Sleep does nothing good for the thick texture and horrific taste in my mouth which is the first thing I'm aware of as I wake up again. The second thing I'm aware of is that Dean isn't next to me.
Cas is, though. Near me, anyway. He's sitting on a camp chair on the far side of the cot, reading a gun magazine.
"Dean?" I ask him. And still something inside of me waits to hear that Dean is dead. And still I don't know why.
"He's gone to shower and change." Cas tells me without taking his eyes off the magazine. "And to assure himself that all is in readiness for your return upstairs. Naturally."
"Naturally…" I echo. Mostly to myself. I take a deep breath and stretch my arms out to my sides and rub my bare toes against the soft blanket over my feet and for the first time in who knows how long, I contemplate standing upright again.
First I have to get myself sitting upright. Which is actually easier than I thought it would be.
Not easy, not by a long shot. But easier, because I no sooner push myself up on my elbow than Cas drops the magazine and stands up, clearly intending to come to my aid and that alone impels me to force myself to sitting, pressing my shoulder into the wall to stay upright because for a few scary seconds the world tilts and I feel like I'm going to hurl my guts all over my blanketed feet.
Cas stops; he obviously sees that I forced myself up to avoid his help. I want to apologize to him even though I don't know for what exactly, but the Pedialyte sits just off my pillow and I reach for that and drink the rest of it, as much for something to do as to rehydrate myself.
"Dean requested that I remain here and render you whatever assistance is required." Cas tells me. And adds the totally unnecessary, "He was most explicit."
"Yeah, I can imagine he was."
I finish the bottle and start to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, but it's the hand that has the IV needle taped into it and I'm thrown what I'm supposed to do about that. If anything. So I put my hand down in my lap and look at my situation.
My physical situation, anyway.
I'm folded up on the sleeping bag like it's a life raft. And like I thought, two blankets are twisted around me. My clothes are sweaty and damp and clinging and uncomfortable, and if I thought I could move without collapsing, I'd pull my long-sleeved shirt off just to be rid of it.
But since the wall is pretty much the only thing keeping me vertical, I don't risk moving away from it.
I don't look at Cas. I know he only wants to help, and maybe not only because Dean told him to, but I don't – I just don't want him here. I'd rather be alone. If Dean can't be here with me, I'd rather be alone in my misery. My weakness.
My shame.
It occurs to me that if Cas wants to, he can probably read my thoughts and I stare at the beige blanket that's bunched over my legs and try to only think, 'blanket, blanket, blanket' even while I'm thinking that it probably doesn't make any difference anyway.
Cas stands there, I can see him - I keep track of him - out of the corner of my eye. He looks down then up then to the panic room door. He probably wants Dean back here as much as I do.
"If you wish, Sam, I can bring you upstairs."
"No." I all but shout at him. Or maybe I do shout at him, when adjusted for my lack of strength and voice. "No, thanks. I'm – I'll – I can – " If the wall would open up and swallow me, I wouldn't mind. "No."
"Perhaps I could let Dean know that you're awake and hasten him back down here."
At first I love that idea, and then, suddenly, I can't stand the thought of Cas – of anybody – standing even metaphorically between me and Dean and I push myself to my feet so fast it shocks even me.
"No, don't. Don't bother. Don't – don't – I'll just – I can – just don't – please."
If I wasn't so sick and exhausted, if I wasn't worried that my legs won't hold me or wondering if my back only feels like I shredded it against the salt-encrusted wall when I scraped against it getting myself to my feet, I might feel bad or feel something at the look of worry and concern on Cas's face.
"I don't believe Dean would approve of you attempting any exertion on your own." He says. "I'm sure he would be very unhappy to know you were even considering it."
"Dean won't be mad at me for trying to get upstairs." I tell him, a little breathlessly I admit.
"No, on the contrary, I'm sure all of his ire will be directed at me and what he will view as the dereliction of my duty on your behalf."
That's probably true, but I want to contradict Cas anyway, but all I can manage is to shake my head and even that threatens to spin my brain around in my skull, which isn't going to do much to get me out of this room under my own power.
Cas lets out a deep, aggravated, breath but doesn't press his case.
After a few deep breaths of my own, and with maybe nothing more than sheer strength of will, I lift my hands high enough to take a bleary look at the IV and start to consider how to pull it out without ripping my vein open.
And then – " Cas – what the hell?" – Dean is here. "I told you to take care of him."
He's here and he's pissed at Cas, who only shakes his head, lifts his hand and drops it again in resignation, and breathes out a healthy sigh.
