Dean gives a look around, like he's checking that Cas got the destination right. It passes muster and he looks down at me. He pats my hand still holding his arm.
"All right. Hold tight and I'll get your clean clothes. Don't wander off."
He leaves the bathroom and shuts the door. Out in the hallway, I can hear him talking, saying something to somebody. I don't hear any answer. I only hear Dean.
When I don't hear him anymore, I stand up. Well, I reach over and grab hold of the edge of the sink and force myself to my feet. Force the sink to hold me getting to my feet and it's a good thing Bobby's got a sink with a cabinet because I'm pretty sure I'd rip a pedestal sink right off its pedestal.
But this one takes the pressure of the pull and the weight of holding me upright. Which is more than my legs feel capable of right now.
Especially when I finally look at myself in the mirror.
The face that looks back at me is gruesome, ghastly in every sense and layer of the word. A week of whiskers covers skin so pale it looks like I've been bled dry. My eyes are black, my hair is rank, my lips are cracked, and a thin rim of blood edges the underside of my nose.
And for as bad as I look, I feel even worse. I know I smell worse.
How the hell can Dean even stand to be near me?
I don't have a lot of time to think about that when the door opens and Dean is back in the room with me.
"Okay, here we go."
He sets my backpack on the sink and puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye. I want to look down.
"What first?" He asks.
"Open a window?"
Dean looks puzzled and starts going through my backpack.
"It's South Dakota in February, man. It's blizzarding outside." He says easily. He pulls my toothbrush out and my half-used tube of toothpaste.
"Bubblegum toothpaste is industrial strength?" I ask. I lean my weight against the sink so I can lift a hand to pick up my toothbrush.
"You want mint? Bobby said he's got mint here." He pulls open a drawer in the cabinet and brings it out.
"Yeah, I think mint is better for getting rid of the taste of dead Bigfoot…"
"Okay. Here." Dean takes my hand and moves it towards the faucet so he can run a stream of water over the toothbrush, then he squeezes on a generous glop of toothpaste. "You wanna sit? You should sit. Hold on."
I start brushing the monstrosity of filth off of my teeth just as I start to tell Dean I can stand and the combination results in an inarticulate mess of sound and toothpaste froth. And since I can't let go of the sink to wipe the side of my mouth clean of the froth, I don't offer any more complaint when Dean pulls Bobby's transfer bench out of the tub, sets it behind me, throws a towel over it and guides me to sit on it.
"Okay. Once you brush your teeth, you should take a shower. That'll make it easier to shave. You always did have iron whiskers, just like Dad."
He rummages through my backpack again as he's talking and he pulls out my shaving kit. He's talking so normally, so casually, I might just be getting over the flu and not – not –
"Sam? You with me?"
"Hmm?"
"Finish brushing your teeth. Then as soon as you're ready, we'll get that shower started."
"Mmm hmm…"
So I brush my teeth. The toothpaste does its job and slowly the taste of Bigfoot is supplanted by the mint, and the layers of hairy mildew are scrubbed away and spit into the sink, along with a not-surprising amount of blood.
"Maybe you shouldn't brush so hard." Dean's paying attention, of course. I don't think the blood has anything to do with how hard I'm brushing, considering how hard I'm not brushing, but rather how long it's been since I brushed my teeth before this, but there'll be no explaining that so I don't even try.
Just before I'm totally finished, I scrub the toothbrush over my tongue a couple of times to clear the fuzz, but it turns out to be a really bad idea when it makes me gag so hard I think my eyeballs are going to be squeezed out of my skull.
"Okay, whatever that was, whatever you just did, don't do that again." Dean says, unnecessarily.
I nod and 'uh hunh' and spit the last of the toothpaste out of my mouth into the sink.
"Might have to burn this." I say and hold the toothbrush up. I can't seem to let it drop out of my hand. "Can you take it?"
"Sure." Dean says and he sounds fine and he sounds worried. He tugs the toothbrush out of my hand and sets it on the sink. "All right, clothes next. Here we go."
He digs in my backpack and pulls out my pajamas - a t-shirt and the blue pajama bottoms I've had forever.
"Warm."
"What?" Dean asks, and for a strange minute I can't think what I meant. I'm so tired I just want to put my head in my arms on the sink and go back to sleep.
"Warm. Want warm clothes." It finally occurs to me.
Dean looks at me, he looks at my pajamas, he considers.
"All right. I'll get you warm clothes. You wanna get started on the shower? Or you can wait for me."
Wait for my big brother to help me take a shower? Thanks, I think I'm humiliated enough already.
"I'll get started."
He lifts an eyebrow like he doesn't believe me.
"Rrrright. Anyway, I'll be right back."
"Knock first."
He rolls his eyes and bundles my pajamas into my backpack and heads out of the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself.
tbc