the most recent drama with Sam, that Bobby was paralyzed from the waist down. Sam seemed to be on the same brain wavelength. They really could have twin-telepathy.

Dean shut off the engine and exited the Impala. Not wanting to test if the nausea was truly gone, Sam heaved himself out of the Impala at a speed close to a chameleon. Dean was wrestling with their gym bags of belongings out of the trunk. Sam closed his door and sighed. He felt stupid for deliberately hurting himself.

He hoped that Dean hadn't told Bobby all the dirty details of Sam's failed suicide. Despite it being summer, Sam found himself shivering. His body temperature had lowered and the fever was about gone. But, he still felt cold, maybe even colder, like he had with the fever.

"BOBBY?" Dean called as he lead the way up the stairs with the stuffed gym bags on each of this shoulders. "Sam's fine now! Come look!"

Sam took a little break at the foot of the stairs while Dean pushed open the unlocked front door. He was breathing was a little too much effort needed. Before Dean could look around to check on him again, Sam waddled up the stairs and followed Dean into the kitchen inside Bobby's house. He sank thankfully down in one of the chairs at the little table and leaned back, groaning with tiredness. He felt like he could fall asleep again at any moment. The two brothers both jumped when they heard wheels being rolled over the wood floor.

"By all means, let yourselves in!" called Bobby, rounding the corner. "It's good to see you up with the livin', Sam."

Sam heaved himself back to his feet and shook Bobby's hand, "You too, Bobby."

"Whoa, Dean, you need to relearn the definition of 'fine'. Are you gargling rocks or something, boy?" Bobby chuckled halfheartedly up at Sam, "I can barely understand you."

Sam smiled down at him, "I wish that were the case."

"Yeah, Dean filled me in on your millionth brush with death. Well, I was about to check the bated line I have going in the river just a few ways away," said Bobby and he held up a hand when Dean made to stand up, "I'm paralyzed, not an invalid. I can do it alone. We're having fish tonight."

Sam worried that he wouldn't be able to eat anything more that day. He anticipated Dean getting frustrated with him but he knew his fit-to-burst belly would thank him later.

"Fine!" Dean called after Bobby and they listened to the man roll himself down the wooden plank. "Don't fall in! That water's cold and there's no way I'm diving in to rescue your ass!"

"Shut-up!" they heard Bobby yell from not too far away.

Sam grinned up at Dean and croaked to him, "Just because some people are a little under the weather, that doesn't mean you have to do every little thing for them."

Dean cocked his eyebrows as he folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen sink, "'A little'? Sam, I almost lost you ... again. Are we talking about Bobby right now or you?"

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, "Whatever."

Dean squinted at Sam's closed eyes, "Yeah, 'whatever'."

Sam slipped back to sleep so easily it disturbed Dean. His little brother was still barely clinging to his strength. Maybe it was a bad idea to check him out of the hospital against the doctor's recommendations. Dean took the seat opposite Sam and twirled it around to sit on it backwards. He crossed his arms on the top of the chair and rested his head there.

Before he knew it, he was taking a half an hour nap as well. When Dean awoke, he had expected to smell fish on the stove. But, there was only Sam and him there. What was taking Bobby so long?

"Bobby?!" Dean called.