"I'm fine." I say but who knows if Dean even hears me. He wouldn't believe me, anyway. Mostly because it's not true. He's at my side in a second, his hands on my arms keeping me on my feet.
"I forgot how tall you are." He jokes up at me. It means he's proud and he's worried that I'm standing on my own and he covers both with the joke.
"Take this out." I ask him. Tell him. Show him my hand with the IV. "Please take this out."
He takes a few seconds to consider it, then, "Yeah, all right, here we go."
He bends his head down to his work and I stare at the top of his head. Mostly to not look at Cas who's got that 'sucking eggs' look on his face and I can't stand to see it.
"All right, Sammy. All done. Let's see about getting you upstairs. Cas?"
As drained out, dried out, and half dead or more that I am, I know what he's thinking, what Dean thinks is going to happen, and it's not going to happen. Whatever I have to do, or not do, it's not going to happen. Cas is not getting me up those stairs. I am getting up those stairs under my own power.
Only, just as soon as I move one footfall away from that wall, my knees buckle and only Dean's shoulder under my own keeps me from smacking myself in the face with the floor.
"Cas? Any time now." Dean says.
Still, I have to try. I want to try. I will try.
"No, please. I can walk. I can. Dean. I can walk."
"No, you can't, Sam." He doesn't even look at me when he says it, he's watching Cas walk over to us. It pisses me off.
"Yes. I can."
Dean turns to stare at me and Cas stops walking. I try to give Dean our patented 'I need to talk to you alone' look. I succeed only enough for Dean to give me our patented 'I don't understand what you're trying to tell me with that look' look.
I know I've put Dean through enough this past week, this withdrawal, the withdrawal before this one. Hell, my whole life. I know I should just let Cas wing me upstairs or Antarctica or wherever Dean wants me to be.
But I can't.
"I don't want help." I tell Dean. I don't want to need help.
"Cas…" Dean says after a few beats of consideration. "We've got this. Go on upstairs and – and – just go on up. We've got this."
"All right. Yes." Is Cas's short-on-syllables-long-on-disappointment answer. He takes the long way out of the panic room – he walks – and when his footsteps finally sound over our heads, Dean turns to me.
He pushes me back until I'm leaning against the wall again, says "Stay there," then walks over to grab the chair Cas had been sitting in and brings it back to me. He helps me sit down, which is such a relief, I don't ever want to move again.
"What's going on? Why don't you want Cas's help? And don't give me any more 'I can do it on my own' crap."
That's exactly what I'm about to say, and I don't have another answer. Castiel-Express is the easiest, fastest, most logical way of getting me upstairs, but I just don't want to. And I don't know how to say that. So I don't answer Dean. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
There isn't another chair for Dean to sit, and the mattress on the cot has to be too nasty for even the worst sewer-slime-sludge monster to get near, so he crouches next to me. Dean crouches next to me and puts his hand on my arm.
"Sam – Sammy – I need you to tell me – is this just Winchester pride? Did Cas do something to you? Did he hurt you?"
"No." I lift my head and look at Dean. I wonder why he's even asking such a question. "No. Of course not."
"Then what? Three seconds and you're topside. What's so wrong with that?"
I don't want to say the words out loud. But – the truth, right?
"I did this to myself. I brought myself here, I should get myself out."
Dean argues with me. Of course. He stands up, stands over me, and disputes me.
"You didn't do this to yourself. You didn't bring yourself here. And just by the sheer act of surviving this, you are getting yourself out. So can we cut the rugged individualism crap and get you upstairs to a nice hot shower and some industrial strength toothpaste?"
Like when he told me about the Pedialyte, it takes a second to register what he said. It feels like the first thing that's made me want to smile in years.
"Dude, you better not be kidding me about the industrial strength toothpaste." I tell him. "I'm pretty sure Bigfoot crapped and died in my mouth."
Dean pulls a face and waves his hand in front of his nose.
"Well, that explains a lot." He says. "So – I can hail us Taxi-Cas? Cas-Cab? Angel-Auto?"
He's trying so hard to be so casual. For my sake, for his sake. For both our sakes.
I nod. I say, "Thanks." Dean smiles and over his shoulder calls for Cas. I want to ask him to make sure Cas send us both together but I don't know how to come out and say it without coming out and saying it. So I reach up to grab his arm and it's enough. Or maybe it isn't necessary anyway.
Cas ruffles in and and Dean says, "Drop us next to the closest shower, will you?" And Cas moves closer and touches our foreheads and it's done. A quick burst of a chill shiver, like a draft up my spine and we're instantly in Bobby's downstairs bathroom. I'm sitting on the edge of the tub, Dean is next to me and I still have hold of his arm.
To be continued