Bright eyes waver across the ceiling, across Sam's forehead.
"Dean. Hey." Sam sits forward, drapes his arms over the guard rail. "How d'you feel?"
Dean frowns in slow motion. "Sab?"
"Yeah, man."
Dean sniffles, reaches for his head. The tubes stop him short. He squints at them. "What...?"
"That's your IV. It's OK, you want that there."
"Hh-TCHCH!" Dean blinks, bewildered.
"Here. C'mere." Sam folds tissues into his hand.
"Why're...?"
"Remember falling?"
Dean's nose runs freely.
"Wood sprites?"
"...Had stupid shoes."
Sam snorts. "They did."
Dean notices his cast, pokes at it, flinches. "Tibe to go hobe?"
"Get better first."